moonleeai

[moonleeai]

Review for @bangtanwritershq Ficstoric Society

💻 📧 💻 📧 💻 📧 💻 📧 💻 📧 💻 📧

A must-read for anyone who loves lovable characters, deliciously unbearable pining, and the kind of romantic payoff that leaves you grinning.

I have never seen To All the Boys I Loved Before but I imagine this was a well-written ode to it!!


Jimin is instantly endearing, vulnerable, and just the right amount of dramatic. His panic is so relatable that you can’t help but root for him. And then there’s Yoongi, the untouchable music prodigy with deadpan humor and a surprisingly tender side hiding beneath the surface.

The banter, the pining, both hilarious and gut-wrenching, and every small touch and lingering glance ratchets the tension up another notch. By the time their feelings start blurring the line between fake and real, the payoff is sooooo satisfying. Also loved how the campus setting is vividly real, with social media gossip and dorm-room drama!!

👏🏽 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

To All the Boys Who Never Stood a Chance | Yoongi x Jimin

💌Yoongi x Jimin

💌College AU

💌strangers to lovers, fake dating, inspired by TATBILB, mutual pining, smut, fluff

💌MA 🔞

WC: 6,532

Summary:

When Jimin’s private love letters accidentally go public, the last person he expects to confront him is Yoongi—the recipient of one particularly embarrassing confession. To shut down the rumors and ward off his obsessive admirer, Yoongi proposes a solution: fake date him. It’s strictly strategic… until it isn’t. With gossip swirling, feelings blurring, and one determined hater refusing to back down, Jimin and Yoongi find themselves tangled in something a little too real to keep pretending.

Jimin is going to combust. Right here, right now, in the middle of the student union.

He hovers over the shared class drive, eyes wide with horror as he realizes what just happened. One second, he’s organizing his desktop, trying to be responsible for once in his life. The next, his most private folder–cleverly disguised as “Tax Docs 2021”--gets dragged and dropped straight into the digital abyss of the shared Performing Arts Projects folder. 

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Taehyung says, peering over Jimin’s shoulder with a sip of his overpriced oat milk latte. He leans in. “Wait. Wait. Did you just upload your taxes to the class drive?”

“It’s not taxes,” Jimin whispers, fingers twitching on the trackpad, clammy and uncoordinated. The blood rushes to his ears, drowning out even Taehyung’s delighted gasp “It’s worse. It’s so much worse.” Clicking the folder open for Taehyung to see the contents.

Taehyung gasps. “You mean…”

“The letters.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You kept those? You wrote one to Hoseok hyung ?”

“Shut up!” Jimin hisses, smacking his friend on the arm. But the damage is done. His folder, full of unsent love confessions he’s written over the past few years like some tragic Victorian heroine, has been out in the wild for a full forty seconds before he can yank it back.

Forty seconds is a lifetime on-campus Wi-Fi.

“Who was all in there again?” Taehyung asks, practically vibrating with chaos.

“You know who,” Jimin groans. “Hoseok. Namjoon. Jungkook. Maybe even Yoongi, I can’t remember if I deleted that one–” Dread settles deep in his gut. That one had metaphors. It had voice descriptions. It had actual feelings.

“Min Yoongi? The Min Yoongi? Underground music god Min Yoongi? You wrote poetry about Min Yoongi?”

Jimin slides down in his chair, face flaming. “I'm going to drop out.”

“No, no, this is amazing. This is art.”

Jimin glares at him. “This is social suicide .”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, probably with something unhelpful and dramatic, when a shadow falls over the table.

“Park Jimin?”

Jimin freezes.

He looks up slowly–and there he is.

Min Yoongi. Black hoodie. Headphones slung around his neck. Expression unreadable.

In his hand is a phone. On the screen? One of Jimin’s letters.

Jimin’s stomach drops clean through the floor.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “I got fan mail. From you. You good?”

Jimin’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“That’s–I didn’t–it wasn’t supposed to–”

Yoongi tilts his head slightly as if watching a deer freeze in traffic as Jimin self-destructs.

“It’s kind of dramatic,” Yoongi says. “And weirdly poetic. You write like you think we’re in the third act of an indie film.”

Taehyung snorts into his latte.

“I was eighteen!” Jimin blurts out. “It was a phase. I was hormonal and emotionally compromised and–”

“You called my voice ‘molten honey-dipped in smoke,’” Yoongi deadpans. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Jimin lets out a strangled noise and squeezes his eyes shut like maybe if he wills it hard enough, the earth will open up and swallow him whole. “Please forget you saw it. Pretend this never happened. In fact, pretend you don’t know I even exist.”

Yoongi shrugs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “A bit too late for that. I already read it twice.”

He turns to go, then pauses, glancing back with a smirk that’s almost unfair in its attractiveness.

“By the way,” he adds, “next time you write me a love letter, maybe don’t save it to a shared class drive. Rookie mistake.”

Jimin lets out a high-pitched noise and drops his head to the table with a dull thunk.

Taehyung reaches over and pats his back solemnly. “You’re so real for this.”

Jimin groans into the wood. He's never going to survive this semester. “I’m never showing my face on campus again.”

Later that afternoon, Yoongi texts him.

Yoongi: You free to talk?

Yoongi: Don’t worry. Not mad.

Yoongi: I just have an idea, and I want to run past you.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he agrees to meet him at one of the cafes on campus.

When Jimin arrives, Yoongi is already seated at a corner table by the window. He’s dressed the same as earlier, but now he’s added a baseball cap, sipping an iced americano and scrolling on his phone like he didn’t casually detonate Jimin’s life five hours ago.

Of course, he’s here first. Jimin hesitates at the entrance. For a second, he considers turning around. Because this? This is how rumors start.

Sitting across from Min Yoongi –campus legend, SoundCloud-famous producer, and brooding genius of the music department? It’s the kind of thing that ends up on @artsdepartmenttea before you even say hi.

Yoongi is a name people whisper when talking about serious talent. He’s produced half the student film scores in the department and performed at clubs downtown. There are rumors he’s been scouted by labels. And because he’s never publicly dated anyone, every move he makes becomes potential gossip. 

Jimin steels himself and walks over.

Jimin slides into the chair across from him and folds his hand in his lap. 

Yoongi looks up. “Hey.”

“Hey.” 

There’s a pause. Jimin glances around, noting a couple of curious stares from other students sitting around them.

“You said you had an idea?” Jimin reminds him.

Yoongi nods. “We need to get ahead of this.”

“Ahead of what?”

Yoongi turns his phone around. On the screen is @artdepartmenttea, the notorious student-run gossip account. The most recent post is a photo from earlier that day in the student union. Yoongi is standing over Jimin’s table, and the angle of the photo makes the interaction look more intimate than it was.

Jimin groans, cheeks flushing. “Of course, they photographed that.”

The caption reads: Min Yoongi and Park Jimin? 👀 Those who were close by are saying he smiled. SMILED. #yoonmin

Yoongi swipes up to show the comments. Soo-ah is already there, naturally.

@sooahtheoriginal: this is fake as hell. Y’all need better PR strategies🤡

“You’ve got a fan,” Yoongi says dryly.

“She thinks we’re staging this?’

“She thinks everything is staged. Last semester, I got paired with someone for a stage sound project, and she insisted that my partner was flirting with me on purpose to mess with my ‘creative flow.’ Said it was part of a rival rapper’s scheme to sabotage my genius before finals.”

Jimin blinks. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

“It gets worse if you ignore it. Trust me, I’ve dealt with her before. She’s relentless. Slightly unhinged.”

“So… what? We just wait for her to get distracted by something else?”

Yoongi leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “No. We give her what she wants. A story. One she can’t twist.”

Jimin tilts his head, brow furrowed. “What are you suggesting? That we fake date or something?”

“You want people to stop talking about your confessions. I want Soo-ah to back off. We pretend we’re together for a while. Keep things lowkey. Shut everyone up.”

Jimin hesitates before responding. He doesn’t hate the idea. It would solve several problems at once.

But… “Why me?” he asks quietly.

Yoongi shrugs. “You’re the one who wrote me fanfiction disguised as a tax file. Feels poetic.”

Jimin groans and hides his face in his hands. 

“Look,” Yoongi says, voice more serious now. “You’re not a drama magnet. You’re safe. And I trust you not to make this a bigger mess than it already is.”

That shouldn’t make Jimin’s heart flutter, but it does.

He exhales. “Okay. Fine. How does this work?”

“We post a couple of pictures. Be seen around campus together. Sit close in class. No kissing unless you really want to commit to the bit.”

Jimin’s face gets hot as he flushes. “Got it. Minimal physical contact.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Unless you insist.”

“I won’t.”

“Cool.”

They finish their drinks and leave the cafe together, just close enough for people to notice. Not holding hands–yet–but Yoongi walks a little slower than usual, keeping pace with Jimin. It feels strange like they’re already being watched. 

As they cross the quad, a figure on a nearby bench subtly raises their phone. Jimin catches the motion out of the corner of his eye–just in time to see the flash disappear and the phone tilt down, the screen glowing. He nudges Yoongi with his elbow.

“We’re being watched.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look surprised. “Let them. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Yoongi looks toward the student on the bench who quickly lowers the phone, pretending to scroll. Too late.

And just like that, the first real photo of their “relationship” is out in the wild. 

Jimin sighs. So it begins.

The photo hits campus social media by sunset.

Posted on @artsdepartmenttea with obnoxious sparkle emojis edited onto the photo and a caption that reads: Is it official? 👀 Yoongi and Jimin leaving Bean & Brew together this afternoon. Thoughts?

There are already a hundred comments and climbing. Jimin scrolls through them from his bed, half-buried in his blanket, Taehyung spooning him with his chin perched on his shoulder to read the comments.

“They’re calling you a sugar baby,” Taehyung says, delighted.

Jimin groans. “Why are  you enjoying this?”

“Because it’s like watching a drama where I know the lead actor. Now kiss!”

Jimin reaches over his shoulder to flick his forehead.

By morning, the gossip was everywhere. The post had been reshared on story feeds and group chats, and Jimin even overheard his classmates talking about it in his 9 AM stage movement class.

Over the next week, Jimin and Yoongi lean into the act.

They’re seen in the library, their chairs pulled closer than necessary as they huddle over a single laptop. Jimin leans closer to Yoongi’s screen as he murmurs low in Jimin’s ear, sending shivers down his spine, even though the words are about the file he is formatting. Yoongi offers one with a lazy, “Don’t get used to this”--as they listen to a demo track Jimin pretends to understand.

In the dining hall, Yoongi joins Jimin, having come from his late-morning class. Yoongi sets his kimchi fried rice down next to Jimin’s japchae and dumplings. Yoongi steals one of Jimin’s dumplings without asking, and Jimin responds by stabbing a piece of kimchi from Yoongi’s bowl and popping it into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

When Jimin opens the tiny plastic container of melon slices, he grabs it impulsively. Yoongi's eyes feel like he’s trying to figure Jimin out. “Didn’t peg you as a fruit guy.”

“What makes a fruit guy exactly?” Jimin questions, stabbing a chunk and popping it into his mouth. He tries to ignore how Yoongi is watching his lips as he chews.

Yoongi leans in slightly, eyes the container, then asks, “Can I have one?”

Jimin swallows, arching a brow. “You already stole a dumpling.”

“And you stole my kimchi.” Yoongi deadpans, holding eye contact.

“Fine,” Jimin sighs, pushing the container to Yoongi.

Yoongi shakes his head, sliding it back. “No. Feed it to me.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me.”

Jimin feels his ears go red as he glances around the hall, clearly too shy to do that. Yoongi stays firm and taps his open mouth.

With a deep breath, Jimin stabs a chunk of melon and holds it to Yoongi’s mouth. The other man leans forward, wrapping his lips around the fruit before pulling back and sliding it off the utensil. He holds Jimin’s gaze, chewing slowly.

He smirks. “Delicious.”

The flush that had just left his ears makes its way back. Jimin drops his gaze and reaches for another piece–only to pause when Yoongi suddenly reaches up and wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“You had a bit of juice,” Yoongi says nonchalantly.

Jimin stares at him, heart skipping a beat it has no business skipping. “Cool. Thanks.”

Yoongi’s smirk says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

They take walks after leaving classes. Not long ones just loops around the quad where the streetlamps paint gold on the pavement. Once, a student from their department jogs by and does a double-take so sharp she nearly runs into a trashcan. 

A few days later, they are sitting on one of the greens in the middle of campus, sharing a bento box while pretending not to notice people watching them. Yoongi casually rests his hand on Jimin’s thigh, idly stroking his thumb back and forth. Jimin scoots closer, and Yoongi shifts his hand from the thigh to wrap it around Jimin’s waist.

While studying at the library, Yoongi taps his foot against Jimin’s under the table, a silent cue he tells himself is about keeping up the act. But really, it's because Jimin keeps catching him off guard–laughing too freely at things Yoongi didn’t even realize were funny, resting his chin in his palm while he listens, eyes soft and wide like he actually means it. 

In class once, he tugged on Yoongi’s sleeve just to whisper something stupid about the professor’s shoes, and Yoongi laughed–really laughed–drawing some nearby classmate’s attention.

The gossip simmers more and more. Whispers follow them, students exchange glances whenever they enter a room together. Someone even catches a blurry photo of Jimin laughing, his head thrown back, and Yoongi watching him like he holds the sun. Another shows Yoongi walking beside Jimin with his face mask pulled down under his chin while Jimin carries both their coffees as Yoongi is straightening Jimin’s collar.

At a department showcase rehearsal, Taehyung dramatically sighs every time Yoongi so much as breathes in Jimin’s direction. “You two are wasting valuable fan service potential,” he huffs. “If you’re going to pretend to date, at least lean in.”

So they do. Slowly. Deliberately. Yoongi starts guiding Jimin by the small of his back. Jimin laughs more when Yoongi’s around and touches his arms when they talk. Late one night, as they walk side by side across campus, Jimin’s arm brushes Yoongi’s, and Yoongi casually threads their fingers together.

As the speculation continues on the @artsdepartmenttea account, more eyebrows rise. With each post, Soo-ah snidely comments, protesting the rumors.

And finally, she snaps and posts on her Instagram stories titled: Proof That This Relationship Is FAKE: A Thread.

The first photo is a screenshot from a student club’s promotional video showing Jimin and Yoongi awkwardly interacting on camera–Soo-ah highlights how staged their body language looks. The next is a blurry photo of them walking side by side with matching drinks–captioned: coordinated? Too perfect. Who gets the same drink? The third is a slowed-down clip from a video taken at a campus event where Jimin and Yoongi briefly hold eye contact onstage before abruptly looking away with this one captioned: tell me that wasn’t rehearsed. The next is a screenshot of an old tweet from Jimin “ crushes are stupid. i want fried chicken.” The last slide is a poll.

“Do you believe this relationship is real or FAKE?” With a circle emoji over the last word.

Jimin stops short as he walks into the green room before the showcase rehearsal, there, taped to the wall with glittery stickers, are printed screenshots of Soo-ah’s Instagram story from the day before. This time finished off with her signature, With Concern, Soo-ah .

It’s the kind of petty dedication that makes his skin crawl with secondhand embarrassment–and a pinch of horror. She printed it. She bedazzled it. Yoongi is right, she is completely unhinged.

“She is truly unwell,”  Jimin mutters with an eye roll. 

“Who’s unwell?” Yoongi asks from behind him. Jimin jumps, before stepping to the side to let Yoongi see what was left in the room.

“She’s on a warpath to prove we aren’t really dating.”

“I mean. Technically, she’s right,” Yoongi quips as he yanks the photos down to throw them away before following Jimin onto the stage to join the rest of the students filtering in.

Jimin side-eyes him. “Not helping.”

Yoongi just smirks, stepping closer with a lowered voice, “Want me to make it more convincing?”

Jimin is frozen to the spot as Yoongi snakes his hand around his waist. “What are you doing?”

Raising his other hand to stroke a thumb across the apple of Jimin’s cheek, voice still rumbling low between them, “Looking at you like I’m in love. You know. For authenticity, you know, ramping up the stakes.”

Jimin forgets how to breathe.

Someone wolf whistles and snaps Jimin out of it. He moves to take a step but is prevented from doing so by Yoongi’s arm tightening around his waist.

Yoongi casually looks to where the whistle came from and watches Taehyung casually stroll closer to them with a smirk of his own. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he sasses, “you were just getting to the good part.”

Yoongi snorts and steps back, removing the arm around his waist to wrap Jimin’s fingers in his. Jimin accepts the hold, clinging to it so as not to collapse into a puddle.

The next few days are a blur of escalation.

She “coincidentally” keeps popping up wherever the two of them are; sometimes, it’s after they arrive at a place and at other times before them. Jimin can’t figure out how she keeps doing it.

This time, she strolls into Bean & Brew, her eyes immediately zeroing in on their usual table by the window. Jimin, who’s facing the entrance, can feel her gaze sharpening like a blade. And it only gets worse when Yongi stands up, leans over, and presses a kiss to Jimin’s cheek before heading to the restroom.

Jimin sits there frozen, acutely aware of Soo-ah’s laser focus, bracing for her to storm to their table. She surprises him by pivoting on her heel and storming out the door.

Later that day, as Yoongi is walking Jimin to class, Soo-ah intercepts them right before they can get to the lecture hall. “Quick couple’s quiz,” she says, blocking their path. “What’s Yoongi’s go-to coffee order?”

Jimin blinks. Yoongi answers before he can stutter. “Black. No sugar.”

So-ah narrows her eyes. “Of course, you’d answer for him. Can’t risk the truth slipping out, huh?”

She turns her focus back to Jimin. “Fine. What’s his favorite color?”

Jimin blinks. “Uh. Black?”

“That’s everyone’s answer,” she says dismissively. “What’s the last movie he watched?”

Jimin hesitates, glancing at Yoongi helplessly.

“The Lighthouse,” Yoongi says flatly.

Soo-ah narrows her eyes. “Right. Because everyone just casually watches 100 minutes of psychological madness with their boyfriend.”

“I watched it alone. You know that couples don’t have to do everything together.”

“What’s Jimin’s go-to order at Bean & Brew?” She challenges Yoongi.

Without even a beat passing, “Gilgeori toast.”

Soo-ah raises an eyebrow. “How convenient that you know each other’s orders like  you rehearsed it in front of a mirror.”

Jimin leans into Yoongi and stage-whispers, “Should we start carrying flashcards?”

Yoongi snorts. “Then we can let her write the quiz. We’ll ace it.”

Soo-ah crosses her arms haughtily. “You think this is funny? You’re making a mockery of the people who actually care about you.”

Jimin scoffs. “Are you implying that I am not one of the people who cares about him…my boyfriend.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth smirks. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but sometimes, when people date, they learn things about each other. Wild, I know.”

She storms off. Jimin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s going to post about us again.”

Yoongi shrugs. “We’ll add it to our scrapbook.”

It’s not all chaos, though.

Somewhere between the drama, the tension begins to shift. Jimin starts noticing the way Yoongi’s hand lingers on his back just a beat too long. The way Yoongi looks at him when he thinks no one’s watching–soft, focused like Jimin is something he’s trying to memorize.

And Jimin is definitely watching. Too much.

Like now–at a group rehearsal. Yoongi’s seated at the piano, fingers moving with a casual brilliance, hair falling into his eyes. Jimin knows he’s not supposed to be staring. He’s supposed to be reviewing his notes or adjusting the blocking Taehyung asked for. But he can’t help it. There’s just something about him.

Taehyung nudges his shoulder. “You’re staring again.”

Jimin doesn’t even deny it.

“Shut up,”  he mutters.

But the words have no heat. His cheeks are warm. And when Yoongi glances up a moment later and catches his eye–really catches it–Jimin doesn’t look away.

Because fake or not, something about this is starting to feel dangerously real. And he’s not sure he wants to stop it.

***

Yoongi tells himself it’s all part of the deal.

The coffee runs, the shared headphones, the not-quite-touches that happen so often now, even when no one is watching—he’s stopped pretending they’re accidents. Every move they make is technically calculated. It’s strategy. Stagecraft. He’s been telling himself that since the first time, Jimin smiled at him in public like he meant it.

Lately, however, Yoongi has found himself watching Jimin when he should be focused on class. On the music. On literally anything else. He notices the way Jimin tugs his sleeves over his fingers when he’s cold. The way he frowns when concentrating, lips pursed, brow furrowed. The way he touches Yoongi’s arm mid-sentence without realizing it–and how Yoongi leans into it instead of away.

At rehearsal, Jimin throws his head back in laughter and falls into Taehyung, eyes scrunched and closed with joy. The sound is bright and unguarded and far too real. And Yoongi doesn’t mean to stare, but he does–hands paused over the keys, breath stuck somewhere in his chest.

Jimin doesn’t notice.

But Taehyung does. He quirks an eyebrow in Yoongi’s direction and smirks like he’s just confirmed something he suspected.

Yoongi exhales slowly and looks back at the keys.

He’s in trouble.

Because fake or not, this is starting to feel real. And he knows exactly when it stopped being part of the plan.

***

It comes to a head one night when they’re walking home from rehearsal, both a little buzzed from energy drinks and adrenaline, the air between them feeling lighter than usual.

Jimin rocks into Yoongi’s shoulder. “You ever get tired of pretending?”

Yoongi glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “You mean pretending to like you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes but smiles. “I mean all of it. The act. The rumors. Being ‘on’ all the time.”

Yoongi remains quiet for a beat. “It’s not really pretending anymore, is it?”

Jimin stops walking. Just–stops.

Yoongi slows to a stop when he notices and turns back to face the younger man. As they stand under the soft glow of the streetlamp, the silence stretches between them and refills with the tension that had dissipated earlier, returning. 

Jimin speaks first, voice quieter now. “What do you mean by that?”

Yoongi looks at him like he’s balancing something fragile in his chest. “I don’t know. I just.. don’t feel like I’m faking it when I’m with you.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. It feels like either of them could lean in and change everything. 

Yoongi shifts a step back, breaking the moment. “We should get you home. It’s cold.”

Jimin doesn’t move for a moment longer. Then he nods and falls into step beside him. Neither of them says anything the rest of the way. But the silence hums louder than words.

After that night, something shifts.

The touches linger longer. The eye contact is more intense. The physical space between them shrinks more and more. Every silence feels loaded.

Jimin starts noticing things he shouldn’t. The way Yoongi tongues at the inside of his cheek when he’s deep in thought. The way his eyes flick down to Jimin’s mouth before quickly looking away. The way his laughter sounds when it’s only for Jimin–quiet, breathy, a little private.

Yoongi, who used to keep a careful distance, unless needed for the ruse, now lets their shoulders frequently brush when they sit together. His fingers graze Jimin’s when he passes a pen, a highlighter, a cup–small, repeated contacts that feel anything but accidental.

Taehyung notices first; of course, he does.

During a late-night hang in the dorm lounge, Jimin trails off mid-sentence, right in the middle of telling Taehyung, “It’s not a big deal, I just think he…”

His eyes are fixed on Yoongi who is lying adjacent to his own lounger. Yoongi’s half-asleep on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, the other draped lazily over the armrest–just close enough to touch if Jimin stretched his fingers just a little.

Taehyung follows his gaze, then looks back at Jimin with raised brows and a smirk before clearing his throat gently. The sound is just loud enough to snap Jimin’s attention back to his friend.

Taehyung doesn’t say it out loud, but the message is clear, you’re already in too deep.

Yoongi, for his part, starts showing up with coffee just the way Jimin likes it. Shares playlists without any preface. Offers Jimin his hoodie when the lecture hall is a bit too cold. He always acts like it’s nothing, but his gaze lingers longer now–like he’s waiting for something.

It feels like dating. Looks like dating.

But neither of them says it out loud.

It’s not real. But it feels like it wants to be.

And that–somehow–is worse.

***

The final project that they worked on all term comes and goes. Walking into the off-campus apartment that is hosting the wrap is like pushing against a wall of sound. The apartment is bursting at the seams with people, lights strung up across the ceiling, and music vibrating the floorboards.

Jimin finds himself tucked against the kitchen counter with a solo cup in hand, scanning the crowd until his eyes land, inevitably, on Yoongi.

He’s laughing at the moment at something Namjoon is saying, relaxed in a way Jimin doesn’t get to see often. His hoodie is half-zipped over a black tee, hair tousled, drink in hand. Jimin tears his gaze away as Taehyung sidles up beside him. 

“You’ve got it bad,” Taehyung teases.

“I’m fine.” Jimin shakes his head and sips at his drink, something vaguely citrusy.

“You’re staring at him like you’re in a slow burn in a K-Drama.”

Jimin opens his mouth to argue, but then someone slides up to Yoongi–someone Jimin vaguely recognizes from their department. She leans in to say something, fingers brushing Yoongi’s arm for a bit too long… Yoongi doesn’t flinch away.

Jealousy claws up Jimin’s spine before he can reason it down. 

A hand wraps around his wrist.

“Come dance,” Taehyung says, reading the situation with ease.

“It is way too cramped in here for that.”

“Let’s do it anyway.”

They sway close together through two songs, successfully distracting Jimin from the green-eyed monster that he was turning into. He’s laughing at Taehyung's poorly executed body rolls in the tight space when someone taps on his shoulder.

He turns, and it’s Yoongi.

“Mind if I steal him?” 

Taehyung straightens and backs away. “He’s all yours.”

Yoongi leads Jimin away from the crowd, into the slightly quieter hallway. The bass still thumps, filtering in under the flow of lyrics.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yoongi looks at him for a moment too long.

“What?” Jimin asks.

Yoongi leans a shoulder against the wall. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not.”

Jimin swallows; damn Yoongi for being so damn perceptible. “I didn’t like seeing her touch you.”

Yoongi blinks. Once. Twice.

“Is that jealousy?” he asks, voice somewhere between teasing and serious.

“Maybe,” Jimin admits, because there’s no point in lying now.  “Is that a problem?”

Yoongi’s smile slowly spreads across his face, “No. It’s not.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Do you want to kiss me, or is that still off the script?”

Jimin laughs, nervously, the rules of their arrangement far in the past. “What if I do?”

Yoongi edges closer. “Then maybe you should.”

Jimin doesn’t hesitate this time. He leans in, breath catching just before their lips meet in their first kiss. 

It’s so warm and real.

Yoongi kisses him back without pause, one hand curling around Jimin’s trim waist, the other cupping his nape. It’s not practice. It’s not pretend. It’s everything they weren’t supposed to do, but everything they’ve been building toward.

When they finally break apart, Jimin’s eyes are glassy, cheeks are flushed, and lips plumper than before.

“So,” Yoongi breathes into the space, his forehead against Jimin’s. “How much of this are we still faking?”

Jimin exhales. “I think we passed that exit about five miles ago.”

Yoongi full-on grins. “Good.”

They leave the party.

Instead, they end up at a nearby convenience store two blocks away, half-drunk on adrenaline and the kiss, neither of them pretending it was for show. Jimin carries the hand basket while Yoongi throws in things they absolutely don't need - Choco Pies,  two banana milks, a few gimbap rolls, ramen, tteokbokki, kimchi, and finishes off with a variety of chocolates and candies. 

Jimin eyes everything Yoongi is tossing in the cart and quips, "What? Are we twelve?”

Yoongi shrugs, "If we were, I'd be writing your name all over the cover of my notebook.” Sending Jimin's heart fluttering in a way he can't joke past.

Leaving the store, they head back to Yoongi’s apartment in a comfortable silence, Yoongi insisted on carrying the few bags in one hand so his other could be filled with Jimin's.

Once at Yoongi’s apartment, they settle on the living room floor, the floor in front of them littered with their haul. A movie is playing on the huge screen mounted to the wall, but neither are paying attention to it. They sit close enough for their knees to brush but that's the only contact, for now. Their voices are soft and low as they talk, avoiding discussing the elephant in the room.

Taking a gimbap, Yoongi unwraps the plastic and hands it to Jimin.

Jimin takes it with a soft smile playing across his lips. "This is weird, right?”

Glancing up from unwrapping his own snack, Yoongi replies, "What is?”

"This. Us. Starting like... that.” Jimin clarifies. " Letters. Fake dating. Everyone watching our every move.”

Yoongi leans back on his hands. "Yeah. Not your typical love story.”

Jimin chews on his lip, "Do you regret it?” 

"No," Yoongi insists with no hesitation, "You?”

Shaking his head, Jimin giggles. "I think this is the first time something ridiculous has actually worked out for me.”

With a soft smile, Yoongi assures the younger, "You could never be ridiculous.”

"I am. You just didn't know it yet.”

"I had a suspicion," Yoongi teases.

Silence fills the void as the movie finishes, and the screen darkens. Yoongi gets up to clear the trash, and while he's gone, Jimin lies down, his head pillowed on the arms folded under his head.

Yoongi returns, lying next to him, mirroring his pose. "So what now?”

"I think we stop pretending.”

Yoongi nods, having reached the same conclusion.

"We should probably tell people.”

Yoongi shifts onto his side, leaning over Jimin. "Oh, I think they'll figure it out.”

Jimin laughs, eyes scrunching into half-moons. "Taehyung is going to be insufferable.”

"He already is.”

They smile at each other. This time, it's not because they're trying to sell something. For once, nothing about this is an act.

Holding Jimin's gaze, Yoongi slowly lowers his face until their lips are brushing. Soft caresses turn heated, Jimin finding his lips parting for Yoongi’s tongue to explore further. The moment their tongues touch, it's like an ignition has started. Yoongi collapses on Jimin as Jimin's fingers tangle in the back of his hair. 

They don't stay there long. Soon, small fingers are roaming over broad shoulders, trailing over a firm back until they can fiddle with the hem of Yoongi’s top.

Pulling away with a gasp, Jimin insists, "Off.”

Kneeling up, Yoongi quickly discards the fabric. He leans back down to cup Jimin's face. "You sure?”

Gripping Yoongi's wrists, he nods. "Want you. I have for a while.”

Yoongi kisses him hard before leaning back up to work the younger's shirt over his head. Both pause, soaking each other in. The beat doesn't pause for long before Jimin surges up and slots their lips together again.

"Bed.”

"Bed.”

They scramble off of the floor before crashing together again. This time, the kisses are sloppy but no less enjoyable. The remaining clothes are discarded in a trail to the room. By the time they collapse on the bed, it's just skin on skin. Gasps interrupt moans as they explore each other desperately. 

It's not until both of their cocks are straining between them does Yoongi rear up and take Jimin in. 

"Fuck you're so beautiful. You know that, right?” Yoongi idly strokes his hands up Jimin's sides.

Lips swollen and cheeks flushed, Jimin shakes his head. “Say it again.”

Leaning down again, Yoongi grazes his lips on the shell of Jimin's ear. "You're beautiful, Jimin. Gorgeous when you smile. Stunning when you beg.” 

Jimin arches a brow. "I'm not begging.” he teases.

"Oh?” Yoongi smirks, " Let's fix that.”

He kisses his way down-throat, chest, ribs- leaving open-mouthed warmth in his wake. Jimin gasps when Yoongi mouths at his hip bone, his fingers sliding between his thighs to part them gently. He takes his time. Touching. Tasting. Worshipping.

By the time he's slicking up his fingers and pressing in, Jimin is already trembling, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other reaching blindly for Yoongi. 

"Breathe," Yoongi whispers, pressing a kiss to Jimin's knee as he works him open. "You're doing so well.”

"More," Jimin begs. To that, Yoongi adds another, scissoring him open. 

Keening, Jimin begs again. "More.”

Yoongi smirks and slips in a third.

Jimin's hand smacks the bed, he lifts his head, gaze murderous.  "More.” 

Leaving a stinging kiss to his thigh, Yoongi straightens. He slips his fingers from Jimin's clenching hole, and reaches for the condom. "Told you, you look stunning begging.“

Before Jimin can react, Yoongi settles between his spread thighs. Yoongi strokes his hands up and down Jimin's hips. "You good?”

Nodding quickly, Jimin slides his legs around Yoongi’s waist. "Need you. Now.”

The first push leaves them both gasping.

Yoongi goes slow–achingly slow–kissing Jimin through it, murmuring praise between shallow thrusts until he's fully seated inside the younger man.

"So tight. So good. You feel unreal, baby.”

Jimin whines, clinging to his shoulders. "Move, Yoongi, please–”

Yoongi obliges.

They move together, rhythm building with every rock of hips and hitch of breath. Jimin's mouth falls open with every deep thrust, every drag of friction that hits just right. Yoongi leans down, slotting their lips together. His tongue runs along the roof of Jimin's mouth, teasingly swallowing every breath of sound his lover makes. 

Jimin's nails bite into the skin of Yoongi's shoulders as the other slips his hand between them to stroke him. It's too much, yet not enough. Perfect.

Jimin comes with a breathless cry that has him clinging to Yoongi, back arching off the bed, each pulse of pleasure through him causes thick ropes of white to cover his chest, some even reaching the base of his neck.

Jimin's pulsing clenches has Yoongi following not long after. His hips stutter as he buries his face in Jimin's shoulder.

They stay tangled, catching their breath, limbs heavy with afterglow.

With a kiss to his cheek, Yoongi asks, "You okay?”

Jimin hums, eyes fluttering closed. "Yeah. You?”

Jimin's breath catches as he feels his lover lift off him and carefully pull out.  Yoongi discards the condom, then returns to clean Jimin with a warm cloth. He cleans Jimin gently, pressing kisses in the trail of the wet warmth before pressing the last kiss to Jimin's swollen lips.

Tossing the rag, Yoongi climbs back into bed, curling around Jimin as he slides the duvet over their nakedness.

"You didn't just ruin me, did you?” Jimin asks sleepily. "Because I'm kind of in love with you.”

Yoongi breathes out a laugh– quiet, shaky. 

"I was in love with you when you sent me that ridiculous love letter.”

 Jimin quickly rolls to face Yoongi. "Really?”

"Yeah," Yoongi breathes, cupping Jimin's hands in his. "I just didn't know it yet.”

A soft smile playing on his lips, Jimin leans in to seal their lips together. The kiss– soft and slow, certain.

This time not pretend. And it definitely never was.

Epilogue- A few weeks later.

It starts with an official soft launch.

Yoongi posts a picture to his seldom used Instagram. Just a photo of Jimin wearing his infamous black hoodie, curled up in a library chair, his laptop perched on his lap, and a bag of gummy bears next to him. No caption. Just a quiet, intimate snapshot of his view.

Jimin comments with a single heart emoji. The performing arts department loses their mind, flooding the post with effusive comments of support.

The next day, Taehyung prints it, frames it, and hangs it on their dorm room wall. "I want to remember the day the performance ended and the romance began.” Jimin throws a pillow at him.

The gossip slows, then shifts. A few doubters hang on, but even @artsdepartmenttea posts a meme: "The YoonMin Slowburn was Worth It.”

And as for Soo-ah?

She takes the loss poorly at first–doubling down with a last-ditch theory that Jimin and Yoongi staged a relationship so convincing that it had to be fake. But even her followers grew tired of her narrative. By midterms, she's moved on to accusing a freshman couple of being "emotionally manipulative influencers.”

Yoongi and Jimin still see her around campus, but thankfully she walks past and says nothing. Jimin is always filled with relief to have escaped the drama. Yoongi just silently supports with a squeeze of his hand.

Their relationship doesn't need a statement. They walk to class together, hands linked. Share coffee and meals around campus. Study together in the library where Yoongi takes every opportunity to rest his head on Jimin's shoulder.

Sometimes there are still whispers. Sometimes there are none.

But Jimin doesn't care anymore.

He writes one more letter. A real one this time. Not for the internet. Not to be leaked. Just folded neatly and slipped into Yoongi's hoodie pocket one rainy morning.

Yoongi,

If someone had told me fake dating you would end with me actually falling for you. I would have laughed… and then done it anyway.

You’re the worst at texting back, terrible at sharing food, and somehow still my favorite person.

If this is what pretending turned into, I don't ever want it to stop.

Consider this the final letter, unless you want more. (you will)

♡-jimin 

Yoongi doesn't respond right away. Instead, he kisses Jimin hard before turning it soft and slow, lingering.

That letter stays folded in Yoongi's wallet.

[moonleeai]

Be With You | ch 17

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: cursing, mostly just a lot of fluff and happiness, explicit content: oral sex (male and female receiving), hair pulling, mouth fucking, edging, clit and nipple play, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (be careful), praising, creampie, they make love

☆word count: 8.6k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: last one :( thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, July 10th 

You wake up with the morning sun, its gentle caress on your features bringing you back to reality from the land of dreams. You don’t open your eyes just yet though, the comfortable weight of San’s arm on your stomach keeping you tethered to grogginess. 

It’s early anyway, if the sun is entering his room at an angle that allows it to shine in your face.

San is breathing deeply behind you, still sound asleep, and you snuggle your face in the soft blanket that’s wrapped around you, hoping to fall back asleep.

Last night was fun. You had dinner with San’s mother as she came to visit her son for his birthday, and she gave him a plushie that she claimed was from his collection back home. San thanked her with a blush, and you tucked that information in the back of your mind.

Of course, San has a plushie collection.

San’s arm tightens around you in his sleep, and he lets out a soft sigh that curls your lips upwards. And maybe it’s the weight of his arm on you, or the warmth of his body. Maybe it’s his soft breathing, but you do manage to fall back asleep, waking up again later when he shifts and turns on his back.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep, as you peek behind you.

“What are you doing?” you ask as you yawn, pulling Mr Snake tighter against your chest.

Because of course you always sleep with the plushie in your arms.

“I have to pee,” he admits. “But I’ll be right back.”

You whine as he moves and he lets out a small laugh that only makes you smile. “Happy birthday, Sannie.”

He’s already up, and he bends down to peck your forehead. “Thank you, princess.”

And then he’s leaving his room, stretching as he walks through the walk-in closet to access the bathroom. It doesn’t take long for him to be back, and you turn to face him as he lies down next to you, facing you too.

“You’re so old now,” you tease.

He narrows his gaze even though he chuckles. “Careful, we’ll be the same age soon.”

Indeed, your birthday is next month.

“But for now I get to call you an old man.”

He rolls his eyes, and then moves closer to pull you in his embrace. You laugh as your forehead ends up pressed against his pecs, and he only holds you tighter. “Alright then,” he grumbles. “I guess I’m old.”

Satisfied, you nod, and then you sigh again as sleep refuses to fully leave you. But then, thoughts about the day that’s to come awaken you thoroughly, and you sit up so fast you almost bump San’s nose on the way up.

“What?” he asks, startled.

“It’s your birthday!” you excitedly say.

“Yes, we’ve already established that.” 

You squeal, and then you bend down, pecking his face repeatedly as he just starts laughing. It’s more of a giggle, and it’s adorable and makes your heart so full of love for him you think you’re about to burst.

You haven’t told each other the three little words yet. San came close once, or at least you think he did, but still, the words haven’t been said yet. Not because you don’t feel them - you’ve been feeling them for a long time now - but only because you wanted the perfect occasion to tell him. And you’ve prepared the perfect occasion now, even though he doesn’t know it yet.

But you still have to wait until tomorrow as today is reserved to hanging out with your friends and celebrating all together. Indeed, you’re going to spend the afternoon in a park on the riverside, where the wind should hopefully help with chasing the heat of the day away. Indeed, it’s supposed to be incredibly warm today, with lightning storms at the peak of the afternoon, but they never really last long at this time of the year.

“Truce, truce!” San yells as you just keep pecking his face. 

His cheeks are flushed red when you pull away. You’re now straddling his lap, and you sit back on him, putting your weight on his dick. His reaction is immediate - he reaches for your waist, holding you in place, and lust seeps into his gaze.

The honeymoon phase is strong between you. It’s been even more intense since you’ve decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend at the beginning of May, after that dinner with his father.

About that, you’ve met up for dinner with his father two times since then, each time going better than the last. You saw him last weekend, and San was genuinely happy the whole time, not even once making a comment about his father leaving. You know he hasn’t forgiven the man, and you don’t think he ever will, but you can tell that those dinners have been healing something in him. And his father has been trying so hard to be present for San, texting him more often - all you can hope for is that it’ll last.

You zero back in on the present, your eyes skimming San’s features as he looks up at you. He wets his lips, and you glance at that too, right before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.

You’re not big on wet kisses in the morning - morning breath is just not it - and so the kiss doesn’t deepen too much, your tongues not reaching for each other like they usually instinctively do. It’s more lips, and you love it that way too, if only because San’s lips are always so soft.

But you have a goal in mind for the birthday boy, and it’s not to kiss him. No, you want to make him feel good, want him to start his day in the best way possible, so you leave his mouth to find his neck. He turns his head to the side to give you better access, and you kiss down the soft skin of his neck, nipping at the spot that connects his shoulder to his neck. He lets out a barely audible sound that makes your insides grow warm, and so you keep travelling down his body, kissing every inch of skin until you reach the band of his boxers.

“Can I take these off?” you ask.

San is looking down at you and he nods, wetting his lips. “What are you up to?” he asks.

“Just want to treat the birthday boy good, is that wrong?”

“Nope.” He raises his hips to help you remove his boxers, and you quickly slide them down his legs, removing them entirely to throw them on the floor.

San watches you carefully as you look at his dick. He’s still relatively soft, but you know that will change in no time.

“Then, be nice for me, will you?” you tell him, tilting your head to the side like you’re a predator sizing your prey.

He doesn’t have time to answer. Indeed, you’re already cupping his balls, and he hisses at the contact, a muscle feathering under the skin of his jaw at the sensitivity. He curses under his breath, but you’re already leaning forward, pressing a kiss on his hip next to his dick.

“Careful with the balls,” he reminds you.

You release the pressure, not wanting to hurt him, and your tongue darts out to tease his dick. “I didn’t say you could talk.”

His gaze widens, and you take him in your mouth, sucking lightly. His teeth dig in his lower lip, and then you’re slowly taking all of him in, swallowing around him. The fact that he’s still relatively soft makes it easier, and your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the action, on running your tongue on the underside of his dick as you slowly pull out.

A string of spit hangs between his tip and your mouth, and it breaks as you start jerking him off, keeping that slow rhythm you’ve settled on for now. San lets you do it, eyes closed as he enjoys the blowjob, his head resting on his pillow in a way that makes his jaw even sharper than it usually is.

You reach up, nails dragging on his abs, and he immediately looks down at you. Your gazes connect as you take him in your mouth again, swirling your tongue around his tip before teasing his slit. And then you go down again, this time choking a little as he’s already harder.

You start moving up and down, keeping that slow rhythm that will drive him crazy in no time, and you stroke his dick with your hand in time with the motions of your head, making sure to drool on him so that you can use it as natural lube. It works, and San’s breathing grows heavier, louder, yet he keeps the groans that make you go insane to himself, so you keep the slow pace.

San curses lowly, and one of his hands finds the back of your head, as if he’ll try to push you down on him. But he doesn’t, just follows you, though he’s soon gripping at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail.

“You’re being a tease, mmh?” he asks as he pulls on your hair.

You pull away from his dick, looking at him innocently. “Me? I would never.”

“Fucking brat,” he says, his eyes dark. “There’s something I want to try.”

He sits up while you sit back on your heels, wiping the spit on your chin with the back of your hand. “What do you want to try?” 

He looks at the side of the bed, then chuckles awkwardly. “Feel free to say no. But… what if you hang your head from the bed?”

You try to picture it in your mind, though you’re not quite sure how it would work. “Huh?”

San gets up, his now-hard dick bouncing with the motion. One of his hands wraps around himself, and he strokes twice as you move to the side of the bed.

“Lie on your back,” San indicates. You do, though your head is still on the bed. “Now, if you move closer to me a little…”

He stops talking as you do so, and a few seconds later, your head is hanging from the bed.

“Mmh, my bed is a little low for this,” he pensively says, yet he manages to bend his knees slightly, and then his dick is right in your face.

Unable to resist, you tease him with your tongue and San chuckles, before tapping your lips with the tip of his dick.

“Now, I can fuck your mouth like this,” he says. “If that’s okay with you?”

He’s waiting for your consent, and you wonder how long he’s actually been wanting to do this. Because just having you in this position has gotten him rock hard, his balls tight like he’s already close to coming.

“You want it?” you ask.

He pulls away enough so that he can meet your gaze. “I just think it’d be really fucking hot. But I’ve never done this, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You love him. You fucking love him so much and, if he wants to try, then you’ll try with him.

“I’ll tap your leg if it hurts,” you reassure him. “I want to try, too.”

He wets his lips, chest going up in a sharp inhale of breath, and then he’s bringing his dick back to your mouth, pressing it on your lips. You open wide for him, and he slowly pushes in, his tip rubbing on your tongue in the most decadent way. He stops with just his tip in, and then pulls out just as slow, before pushing back in.

He’s trying to be gentle. That much is clear to you, and it turns you on to no end. So, without hesitating, you bring your hand between your legs - you’ve never been so happy about choosing to sleep naked - parting your lips to see that you’re already soaked wet.

“Fuck,” San curses as you start rubbing circles on your clit, and you moan as he pushes in, so deep you feel him in your throat.

You keep the gag reflex in, and it’s strangely easier in this position. San notices it, too, because he starts going faster, his restraint slowly falling out the window. And then he’s truly fucking your mouth, and it’s so hot that you’re a moaning mess around him. It has to feel good - the sounds that he makes are pornographic, sounds you commit to memory for when you’re apart from him and need a reminder. 

He pulls out occasionally, letting you breathe a little, but it’s clear to you that he’s chasing his high, and that he’s going to get to it soon. Indeed, his motions are sloppier now, less focused, and his groans have turned into moans.

“Where should I come?” he asks as he pulls out once more, and you immediately reach for his dick, jerking him off fast.

“Wherever you want,” you answer, your voice raucous from getting your throat fucked.

You’ve barely had time to finish your sentence that he’s already coming, spurts of his seed falling on your breasts and on your stomach. Some even fall on your cheek, yet you don’t stop jerking him off, milking his orgasm from him as he shakes over you.

Once it’s clear to you that he’s done coming, you let go of his dick, licking your fingers clean. You then pick up his cum on your cheek, licking that clean, too, and San looks down at you, his eyes wide.

“That was so fucking hot,” he lets out. “Holy shit.”

You chuckle. “It really was.”

“Let me wipe you clean, and then I want you to come all over my face.”

His words barely register - he’s already running to the bathroom, and he comes back with a wet hand cloth that he uses to clean your breasts and stomach, and then he’s lying down on the bed next to you.

“Climb on,” he tells you.

You laugh at his eagerness, but you’re quick to obey, straddling his face.

What a way to start the day indeed.

*****

The park is crowded, yet not as much as you imagined it would be on a summer day. It makes sense - with the lightning storm coming later, most people have chosen to do activities inside. But not you and your friends, and especially not San.

You’ve been watching some of your friends playing frisbee while you’re eating an ice cream cone you got from the vendor by the river. Sydney is next to you, reading a book, and Taeri, Wooyoung’s new girlfriend, has also elected to hang out with the two of you.

She’s nice. You don’t get along with her as well as you did with Lyla, but you haven’t spoken to the latter since she and Jongho broke up last month, and you have the feeling that you likely won’t speak to her again.

Not when they broke up because Lyla cheated on Jongho with her ex.

You were appalled when Yeosang told you about it two weeks ago while you were hanging out on the rooftop of his and Wooyoung’s building. The sun was setting, the atmosphere more that of a party than that of somber confessions, but the alcohol had loosened Yeosang’s tongue, and he told you all about the breakup.

It made sense, then, that Jongho didn’t speak to anyone for a few weeks. The news were devastating to him, and though he’s come along today in honor of San’s birthday, you’ve noticed the shadows in his eyes.

All you can hope for is that today helps him, too. He deserves it.

“It is so humid,” Taeri lets out, and you glance at her to see that she’s got a small portable fan directed towards her face, her eyes closed as she enjoys the wind that it projects on her. “I feel like the storm will be wild.”

“It’ll probably be,” Sydney agrees. “But we’ll be fine, we reserved the second floor of a café nearby.”

Taeri’s eyes shoot open as she looks in Sydney’s direction. “No way.”

“Yeah,” you interject. “I figured it’d be better to be prepared, and Seonghwa knows the owner from working there last year. It was easy to reserve.”

“That’s great!”

The conversation naturally dies as she leans back against the tree behind her. Indeed, you’re sitting in the shade of a large tree, and the leaves allow some sun rays to pass, creating a dappled carpet on the grass you’re lounging on.

Wooyoung cheers loudly from where they’ve been throwing the frisbee around, and you look in his direction, noticing San, Yeosang and Jongho all dapping up. The other team, composed of your brother, Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Mingi - he’s visiting for the week - appears to be crestfallen, the loss visible on all of their features. You laugh at the sight, though they all cheer up the second San says they should rearrange the teams.

And then they’re back to playing, and you take a long sip of the water bottle you brought along with you, making a mental note to make sure that San drinks a bunch once he stops playing so that he doesn’t get dehydrated.

It’d be easy to get dehydrated in this heat after all.

The boys play for a while longer, and clouds have started gathering in the sky by the time they finish, hinting at the storm that’s to come. They all walk back towards you and the girls, and San plops down on the ground next to you, grabbing the water bottle you hand him.

You’re not surprised that he chugs it in one go, and he takes a deep breath when he’s done, meeting your gaze.

“I won all my games,” he says with a proud smile, and you reach to his forehead to push back a strand of hair that stuck to his sweat.

“Look at you.”

He leans closer, a smirk growing on his lips. “I think it’s because the day started out so well,” he teases. “Can’t get bad after that.”

You snort, pushing him playfully, though you don’t reply anything to that.

Mostly because you agree with him, but also because thinking about it too much will make you want to start again where you left off, and that won’t be possible for a while.

Once the boys have all had their shares of water, emptying most water bottles that you brought with you, you decide to head to the coffee shop. Indeed, the sky has gotten even greyer, and you all know it’s just a matter of time before it opens up and hell falls on your group. 

Thankfully, you make it to the coffee shop just in time, and the loud splatter of the rainfall creates a serene ambiance as you settle around the second floor, scattering around the different tables here.

The coffee shop is pretty. With a lot of plants, and a view of the inner yard and the trees in it, and you admire them as the rain showers endlessly, the low rumble of thunder in the distance an indication that the storm will hit soon.

But it doesn’t matter. Not when you’re inside, and the owner brings up some dessert for you all before taking your order for your drinks. You choose a matcha, and San gets his usual iced Americano, and then the owner goes around the group, leaving your side.

“This is nice,” San says, and he picks up a small bite-sized cake that he immediately eats. “It’s much better than the box cake I have at home.”

You chuckle. “Do you mean that one you almost fully ate yesterday?”

“It doesn’t count, it’s my birthday,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

You laugh, grabbing a paper napkin to clean the frosting that stains the corner of his mouth. “You’re the one that complained you were going to lose your abs yesterday.”

He glares at you, right as Wooyoung plops down in the chair next to you, Taeri behind him. She sits next to him, and she offers you a small smile as you glance her way.

“Y’all got the best desserts, apparently,” Wooyoung says as he also grabs a bite-sized cake. “At least according to Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa is currently busy chatting with Hongjoong at the table overlooking the inner yard, and they look lost in their own little world. You assume Wooyoung and Taeri were with them before though, as there are empty chairs that clearly don’t belong to the table next to it.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong… They still haven’t made their relationship official, though everyone in the friend group kind of knows about them. They’re being less and less subtle as time passes, and you can tell it’s just a matter of time before they do make it official.

It’s not like they really need it, though. They’ve both been visibly happy, and that’s the only thing that matters in the end.

“Can I have one?” Taeri politely asks San.

He snorts. “You don’t have to ask me, just grab some.”

She nods with a blush - like she often does around everyone that isn’t Wooyoung, you and Sydney - and she does grab a bite, her eyes widening in appreciation.

You might be harsh with her. She’s just a shy girl, someone you wouldn’t expect to be with a guy like Wooyoung, but then again maybe Wooyoung will help her get out of her shell a little. It’s already started to work, as she talks to you and Sydney more, but you reckon she still has a long way to go before she’s comfortable in the friend group.

The lightning storm hits about fifteen minutes later, the rain growing even heavier outside, and it’s loud enough to make you all have to talk louder to hear each other. It doesn’t deter anyone though, the excitement and delightful relaxation in the café lingering all through the storm.

You like spending time with all of your friends like this. It’s so rare that you manage to get a full day with everyone like this - especially on a Thursday - yet you managed to make it work, and you know you’ll keep those memories close to your heart when you’ll look back on this day in the future.

Indeed, the fun lingers around for quite a while, even after the rain stops. You all go back outside, splitting the bill for the check between everyone - except San, obviously. Though puddles of water greet you the second you step outside, the humidity has fallen, making the heat much more bearable.

It helps that the sun is back as the afternoon ends, slowly drying the city around you. You take to walking around, stopping at different shops to buy some clothes and other items, and you end up getting a plush toy for San even though you already gave him a gift yesterday night, when his mother was over. It’s a bracelet, and he’s been wearing it proudly all day, showing it off to his friends like it’s the most precious thing he owns.

You love him so fucking much.

“I got you this,” you tell San as you walk out of the shop you and Sydney went in. 

San’s gaze falls on the round seal in your hands, and he bursts out laughing. “You did not have to get me anything.”

You proudly hand him the plushie, and he hugs it to his chest, gaze widening. “I know!” you tell him.

“This shit is fluffier than I thought it would be.”

You nod. “It’s a perfect cuddle buddy for when you miss me.”

San laughs again, leaning down to press a quick peck on your lips. “Thank you, princess.”

Your eyes shine as you meet his, and he looks so happy, so beautiful like this.

So… yours.

“Come on, lovebirds, we’re not going to watch you give googly eyes to each other all evening,” Wooyoung says from just a little further down the street, and you snort as you glance his way to see him with his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Respectfully fuck off,” you throw his way.

He just winks at you, pulling Taeri closer to kiss her temple. “Nah.”

And then they’re walking away, and you follow behind him. Sydney is in front with Yunho and Yeosang, and you can’t see the rest of the group from where you are. It doesn’t matter - you’ve been slowly heading towards a popular Korean barbecue that’s just a couple of streets over, and you know everyone will make it there.

Or at least everyone that wants to be there, which you assume is everyone.

And you’re right. You arrive at the Korean barbecue all of ten minutes later, putting your names in on the waiting list, and then you go wait in a small park nearby, playing in the playground that’s currently empty of kids considering the sun is slowly sinking towards the horizon.

You end up sitting on the swings with Sydney and your brother, while they bicker about something that seems to be entirely inconsequential, yet the epitome of their life.

But when is it not when it comes to them? They already sound like an old married couple, and Yunho even told you last week that he sees himself marrying Sydney in the next few years. He’s even asked you to try and figure out what kind of ring she’d like, and you told him that, as her boyfriend, he should be the one to figure that out.

Though, obviously, you already know what she wants, but you’re not going to make your brother’s life easier. Where would be the fun in that?

“What’s Mingi doing?” Sydney asks suddenly, stopping the bickering, and you look around, only to find Mingi on the phone by a park bench, a couple of meters away from everyone.

“On the phone with his mom,” Yunho replies easily.

“Cute,” you let out, and memories of his mother and her sweet smile come to your mind. “How has she been?”

“Good, I presume,” Yunho says. “Mingi didn’t say anything, so I assume she’s good.”

“You’re so useless.”

His head whips your way. “Fuck off.”

“No.”

He glares at you, but he doesn’t say anything as San stops in front of you, handing you the seal plushie you got him.

“Can you hold this?” he asks. “Wooyoung said I can’t do the monkey bars, so I’ll show him he’s wrong.”

You chuckle. “The monkey bars?” you repeat. “How old are you again?” 

“Twenty-three, thanks for asking.” San pushes the plushie on your lap, and then bends down to kiss your forehead quickly. 

You just laugh as he runs back towards Wooyoung, Yeosang, Taeri and Jongho. Jongho is currently doing the monkey bars, obviously making his way across. They all do - even Taeri easily does it, and you’re left wondering if your friends are adults or if you’ve all jumped back ten years in the past - hell, fifteen years in the past - to when you were kids and meaningless challenges like that were personification of happiness.

It’s fun. You love your friends for that. They make youth even better than it already is, filling it with laughs and smiles and so much joy. They’re like family in a way, and you just know the friendships will last through the years.

The lively chatter at the Korean barbecue later tells you so, too. Conversation flows easily between the group, everyone having their piece of mind to say, and the food is amazing, as good as this place’s reputation led you to believe. You even end up sharing soju and, though you hate the taste, you find yourself having to take more than one shots from losing at some drinking games that Hongjoong initiates.

When your bellies are full and alcohol has already started flowing, you head towards the nearest karaoke place so that you can rent a room for the evening. You walk hand in hand with San, Yeosang lingering at the back of the group with you as he texts away on his phone, and you can help but wonder who’s got him chuckling to himself like that.

“Who are you texting?” you ask as he laughs for the fifth time.

“None of your business, mom,” he replies without missing a beat, not even looking up from his phone.

“Got someone in your life?” San teases.

That makes him look up, his cheeks turning beet red, and he shakes his head. “What makes you think that?”

You and San exchange a look, and you both burst out laughing. “That reaction?” you say.

Yeosang turns off his phone, putting it away in his back pocket. “Y’all shut up,” he says, though it has no bite. “It’s still early, and I don’t want everyone to know and ask questions.”

Another look is exchanged between you and San. A knowing look - you’ve worked together to get Sydney and Yunho to date, you both knew about Hongjoong and Seonghwa first, and you even helped Wooyoung to plan his first dates with Taeri.

It’s like you’re somehow always involved, whether it be from close or far, in your friends’ relationships. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t say shit,” you reassure him. “We’ve known about Seonghwa and Hongjoong since last year and we haven’t told anyone.”

Yeosang’s gaze widens. “No way.”

“Yup,” San says. He lets go of your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. “She figured it out first, though.”

You did, but you’d immediately told San about it as he’d walked you home from that bar in December, back when things were so… uncertain between the two of you.

Back when he’d given you your Christmas gift, your own personal Mr Snake.

“Not surprised,” Yeosang says, and it somehow sounds ominous.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders, before innocently saying, “Nothing.”

You glare at him, but then Hongjoong is calling Yeosang’s name, as he’s the one that called the karaoke place to rent a room while you were still at the restaurant. Yeosang jogs to the front of your group, leaving you alone with San, and you turn towards your boyfriend.

“At this point, everyone in the group will be dating soon,” you say with a laugh.

San winces. “Besides Jongho.”

Right.

“We’ll find him someone,” you say with quiet conviction. “He’s a great guy, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Not sure if he’ll want to date right away,” San says. “Considering the… cheating, and all.”

“True.” You ponder for a time, and then shrug your shoulders. “It’s not like he has to date anyone. As long as he heals and gets better, I’ll be happy for him.”

San glances towards Jongho, who seems a little out of place with the somber look on his face. You don’t hesitate, pushing San towards him, and your boyfriend takes the cue, heading towards his friend.

They end up chatting for a while, lingering outside after everyone’s already gone in, but when they come up, Jongho is smiling, and you’re relieved that San was able to cheer him up.

You’ve never been part of a karaoke session that’s as chaotic as this one turns out to be. Everyone is screaming more than singing, alcohol flowing between the group of you, and you go through classics like Celine Dion, to songs by IU, passing by other songs from popular pop artists. It’s a blast, especially as Hongjoong impresses everyone with his rapping skills, and Seonghwa looks at him like he’s never seen him before.

Yunho has that look on his face too when Sydney goes up with Yeosang and Wooyoung, too. He just looks at her like she puts the stars in his night sky and though he’s your brother, and he’s just a huge dumbass, you can’t help but find it adorable.

You end up singing your share with your friends, though your voice is not even nearly as good as theirs. It’s still fun, and you’re a laughing mess as the night unfolds, up until you sit back on the couch by the wall to take a breather as all of them are singing along to a popular song from the 2000s. Mingi is chilling on the couch too, and he looks at you as you sit down, grabbing a water bottle.

“Tired?” he asks you.

“I’m losing my voice.” 

You both laugh, as you indeed sound like your voice is about to give up on you. 

“It’s ‘cause you’ve been screaming,” Mingi says. “Not too good for the vocal cords.”

You wince, right on cue with Wooyoung screaming. “Right.”

You listen to your friends sing, smiling at San as he glances your way. He smiles back, that dimpled smile you fell in love with so hard so long ago, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“I’m happy for you,” Mingi says, and you glance at him. At the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he adds, “You and San seem really happy.”

You beam. You can’t help it - you are really happy.

“Thanks, Mingi,” you gently say.

“You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through.”

You don’t let the reminder of Jungkook, and of the shitshow that happened last semester between you and San, take hold. Instead, you let it wash over like it’s just a wave in the sea, and then you let it go.

“You know, you deserve it, too,” you reply.

Sadness momentarily passes in his gaze, though you could swear it ends with a silver lining. “We all do. Sometimes, it just takes more time, you know?”

You recall what he’d told you about his ex back during the beach trip. How she ran because he was too much too soon for her. 

“It does,” you gently say.

Mingi meets your gaze, and you see the sadness. It’s still there, but you could swear it isn’t as potent as it was back in April.

Time does heal everything, doesn’t it?

“One day,” he lets out. “One day, I’ll find someone that looks at me the way San looks at you.”

He will. You know  he will - Song Mingi is a good person after all, and he deserves all the love in the universe.

Friday, July 11th

The drive out of the city is peaceful, Yunho’s car eating the miles towards your destination. Destination that you refused to reveal to San, but you reckon he’s had an inkling since you left the city.

It’s strange to be the one driving. You haven’t driven in a while and, though your parents told Yunho to let you use the car whenever you want to, you’re too used to just letting him drive and taking Ubers the rest of the time that you feel rusted as the countryside passes by the window in a blur of deep green leaves and baby blue skies.

You’re holding San’s hand, though he’s dozed off a moment ago, the indie music playlist you’ve put on lulling him to sleep. Though he’ll wake up soon enough, as you’re closing in on your destination.

The camping is nestled a little higher in the mountains, next to a river and some waterfalls, which you’ve planned to go see tomorrow. Today, you just want to relax with San, and maybe stargaze and eat toasted marshmallows. Which is exactly what you end up doing, after having stopped in town at a small restaurant to eat a bite before heading to the camping site.

Camping might be a generous word, or maybe not generous enough word. Indeed, you won’t have to sleep in a tent, as the place comes with a small trailer with a kitchen, a fully-equipped bathroom, and a queen bed. You got a deal for it back in May, and you’ve been looking forward to coming here since then.

There’s some sort of intimacy in being alone in the forest under a blanket of stars with the man that you love. The man you’ve come so far with, the one that stole your heart so many months ago. And though he might have hurt you once, he’s been nurturing your heart so well now it feels like it never happened.

“This is… nice,” San lets out as you walk into the trailer, the setting sun painting the scene in gold. “But it must have been so expensive.”

He throws you a look over his shoulder as you take off your shoes, and you just offer him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, it’s your birthday gift.”

“You say that as if you haven’t already given me a gift,” he says, raising his hand to bring your attention to the bracelet on his wrist. “You didn’t need to do all this.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist. “But I wanted to.”

It’s all you need to say for him to turn around, and he immediately goes in for a kiss that leaves your mind spinning. It makes you giggle as he pulls away and pecks your forehead, and then he sits on the bed, pulling you closer.

“So, just us two, in the middle of the woods…” he trails off. “Are you planning to murder me?”

You burst out laughing as you tap his chest. “Nope. But it’d be the perfect place. No one would hear you scream.”

His mouth falls open, and you just push him back, climbing on his lap. The shocked expression turns into a smug one, and he grips your hips. “Oh, scream that way.”

You can’t help it. It’s the way he looks at you, desire blazing bright all of a sudden. It’s enough to make you forget all about the marshmallows you were planning to toast.

All you want is San, and so you dive in, leaning down to steal a heated kiss off his lips. He reciprocates in a heartbeat, his tongue darting out to tease your lower lip. You sigh in his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to push his tongue in your mouth.

You suck on the wet muscle, and San grunts, his hands tightening on your hips. And then they shift to your ass, and he massages at the flesh of it, earning a small moan for you.

“Is it wild that I already want to fuck you in this bed?” San asks when you pull away to leave a trail of kisses down his neck.

You sit up, circling your hips on his already half-hard dick. “It isn’t.” You lean down, kiss him languidly for a few seconds, before sitting again. “I want you to fuck me, too.”

He sits up, easily finding your lips. He kisses you, sucking your lower lip into his mouth before gently biting at it. You grind on him again and, before you know it, he lands a hand on the small of your back, the other holding the back of your head firmly, and he spins you around until you’re on the bed with him over you.

“Then I’ll fuck you now, princess.”

He’s quick to take his shirt off, and your hands wander around the strong muscles of his abdomen as he remains kneeling between your legs, his dark eyes swimming with lust.

“I swear every day you get even more pretty,” he praises. “So, so fucking pretty.” He bends down, quickly kisses you hard and deep, and then sits back on his heels again. “To think that you’re mine.” One of his hands slightly coasts its way up your side, and he traces your jaw. “I’m so lucky.”

Fuck, you love him.

“San…” you trail off.

He smirks. “I know, baby. I’ll take good care of you.”

As soon as the words are out, San stands, helping you to sit up so that he can take off your shirt. You busy yourself with unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down his legs before letting them fall to the ground. San steps out of them, and your eyes drop to the bulge in his dark green boxers as he straightens.

“I’m already so hard,” he comments as he readjusts himself in his underwear.

You reach forward, palming him through the fabric. “You always get so hard for me.”

He chuckles, though it ends on a small moan as you lean closer, licking his tip through his underwear. “Fuck,” he lets out. 

His single curse makes your blood boil with lust for him, and you pull his underwear down, releasing his dick so that you can directly lick at his slit. He groans, especially as you think better of it, sucking his tip lightly.

“You’re so sensitive,” you purr as you pull away. 

He cups your cheeks, bending down to steal a heated kiss from your lips, one that leaves your mind spinning as he devours you. 

“Lie down on the bed,” he orders once he pulls away, pushing his boxers down his legs.

Heart beating out of your chest, you obey, watching him though half-lidded eyes as he kneels on the floor, his face at a level with your clothed pussy. It doesn’t stay that way for too long. San quickly takes your pants off, taking your panties with them, and you’re soon bare to him, the last piece of clothing on your body being your bra.

San kisses the inside of your thighs as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, and then he blows on your pussy. You instinctively try to close your legs, but he keeps you spread wide open for him.

“Be nice, mmh?” he tells you.

“Then get to work,” you whine.

He laughs, the sound genuine and amused, and a second later, his lips are wrapped around your clit. He circles it with his tongue, earning a breathless sound from you, and then he flicks it once before moving lower, pushing your folds apart with his tongue. He shamelessly fucks you with the wet muscle, and you throw your head back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure swarms through you.

San is good to you. He’s always been, but over the months, he’s learned even more of your tells, of what you like, and he always applies it diligently, coaxing orgasms after orgasms out of you. You know tonight won’t be any different - the way his tongue moves back to your clit, making an eight motion on the sensitive bundle of nerves, sends your mind into orbit, and your moans grow increasingly louder as your climax looms closer, promising to hit in a delicious high.

Right when you think it’ll hit, San pulls away, and you let out a frustrated sound as he blows on your oversensitive clit again.

“You’re going to have to be patient, princess,” San teases, and he bites at the skin of the inside of your thigh before kneeling between your legs.

He’s hard, precum beading at his tip, and he grabs the base of his dick, aligning himself with your clit. And then he’s rubbing his tip on you, and your legs twitch as he hits a good spot. You moan, loud, and he chuckles, his hand finding your breast to pinch your nipple.

“Think you can hold it in for me?” he asks, and it’s almost condescending.

Though you know San is never condescending with you.

“It’s so good,” you whine.

“Yeah?” He pulls away, spitting on your pussy, and then he’s back to rubbing his dick on you. “Imagine how good it’ll feel once I’m inside of you.”

Just the thought of it makes a shiver run up and down your spine, and you bite at your lower lip. “Imagine how good it’ll feel for you, mmh?”

“Oh, I’m patient,” he frustratingly teases, pulling away from you. “We have all night.”

You almost curse at him, but you hold it in as he plops on the bed next to you, his large hand immediately going between your legs so that he can run a finger between your lips. 

“I might kill you,” you grumble as he circles your clit with barely any pressure.

He kisses your cheek. “You won’t. We both know you come the hardest when I edge you.” He dips his finger inside of you, and you let out a broken sound that’s soon interrupted by his digit returning to your clit. “Besides, it’s my birthday. You’ll let me have my fun, right?”

“It was your birthday yesterday.”

He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. His finger is still teasing you in a pace so slow it almost hurts, and he just smiles down at you, his gaze dark. “Thought you said it was my birthday weekend.”

You did say that. Yet all you do now is clench your jaw, trying to glare at him despite the way he plunges his finger in you again.

“You’re soaked,” he praises, and he pulls his finger out to look at it. It’s covered in your juice, and San sucks it clean before meeting your gaze again. “Now, let’s get to work.”

He does. He gets to work, kneeling next to you as he pushes his finger inside of you, curling it to rub at your nutty spot for a few seconds before he pushes another finger inside, fighting against your walls until they swallow him in. And then he’s going at it, playing with your g-spot like it’s an instrument he knows by heart, his other hand resting flat on your lower belly. It doesn’t take you long before your high hits and, though he didn’t say you could come, you climax all over his hand, screaming his name as he keeps going.

You’re squirting. You don’t know how long he makes you squirt for, but you’re a mewling mess under his talented hands, and soon the bed is soaked, his fingers dripping with your juice as he finally pulls them out of you.

You whine from the loss of sensation, but then a second later, he’s pushing all the way in, his dick hitting your cervix. It doesn’t even hurt, not when you’re as aroused as you are. Especially not as his hand becomes a lose necklace around your neck, and he fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, the bed slamming in the wall hard.

But here, there’s no one to hear you. It’s just you and him, so you moan and scream his name as he gives you orgasm after orgasm, his skillful thrusts keeping you on cloud nine so long you’re convinced you’ll forget how to walk by the time he’s done with you.

“You always take me so fucking well,” San grunts as he slams all the way in. “So, so fucking well.” He bends down, kissing you deeply, and then the motions of his hips grow slower, yet they remain just as deep. “I could fuck you like this for the rest of my life.”

He’s out of breath, covered in sweat, yet you run your shaky hands on his back, holding him close to you.

“Do it,” you whisper.

He raises his head to meet your gaze. You can barely focus on him, ecstasy coursing through your blood, yet you find his eyes, diving head first in the love they hold.

“I will,” he promises.

This time, when he kisses you again, all the lust is gone. There’s just love left, so much love, and he fucks you slow, makes love to you for what feels like hours, up until the sun fully sets and dusk falls upon the two of you. Only then does he climax too, painting your insides white as he unloads his cum deep inside of you, your legs wrapped around his waist as if you could bring him closer, too.

Hell, you’d want him under your skin if you could.

It takes forever for your heartbeats to settle in your chests after, your breathing entwined as San rests his forehead on yours. There’s love in the sound, in the space between your lips that’s connected more often than enough, yet not enough at all. 

You’re consumed by San. Thoroughly, completely consumed by him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Wow,” he breathes out between one heartbeat and the next. “Princess…”

You peck his lips. “I know.” 

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he confesses. “Every day of my life, I want you by my side.”

“San…”

“Yes?”

It’s time. You feel it in your bones, feel it in your soul. And maybe you wanted to say it under a sky full of stars, maybe you wanted to say it while listening to the crackle of the fire. But the moment has come, the time is right, and the words need an out, more than they’ve ever needed before.

“I love you.”

He beams. Brighter than even the Sun that sits at the middle of the solar system, San beams, grinning from ear to ear as he raises his head just enough to meet your gaze. “Princess…”

“It’s true,” you insist, and you rub your hands on his back. “I love you, Choi San. I’ve loved you for a long time already, and I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time but… yes, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says in a breathy whisper heavy with emotion. “And I will always love you.”

You laugh, happy tears welling up in your eyes. “That’s a big promise to make.”

“I mean it,” he insists. He lies next to you, and you feel his seed dripping out of you. “There’s no one else but you.” He kisses your cheek as you grin, glancing at him. “Besides, I’m meeting your family next week. They have to know how much I love you.”

“And how much is that?” you ask, feeling greedy.

“More than you can imagine.” He props himself up on a shoulder to look down at you. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“Cheesy.”

He laughs, kissing you in the middle of it. It’s awkward, but it makes sense for you and Choi San.

Happiness and love will always make sense for the two of you.

“You love it,” he replies.

“I love you.”

“Look who’s cheesy now?” 

You scrunch up your nose, unable to keep your grin in despite trying to. “Fuck, San.”

Your words are serious, catching him off guard. “What?”

“It took us so long…”

“Oh, princess…” He tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “No matter how long it took, we got here. And that’s what’s important.”

He’s right. You know he is, and you love him even more for it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispers next, kissing the top of your head. “I love you, Y/n. And I’ll love you for the rest of my life, too.”

“For the rest of our lives,” you say. “I will love you too.”

You think it’s the easiest promise you’ve ever made.

After all, nothing could have stopped you and Choi San from happening. Not when it’s been written in the universe long before you even existed. And so, for the rest of your life, you’ll spend your time loving him, for every second and every minute and every hour. From this moment until your very last one.

From now until the end of your time.

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gosh i'm soft i can't believe this is over :') i hope you guys liked this fic, thank you for accompanying me on this journey!! let me know your thoughts!

All rights reserved to @oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[moonleeai]

Be With You | ch 16

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: cursing, anxiety, san's dad, explicit content: oral sex (male receiving), spitting, unprotected sex (be careful), hair pulling, jerking off, praise, fingering

☆word count: 11.9k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: almost the end :') thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

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Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

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Sunday, April 13th

You didn’t realize how fucked you would be for not studying during Spring Break until you end up spending your entire weekend at the library, deep in your books instead of running on the beach with Choi San like you did last Thursday. It’s such a drastic change of environment that you’ve been feeling whiplashed, puzzled, the white neon lights of the library harsh compared to the sun you’ve experienced during the trip.

At least, Choi San is sitting right next to you, close enough for you to be able to lean your head on his shoulder whenever you need a break from staring at your laptop as you try to cram all the information for tomorrow’s exam into your brain.

“Everything okay?” San asks as you do lean on his shoulder for the hundredth time.

You sigh. “I’m tired. I don’t think I’ll be able to study for much longer.”

“Do you feel ready for the exam?” he asks, and he pecks the top of your head.

You smile, heart soaring in your chest. “As much as I can be. I just know I won’t be able to retain any more information.”

“To be fair, the final in this class has the reputation to be easy,” San says. “So I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay.”

You yawn, glancing at the screen of his laptop. “What are you even doing?”

There’s an anime playing on the screen, and it definitely has nothing to do with tomorrow’s exam at all.

San laughs. “I got bored of studying like thirty minutes ago, but you looked like you were focused, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You straighten, stretching as you immediately close your laptop. “Then let’s go, since you’re done too.”

San nods with dimples adorning his cheeks, and then you both get ready to go, putting your stuff in your bags. You put a jacket on, but San came without one, only wearing his trusted grey sweater you’ve seen him in far too many times before.

Once you’re both ready, you get out of the small study room you reserved, heading towards the large one where some of your friends are. You notice Sydney and your brother left, which you confirm by checking your phone and seeing that she’s texted you to let you know, and so you say goodbye to Wooyoung, Yeosang and Hongjoong before leaving the library, stepping out into the fresh night air.

The sun set a long time ago, and some rare puddles reflect the light of the streetlight as if they’re portals to another universe. San holds your hand as you walk, and the wind is colder than you’d expected it to be, leaving you to step closer to San.

As you walk, you pass by the sakura trees that line one of the campus’s paths. Most of them are still heavy with blossoms, though they’ve been falling in the last few days, their beautiful yet short blossoming season ending already.

Petals flutter to the ground around you, reminiscent of the snow from just a few months ago, and it makes for a romantic atmosphere, one that makes you tug on San’s hand.

“What?” he asks, and you both keep walking, though you slow down as you walk past the trees.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you reply, and you lean against him. “One day, I want a house with a sakura tree out front.”

“I’ll plant it for you,” San promises, and he pecks your head again.

You’re grinning from ear to ear as you look up at him. “I hope that is a promise.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course it is.”

You keep walking towards San’s apartment, cherry blossoms falling around you until you reach the street, leaving the sakura tree path behind. 

Twenty minutes later - and a stop at a late-night croffle shop later - you make it to San’s place, the elevator ride spent in silence as you look at your croffle like it holds the answers to the universe. Once you’re in front of San’s door, he unlocks, holding the door open for you to walk in. 

Byeol comes up to you, meowing loudly, and you laugh as you bend down, patting her head with your empty hand.

“Hello, you,” you greet her with a high-pitched voice, and San chuckles behind you as he closes the door and locks.

You kick off your shoes, putting your croffle on the counter, San doing the same a heartbeat later. You then take off your jacket, and he takes it from your hand to hang it in the closet.

“Let’s eat those now because we won’t be able to sleep if we wait later,” he says as he walks behind the counter, making his way to the drawer where he keeps his cutlery. 

“Good idea.”

It doesn’t take you long to settle at the dining table, and then you’re eating, savouring the sweet dessert while Byeol meows to her contentement as she rubs herself on your legs and San’s legs.

“I think she missed you,” San teases.

You meet his gaze, cheeks dusting with pink. “I missed her too. I missed… coming here, too.”

San’s smile is genuine, revealing dimples. “You’ll get to come here all the time now.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He narrows his gaze, glancing at your half-eaten croffle. “For that comment, I’m stealing a bite.”

“Hey!” you yelp, but he’s too quick, his fork darting into your food and retrieving to his mouth before you can stop him. You glare at him, folding your arms on your chest. “That was mean.”

He dips his finger in the whipped cream on his own dessert, and then he taps your nose. Once again, you’re too slow to duck, and you immediately retaliate by doing the same thing, rubbing whipped cream on his cheek.

“Now I guess we’ve become the desserts,” San says. He wipes his cheek, licking his fingers clean, and your mind goes fully empty at the sight of his tongue on his fingers.

Goddamn. 

“What?” San asks with a laugh.

You shake out of the reverie of him licking his fingers clean of something else, and you meet his gaze. “Nothing.”

He squints his eyes again as if he’s still suspicious, yet he shrugs it off, eating a piece of his croffle while you wipe your nose absentmindedly.

“Do you need to take a shower before bed?” he asks once you’ve both finished eating, enjoying each other’s company in silence for a little while.

You nod. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” he reassures you. “I have to take a shower too anyway.”

He ends up going before you, only because you insist that he does so, and you take a quick shower when he’s done, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare before meeting him in the living room, where he waited for you.

He looks good. Shirtless, with just a pair of black joggers hanging low on his hips. He’s scrolling on his phone, the screen casting its white glow on his features as he looks at whatever he’s looking at. His free hand is petting Byeol where she’s lying down next to him, the muscles in his forearm shifting slightly with every move of his fingers.

Something hot and wicked grows in you, and you gulp as he raises his head, meeting your gaze.

“What?” he asks, his voice low.

That doesn’t help, either.

“I…” you trail off, and you take a couple of steps towards him. 

He smirks. He fucking smirks, because he must know. He must know you’ve spent the two last nights thinking about him. Thinking about what happened at the house by the beach, what you did on that muscular thigh of his.

“Like what you see?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you grumble, yet you stop in front of him, dropping your phone on the couch next to him. 

His gaze widens, his features falling more serious. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m ready,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I’m ready, San. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He gulps. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

He doesn’t need to. No, you simply nestle yourself between his thighs, bending down as you cup his cheeks and capture his mouth in a languid kiss. He immediately lets go of his phone, and his hands find your waist as you push your tongue in his mouth.

The taste of him is addictive. It’s insanity, the sweetest nectar you’ve ever tasted, and you sigh against his lips as his grip on your waist tightens. He guides you closer, and you straddle his lap.

You think a volcano erupts inside of you. Everything goes burning hot, your thoughts tinting with red, with passion and lust and so much desire for San you might break down right here, right now. Instead, you kiss him with everything in you, kiss him like you’re in Pompeii awaiting your demise while the walls crumble down around you.

But you’re not. You’re very much alive and, tonight, you want to make him feel alive, too.

You rest a hand flat on his chest, pushing him away. He leans back against the couch, and you meet his gaze before glancing down at his pink lips, now swollen and glistening with saliva. And then you’re diving in again, though this time you divert to his neck, biting at his skin lightly before closing your lips around the spot below his ear, sucking delicately.

He grunts, throwing his head back as well as tilting it to the side, and you leave a trail of hot, wet kisses down to his collarbone. Your hands roam freely on his chest, appreciating the warmth of his sculpted muscles, and then you’re leaning away from his neck, straightening on his lap.

His chest goes up and down quickly with the rhythm of his breathing, and he gulps as you just look down at him, your panties starting to grow sticky with the wetness of your arousal.

“What are-” he starts saying, though he stops the second you move from his lap to kneel in front of him. 

He gulps. He fucking gulps, and you look down at the imprint of his dick in his sweatpants. He’s visibly not fully hard yet and still, the sheer size of him makes your pussy clench around nothing as you trace his length with a finger.

“I want you, tonight,” you whisper, your voice sinfully sultry, and San curses underneath his breath.

“What about the exam tomorrow?”

You lean your head on his thigh, innocently looking up at him. “What about it?”

He chuckles, and he brushes your hair over your shoulder. “Shouldn’t we go to bed early?”

“Mmh.” You glance at his dick before looking up at his eyes again. “You don’t look like you want to go to bed early.”

“Neither do you,” he replies, his voice taking the same low, dangerous tone yours has been enshrouded with.

Emboldened, you palm him through the fabric of his clothes. His dick twitches under your hand, clearly enjoying the attention. And so you rub him, up and down.

“You made me come a couple of days ago, and I didn’t get to make you come,” you say. “Shouldn’t I make you feel good tonight?”

“Fuck, princess,” he curses, his eyes fluttering shut as you peck his dick before sitting back on your heels. “Let me see your lips around me, mmh?”

You’re on fire. Sinking in lava, soon to be drowning in it. But you don’t care. You just want more. You just want to have the heady taste of his precum on your tongue, to hear the way he groans when he comes. You want to remember what the passion between the two of you is like, so unlike the softness you usually carry yourselves with.

And so you grab the hem of his pants, pulling them down while he helps you by moving up from the couch just enough for you to pull the sweatpants past his ass. You leave his boxers on though, and then you’re palming him again, rubbing his dick through his underwear.

Clearly, you’re not applying enough pressure, because San bucks his hips, seeking more friction. You don’t give it to him, simply removing your hand from his dick to rest it on his thigh as you lean closer, pecking the head of his dick.

“Please don’t tease too much,” San says, entirely breathless above you.

You look up, smirking. “Why not?”

“Brat,” he lets out in what almost sounds like a growl. “Because I haven’t jerked off since before we went to the beach, and I’m going to come embarrassingly fast already.”

“Oh, will you?”

You did not forget that San is more of a dom, even though he doesn’t portray it all that much in his day to day life. But he reminds you tonight, grabbing your jaw and leaning towards you.

“Open your mouth, princess,” he orders. “We gotta wash that tongue of yours.”

You keep your lips stubbornly sealed, and San draws closer, pecking your mouth. And then he’s biting at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and you moan. It’s all it takes for him to spit in your mouth, though he immediately starts kissing you after, his tongue teasing yours, and you kiss him back like you’ve gone feral for him.

You think you might have.

“Sit back,” you order as you pull away from the kiss, pushing on his chest again.

He obeys, his dark, lustful gaze watching your every move, and you look down at his dick, now visibly rock hard, enough so that the tip of it is pushing out of his boxers. You relieve him of those, pulling them down his legs and letting them rest around his ankles as you look at his dick, his balls sitting fat and heavy between his thighs.

He does look like he hasn’t come in a while. 

Unable to resist, you lean forward, licking a stripe between his two balls, and San hisses as you keep going up, making your way to his tip. You lick at his slit, and the taste of his precum finally fills your mouth, making you moan louder than necessary.

Fuck, you missed this. So much so that you’re taking him in your mouth a second later, unable to tease like you originally planned to.

And you lose yourself in him. Lose yourself in the bobbing up and down of your head, in your tongue alternating between resting flat on his shaft and swirling around his tip. You lose yourself in the sounds he makes - the moans, the groans, the growls - and you moan around him, letting him know that this is making you feel just as good as it’s making him feel. 

When he puts his hand on the back of your head, guiding you up and down on him, you let him lead, eyes watering as he hits the back of your throat. But you keep the gag reflex in, let him use you like he wants to use you. You want him wild, unleashed, and he doesn’t disappoint, fucking your mouth so good you need him inside of you.

You might be stupid. You might be truly insane. But the second he lets you go so that you can breathe, you get up, taking off your PJ shorts and panties in one swift motion. San just watches you through half-lidded eyes, and he doesn’t try to stop you as you straddle his lap. 

Hell, he grips your hips, guiding you so that you’re grinding on his cock, your juices wetting his shaft and the tip of his dick so thoroughly that, on your next pass, it dips inside of you.

The feeling of his tip parting your nether lips makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head and, before he can make you pull away, you sink your weight on him, up until he’s fully inside of you, so deep you think you see stars.

“Holy fuck,” he curses. “Princess, I…”

You move up, and then drive yourself back down on him. “Yes?”

“I’m gonna fucking come.”

You don’t need to hear more. You put your feet on each side of his thighs to have better leverage, holding his shoulders, and then you start moving up and down as quickly as you can, your thighs burning after only a few seconds. But the sounds he makes keep you going, and you ignore the burn as he hits your cervix.

He feels good. You’ve never been with him like this before, without a condom, and it’s like every sensation is a thousand times stronger. You feel the drag of him on your walls, feel the ridge of his tip as he moves inside of you. Hell, you think you also feel the large vein that goes from the base of his dick almost all the way to the top.

You feel every single fucking thing, and it’s going to make you come, too.

San’s fingers dig in the supple skin on your hips as you keep going up and down. He’s doing most of the work now, holding your weight as he helps you move, and his muscles flex with every motion, one vein popping out on his biceps.

And then San leans forward, wrapping an arm around your waist as you sink all the way down until he’s against your cervix, and he drops his forehead on your collarbone as he comes with a cry, painting your insides white. The feeling of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge, and your pussy spasms on him as you climax hard, your eyes going blind as you lose a hand in his hair, pulling it without even realizing you’re doing so. You’re mewling, moaning, his name a litany as waves after waves crash on you, and San follows you into it all, shaking under you.

It takes an eternity for you both to come down from your high. San’s still spearing you with his dick, still rock hard despite having come, and he just chuckles breathlessly, pecking your neck as he turns his head towards you.

“What the actual fuck,” he lets out.

You lightly laugh as your mind grows fuzzy with the strength of your orgasm. “What the fuck,” you repeat.

“That was…” He chuckles again. “That was amazing.”

It was. It really fucking was.

You pull on his hair, and he hisses in pain even though he lets you do it. The second he’s far enough for you to kiss him, you capture his mouth in a sweet and slow languid kiss that reminds you of what home is.

Home is him, wherever he is in the world. And you want to tell him how he makes you feel, how your heart beats for him and him only, but it feels like it would be too much right now.

You want to tell him when the moment feels right. And though you do love him right now, you don’t want him to think you’re saying it because of the heat of the moment.

When you naturally pull away from the kiss, resting your forehead against him, your eyes flutter open just enough for you to see the grin on his lips. It makes you love him even more, and you peck his lips once more before pulling away.

“Now, how are we going to do this?”

San’s eyes take a moment before they open, and his pupils are blown out wide when he meets your gaze. “We’ll make a mess, but that’s okay. I’ll clean it up.” He wets his lips, glancing down between you, but your shirt hides the spot where your bodies are connected. “You’ll have to get up, though.”

You take a deep breath to prepare yourself, and then you do so, holding onto his shoulders for leverage.

The second you feel his cum dripping out of you, running on the inside of your thighs, you put your hand between your legs. But he came a lot - it covers your hand, and you let out an awkward laugh.

“Shit.”

“Let me go get something,” San says, and he gets up, stumbling from the fact that his boxers are still around his ankles. He kicks them off, and then he jogs to the bathroom, coming back with so much toilet paper that you just laugh as he hands it to you.

“Thanks.” You put the paper against you, and then you head to the bathroom, waddling awkwardly as San jogs in front of you.

“Let me start a shower for you.”

“For us,” you say as you make it to the bathroom, and you sit on the toilet. “A shower for us.”

San smiles down at you. “Yes, princess. For us.”

He’s so beautiful like this you could cry. He’s more so beautiful as he holds you against his chest in the shower, leaving hundreds of soft kisses on the top of your head. Even more so beautiful as you lie in his bed after, your head on his shoulder as you’re tucked in his side. 

You shift even closer, needing to hear the beats of his heart, making sure they’re synced with yours. Of course they are, and you smile in the darkness, tightening your grip around his waist for a few seconds.

And then you let a truth slip.

“It was my first time ever doing it raw,” you admit.

San lets out a chuckle. “I thought you were already asleep.”

You glance up to find him already gazing down at you. “Nah.” Your cheeks burn, and you’re thankful that the lights are off and he can’t see. “What about you?”

“Am I sleeping?”

You glare at him, though it’s all in good fun. “No, did you ever go raw with someone else before?”

He wets his lips, blinking once. “No, it was my first time.”

For some reason, that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You think he feels the same way, because he leans closer, pecking your forehead.

“And we should definitely do it again,” he adds.

You snort, tapping his chest. “Pervert.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t like it?”

You purse your lips. “I am not answering that question.”

“I’ll take it as a yes.”

You laugh, and you spy a dimple on his cheek as you glance up. “Maybe.”

He’s grinning and fuck, happiness looks so good on him.

“Let’s sleep, though,” you say as your heart beats for him, filling you with warmth. “We have to get up early for the final tomorrow.”

San takes a deep breath, the smile lingering on his lips, and he pecks the top of your head. “Good night, Y/n.”

“Night, San.” You snuggle closer, hiding your face in his neck. “Sweet dreams.”

“I’ll dream of you, then.”

You laugh, pecking his neck, and then you close your eyes, breathing in the scent of him.

San holds you through the night, your hearts beating together like they have been since his lips first touched yours.

Saturday, May 3rd

San is anxious. Deadly so, as the rapid rhythm of his leg moving up and down tells you. He’s sitting on your bed, staring at nothing in particular while you’re curling your hair, and the sight of him like that makes your heart break.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

His eyes dart to you before returning to their vague spot on the wall. “Yes.”

He doesn’t say more, and you worry at your bottom lip, trying to figure out what to say to reassure him. Though you doubt he can be reassured, considering you’ll be having dinner with his father tonight.

“I’m almost ready,” you choose to say, and you focus on yourself in the mirror you usually use for your makeup. 

He doesn’t say anything, and so you focus on finishing with your hair, and then you unplug your hair curler before running your fingers through your hair to make sure that the curls aren’t too tight. You then get up, and you walk over to him, sitting next to him. 

He barely acknowledges you, and you rest your hand on his knee, trying to keep his leg from bouncing. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper.

San meets your gaze, and he looks so much like a prey right now you have half a thought to suggest cancelling.

“Is it?”

You offer him an encouraging smile, nodding once. “Yes, it will be. I’ll be right there with you.” You grab his hand, interlacing your fingers. “You can even hold my hand under the table if you need to.”

He doesn’t smile, but the frown lessens.

“Thank you,” he says. He gulps, and his eyes trail back to the wall. “I don’t think I’d be able to do this without you.”

You let go of his hand, wrapping your arms around his waist instead as you rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think you are, San. And not only because I can barely wrap my arms around you from how large your shoulders are.”

That earns you the tiniest snort, but it’s progress. 

“That’s just because you’re tiny.” He leans his head on top of yours, and he takes a deep breath. “Good thing we waited until after the semester because I wouldn’t have been able to study.”

You know that. That’s why you suggested he’d tell his dad to wait after the semester to have dinner. You know how important his grades are to San, and you wouldn’t have wanted his father to ruin that for him too.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Instead of having to study, we can come home after and just cuddle and watch a movie.”

“I can’t fucking wait,” San lets out. “Actually, why not do that instead? Fuck my dad.”

You scrunch your nose up, glancing up towards him, though you don’t manage to catch sight of his features because of the way he’s leaning on top of your head. “Might as well go now that we’re both ready. But if you want to leave, we leave. We don’t have to stay.”

“Right.” He pecks your head, and then remains unmoving, with his lips in your hair. 

Your embrace around him loosens, and then you move one of your hands to his thigh, soothingly caressing him.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say again. “I’ll make sure of it.”

San pulls away, and then his hand cups your cheek, tilting your head up until he can press the softest kiss on your lips. “Thank you.”

Your eyes flutter open - you shut them the second he got close - and you meet his gaze. You gulp at the intensity of the emotions swimming behind his pupils - anxiety, sadness, but also love. So much love, all for you, even if he hasn’t told you he loves you yet.

It’s not like you’ve told him, either. You’ve skirted around the subject for weeks now, trying to figure out the right moment, and then you realized that you’ve been telling each other in different ways now. All the ‘drive safe’, ‘text me when you’re home’ and ‘can’t wait to see you’ all mean the same thing, after all, and you don’t need those three extra little words for you to know how he feels about you, and for him to know how you feel about him.

You know. You both know it, as it’s become a law of your universe.

“Of course,” you whisper.

He looks down at your lips, tracing them with his thumb, and then he’s leaning in again.

This time, your mouths meet in a languid embrace, moving against each other slowly yet passionately. You tilt your head to the side as his tongue pushes past your lips, and your tongues twine as you sigh in the kiss, your hand on his thigh moving higher by instinct.

San’s hand goes to the back of your head, and he grabs hold of your hair there as you innocently touch his dick with a finger.

“Be nice,” he tells you, his tone stern. “Or I’m going to ruin that beautiful makeup of yours before we get there.”

Heat strikes you, and you gulp, biting at your lower lip. “Yeah?”

He curses lowly. “Princess, we can’t right now.”

“Oh, I know,” you reassure him, and you move closer, capturing his lips in a short, wet kiss. “But you’re so hard to resist.”

He pulls away to eye you down, his gaze returning to yours dark and lustful. “You’ll keep the dress on when we come back, m’kay?”

“Didn’t you want to cuddle later?” you ask innocently, bashing your eyelashes at him.

“If I recall, you’re the one that said that.” It’s his turn to lean closer, and he says the next words against your mouth. “But I just want to hear you moan my name. You’re so fucking pretty when you do so.”

“Mmh,” you hum. “We’ll see if you get to hear it tonight.”

He grabs your jaw, his hold tight yet never hurtful, and then he’s kissing you rough, erasing every single thought from your brain. You forget everything but him, and the warmth that pools at your core grows dangerous, threatening to make you lose control.

To make you say fuck it, let’s stay here tonight.

San pulls away from the kiss, tapping your cheek lightly as your eyes flutter open. He glances down at your thighs, and at the way you’re rubbing them together like that will give you any friction. He smirks, chuckling darkly.

“Yeah, we’ll see if I do.”

You’ve been horny lately. Both of you. You’ve been having sex a lot since that Sunday after the beach trip, like you both can’t get enough of each other. And frankly, you highly doubt you can. Not when he’s so addictive, so perfect for you like his body was moulded for you.

Like you were meant to find him, and he was meant to find you. Which, come to think of it, has to be the truth. Your truth.

Your life would not make sense without Choi San in it.

*****

The restaurant San’s father chose is in the suburbs of the city, and San parks in the large parking lot right on time, though his father already informed you that he would be five minutes late.

Which you think is funny yet disrespectful, considering he lives a five minutes drive from the restaurant.

And so you wait in the car, holding San’s hand and playing with his fingers as he texts his father that you’ve arrived, and then he focuses on you, offering you a tight-lipped smile.

“Turns out we probably would have had time for that quickie,” he deadpans.

You snort, though the thought makes you bite at the inside of your cheek. “I’d rather take my time with you.”

San smirks, chuckling lightly. “I feel like I’m usually the one to say that.” He leans in, kissing you swiftly. “But I like hearing it from your mouth.”

His phone buzzes, and San looks down at the device, letting out a small curse. He then leans back against his seat, sighing deeply.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, though you already have an inkling.

“My father said he’ll be here in ten minutes and to go wait inside.”

Not that you expected any better of his father considering what you currently know of him, but you’re still disappointed for San. You grab his hand to offer support, giving you the best smile you can muster up.

“Well then, let’s go in and pretend we are on a date, shall we?”

His smile barely reaches his eyes, but you’ll take that over the sullen expression he had when his father texted him.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get out of the car after that, walking towards the door of the restaurant. Ever so the gentleman, San holds the door open for you, and you teasingly curtsy to thank him before walking in.

That earns you a more genuine smile, and hope for the fate of this evening returns to your heart.

Thankfully, despite his tardiness, San’s father reserved a spot for the three of you already, so the hostess leads you to your table on the side of the restaurant with a bar, and you and San settle on the bench that’s against the wall, leaving the visibly uncomfortable-looking chair for his father.

He just had to be on time to have the best seat, after all.

Once you’re seated, San pulls the drink menu towards the two of you, and you start skimming the many different drinks that the restaurant offers. You end up choosing an apple sangria, curious as to what it tastes like, and San orders a beer for himself.

You’ve been drinking a little more now, though you mostly only drink spiked lemonade and occasionally sangria, only because you haven’t found other drinks that you like. You used to be big on seltzers and shots three years and half ago before you stopped drinking, but those have lost all their appetite since the events of the summer prior to your first year of college and the Frosh week that initiated your college experience.

San grows impatient as the drinks arrive, and his father still hasn’t arrived. It’s been more than ten minutes, and you run a hand on his thigh in a gesture you hope is soothing.

“I can’t even say I’m surprised,” San lets out, and he sighs deeply, taking a sip of his beer. “He probably won’t even come.”

“Then it’s you and me,” you say, and you squeeze his thigh, lips softly curving. “I get to have an impromptu date with you, I’m not going to complain.”

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I would prefer it if my dad wasn’t a dick.”

His sentence is curt, his tone cold and, though you tell yourself that he has every right to be upset at the moment, it still hurts.

He never speaks to you like that. But someone once did, and you’re never going to let someone talk to you like that ever again. Yet you figure it’s not the right time to tell San.

After all, maybe your attempt at lightening his mood was clumsy, and not what he needed to hear.

You take a sip of your sangria, surprised with how fresh and sweet it tastes. It helps cover the bitterness of the feeling he’s momentarily risen in you, and you push your glass towards him.

“Try this,” you offer him.

He casts you a side glance. “You sure? It isn’t a big glass.”

“I don’t mind,” you reassure him with a shrug of your shoulders. “It’s really good.”

“Well, if you insist.” He takes a sip, and his gaze widens in surprise. “Oh shit, that’s actually really good.”

Subject change successful.

“Right!”

He smiles, and you’re relieved at the dimple that appears on his cheek. The dimple doesn’t remain for long though - someone calls San’s name, and his smile disappears faster than it appeared, anxiety taking over his features.

You turn towards the man that’s walking towards you, surprised to see just how much he looks like San. The dimples are the same, his grin almost too practiced, but his hair is shorter. The man stops on the other side of the table, his eyes darting to you quickly before settling on his son once more.

“My son,” he says. “Sorry for my delay, I could not for the life of me find this.”

He’s holding a box, and he hands it to San. San just stares at the box unblinkingly for a few seconds, and then meets his father’s gaze again.

“What is this?” he asks.

His father’s eyes dart towards you again. “A gift.”

Obviously.

San nods, like he doesn’t believe his father got him a gift, and then hesitantly takes it. “You didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“After all these years, and you making it into law school? I had to get you something.”

The cold that radiates from San is worse than hell, or at least it feels so.

“I haven’t made it into law school yet.”

“Semantics,” his father says, shrugging his shoulders. “Open it.”

San clenches his jaw, but still opens the box. It contains an expensive looking watch, and San just stares at it like it’s alien, an object straight from another universe.

“Do you like it?” his father asks, and you notice the practiced smile is gone from his features now, like he’s ready to scold San.

“Yes,” San says. “I’m just… how much did this cost?”

His father waves him off, and then finally sits in the chair across from San, still barely acknowledging your presence. It feels insulting, but you keep it to yourself, only observing the conversation.

“Don’t worry about it,” his father says. “I haven’t been able to give you any gifts in forever, so I figured you’d be happy to receive this.”

“Thank you,” San says. He puts the box down on the table and then glances at you, offering you a small smile. 

You give him what you hope is an encouraging nod.

“Who’s the young lady?” his father asks next, finally acknowledging your presence.

San straightens, and he smiles proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “My girlfriend, Y/n.”

Your gaze shots to the side of his face at the sound of the word ‘girlfriend’ in his mouth, and your heart starts racing in your chest. Cheeks burning, you bow to his father as he does the same to you, finally greeting you as well.

You can’t really focus on the conversation after that, though you don’t fail to notice how strained it is, and how one-sided it feels like, his father relating stories of travels and things that happened to him and his family in the last few years. It’s an accurate demonstration of how shitty he is towards San - not once does he ask about what San has been up to.

You can’t believe San referred to you as his girlfriend. Can’t believe how right it felt too, and butterflies swirl in your stomach in an incessant dance as the word echoes in your head. It warms up your whole body, and you think you’re literally vibrating with happiness for a moment there.

You’re his girlfriend. You are. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t told each other this before - you’ve been ready to dive in feet first in a relationship with him for a few weeks already. You think it started when you ran hand in hand on the beach while it was pouring. The romance of the moment finished lacing that red thread around your wrist and his, making it your fate to end up with San.

Though you think it’s been your fate for far longer than that. You think your fate was sealed the second the professor made you partners for that project last semester. 

As your thoughts still race with all the emotions you feel for San, you feel him tense next to you. He folds his arms on his chest, sits back against the booth, and it’s enough for you to slowly return to reality.

His father is currently going off about something Minho, his other son, did - apparently, he’s a talented sprinter - and San doesn’t seem like he wants to hear any of it. You immediately react, patting his thigh, and he gives you a poor excuse of a smile.

“San works out a lot too,” you say, interrupting his father almost in the middle of his sentence. “Can’t say if he’s a good sprinter, but you should see him lift.”

His father’s mouth falls open, as if only realizing that he’s been telling everything about himself instead of asking about his son, and he glances at you. “Oh, does he?”

You look at San. “You do. Tell him about your PRs!”

San relaxes, his hands falling in his lap, and he finds your hand, entwining your fingers. And then he finally manages to tell something to his father and, to your relief, he seems genuinely interested in hearing what San has to say.

Perhaps his father has been anxious about tonight, and yapping is actually his way of compensating. It’s a trait he shares with San - whenever San grows anxious, he tends to ramble a lot. 

Except earlier, when he grew dead silent back at your apartment. But you can understand why - tonight is a huge step for him, and clearly not an easy one either.

The food arrives not too long after and, seemingly having gotten the message, San’s father finally starts asking San some questions about college, and about life in general. He also asks how you two met, and San is smiling when he tells him how you had to do a project together last semester.

“I fell in love right away, honestly,” he says, and he looks at you, stars twinkling in his eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You melt. You melt like ice cream in the summer heat, and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face. “Couldn’t help myself either. but we’ve only started dating recently. We took our time.”

You say that holding San’s gaze, and his cheeks dust with pink. “We did.”

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys took your time,” his father says, and you didn’t expect the piece of wisdom he shares with you after. “That way you slowly build up the foundations of your relationship, and it can only grow stronger from there.”

He’s right. For all the wrong he did to his son, he’s right about this, and you don’t miss the way San’s eyes fill with water. He’s clearly touched by his father’s words, and you offer him the smallest smile, something just for you and him in this moment in time.

The subject naturally changes after that, going to the quality of the food you’re eating. It really is good food, and you all focus on eating for a few minutes, until San’s father excuses himself to use the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?” you ask San the second you reckon his father is too far to hear.

“Honestly? Better than I thought I would.” He takes a sip of water - you’ve both finished your drinks before the food even arrived, and didn’t order more - and then adds, “It started really weird but… I think it’s better now. Isn’t it?”

He frowns with the question, looking at you for approval.

“It is,” you say with a nod. “I agree that it was weird at the beginning, but he seemed anxious. And he’s been seeming more genuine now too.”

“Right.” San glances at the watch. “This watch is worth thirty thousand dollars.”

“What the fuck?” you let out, eyes bulging out of your head.

You could tell it was expensive, but you would have never assumed that it was that expensive.

San wets his lips. “He got it when my mom got pregnant with me. When I was a kid, he told me he’d give it to me when I’d become a man.” His waterline grows silver. “I didn’t think he would ever give it to me.”

Which explains why he was so expectant when he gave the gift to San when he arrived.

“That’s…” you trail off. “I actually don’t have words to say.”

“He’s really trying.” A tear rolls on San’s cheek, and he quickly wipes it with the back of his hand. “But why does it feel like I’m doing my mom wrong by being here?”

“Oh, San…” You feel like your heart has been stabbed with his words, and you lay a hand on your chest, the other finding his hand. “I’m sure she would understand why you would want to have dinner with your father.”

“She would.” He nods. “She does, actually. I told her, and she said she was happy for me, and said I deserved to have a relationship with my father.”

His mother is a saint, that much you’re certain of. Because if you’d been in her position, you would have selfishly tried to keep San from ever seeing his father again after what his father did.

“But I feel so bad for her,” he adds. “She’s never been able to be with someone else, you know? He hurt her so bad.”

“I know,” you gently say. “I… I’m so sorry.”

San gulps, and he blinks his tears away. He’s successful this time, especially as he takes a deep breath and then drinks some water. “My bad. I should not get emotional right now. Let’s keep that for later.”

You don’t blame him for it - he doesn’t want to be emotional in front of his father, which is totally understandable considering that they’ve barely talked for years.

A few minutes later, his father returns, right at the same time as the waitress comes back to retrieve the empty food plates from the table. His father suggests getting dessert, and San grudgingly accepts. You end up eating a piece of cheesecake as father and son keep talking. The dessert is delicious, and you end up scraping the little bits left from the plate as San tells his father about his friends, and his father’s features light up from within at the mention of Wooyoung.

“Oh, I remember that kid!” his father says. “He was always so polite when he came over.”

San chuckles. “Yeah, Wooyoung is an angel in front of everyone’s parents, but he is a little wild.”

“Always thought so,” his father replies with a wise nod. “Do you get along with San’s friends?”

The question is directed to you, taking you by surprise, and your eyes go round. It doesn’t take you long to recover though, and you’re soon saying, “Yes, we’re all part of the same friend group, honestly.”

His father winces. “I hope nothing happens to you both, then. It’s always so hard losing friends when a break up happens.”

San tenses. “Right.”

His father senses the shift in the atmosphere, and an apologetic look appears on his features. You steel yourself - you can tell that the conversation is about to go to hell before it even starts.

“I’m sorry, San. I hope you know that.”

San’s fist clenches on the table next to the fork he’s just put down. “About what?”

“About everything,” his father says. “I never meant to hurt you or your mother.”

San raises his eyebrows, letting out the most bitter laugh you’ve ever heard from him. It’s enough to make you want to pull on his arm, to remind him that he’s bigger than that, but it’s too late. So you watch the asteroid crash, watch it all as if you’re frozen in place.

“Oh, so you’re sorry about lying to us for years?” he asks. “You’re sorry for abandoning the two of us, for pretending we didn’t exist.”

A muscle feathers on his father’s jaw. “You know it never was like that. Your mother forbade me from even talking to you. And it’s in the past now.”

“Is it?” San shakes his head, scoffing. “You think I’m over everything you did just because you want me to be?”

“Don’t do this here,” his father says. “Please.”

“Don’t come here with lame excuses, then.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and you put your hand on San’s forearm, trying to calm him down. Though awkward and clumsy, you think San’s father’s attempt at an apology might have been genuine, but it visibly was too early for San. San looks at you, and the pain in his features almost makes you want to jump at his father’s throat, but you refrain from doing so.

You really shouldn’t be causing a scene in public, anyway.

“Let’s stop here for tonight, shall we?” you suggest.

The two men look at you, his father relieved while San appears to feel betrayed. You hate the look on his features, but you figure you can always talk to him in the car to explain why you said that.

You know he’ll understand, even if he’s mad right now. And you don’t blame him for being mad, not after everything he’s been through.

“Good idea,” his father says. “We can always meet up again some other time.”

San scoffs, yet thankfully chooses to remain quiet as his father motions to the waitress that you’ll take the bill. He ends up paying for the three of you, which you thank him for since San remains silent. You then follow the man outside, wishing him goodbye as San walks behind you with the gift in his hand, even though he looks ready to throw it away the second his father turns his back on the two of you.

Obviously, he doesn’t, but San still stays stubbornly mute as you climb in his car. You notice his father driving away in a fancy Porsche, but you don’t say anything about it, instead looking at San’s profile as he wraps his hands around the wheel, white on his knuckles.

“He’s an asshole.”

“San…”

“Don’t defend him, I swear to God.” San sighs, head hanging low as his eyes flutter close. “And I’m not mad at you. Sorry if I sound like I am. I just…”

“It’s a lot,” you carefully say.

San nods. “It really is. I’m all for meeting up and talking, but saying he’s sorry after all the shit that happened is not it. As if three words can fix everything he’s put me and my mom through.”

“It can’t,” you agree. “But it’s a start, no?”

“Whatever.” San finally puts the key in the ignition, and the engine comes to life a second later. “I just want to go home and hold you in my arms and not think for a while.”

He gives you a quick look, long enough for you to nod, and then he’s pulling out of his parking spot, and then heading towards the street.

The ride is awkwardly silent at first as you worry that you could say something that would upset him. But ten minutes later, San turns on the bluetooth music, handing you his phone so that you can choose what music to put on. You settle on a chill indie playlist, and San nods in approval, humming along with the song.

Three songs later, his hand finds your thigh, and you think all is good in the world. And so you put your hand on top of his, relaxing in your seat as you look outside the window while the car eats the miles towards your apartment.

The drive home isn’t as long as it was earlier, most likely thanks to the lack of traffic at this hour, and San even manages to park his car right outside your apartment. You go in, finding the apartment enshrouded in darkness, though you quickly turn the lights on as you remove your shoes by the door.

“I am so ready to cuddle in bed,” San says with a sigh, and you lightly tap his chest.

“Shower first,” you remind him. “We’re not going in my bed with our outside clothes on.”

He whines, though he follows you to your bedroom so that you can grab a clean pair of PJ shorts along with a sweater of his you’ve stolen a few days ago. San fetches clothes from the bag he brought over, and then you both make your way to the bathroom.

“Do you want to go in first?” San asks, and you eye your tiny shower.

“We’ve fit in there together before.”

Something shines in his gaze, flames lit from within. “Oh, I see what you have in mind.”

“Not that,” you say with a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “But since you had a rough night, I want to be with you. Wash your back, and all that shit.”

San, who’s currently standing in front of you, leans down, leaving a peck on the tip of your nose before straightening. “You’re the best.”

And though this is all fairly new, though seeing him naked makes your blood boil in your veins, you focus on cleaning yourself, and then cleaning his back as you stand in the shower together. It’s gentle, soothing, or at least you try to be, knowing he needs it.

Even though he might need time to process tonight and talk about it, you still want him to know that you’re with him, that you’re ready to listen whenever he’ll want to talk about it.

Once you’re done washing his back, San turns, a trail of water licking down his shoulder and cresting on his right pec before trickling down his defined abs. The sight catches you off guard, and you look up to meet his gaze.

He’s smirking, and he rests a hand on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You let out a startled sound, and your hands land flat on his chest. 

“Careful or you’ll start drooling,” he teases.

You narrow your eyes at him, snaking your arms around his neck. “I would think that you would like that, no?” You glance down between the two of you, where his dick is pressed against your stomach. He’s soft, but you know your words will rile him up in no time. “Especially if it’s while I’m choking on your cock.”

He doesn’t waste a second, cupping your cheeks and kissing you deep. It’s languid, slow, every stroke of his tongue on yours igniting a star in your chest until you’re bursting at the seams, unable to hold all of your feelings for him.

“San,” you say against his lips what feels like an hour later, but realistically must only be a few seconds.

“Mmh?” he hums.”

“You said something, earlier,” you whisper as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Yeah?”

You nod, and you run your hands down his back, goosebumps rising on your arms at the temperature of the water. You would probably be shivering if it wasn’t for San standing so close to you but right now, his body heat keeps you in its warm embrace.

“You told your father that I’m your girlfriend,” you continue.

He tenses. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” You pull away, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. “No, San.”

He looks terrified, like you’re about to run away. But you won’t - if he allows, you’ll stay rooted in this spot next to him for the rest of your life.

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you confess. “I want to get to call you my boyfriend, and to tell our friends that we’re dating. I want to tell my parents that we’re dating.” Suddenly, your vision gets blurry, and you blink tears away. “I really want us to be in a real relationship now. With all the labels that come with it.”

San’s eyes also fill with tears, but you know them for what they are - happiness in a liquid form. 

“Princess…”

You smile through the emotions. “Boyfriend.”

And then San is kissing you, his lips moving against yours like the grandest love confession of all. It might not be the words, and you both might not quite be ready to use those three little words, but your bodies and hearts and souls understand.

You understand, and so does he. It’s been written in the fabric of the universe ever since you went over to his apartment back in September.

“Fuck,” San curses. “Sorry. I…”

You pull him back down into another kiss, one that ends in a fit of giggles from the two of you. It’s sweet, far away from the lust you were trying to ignite with your words just a moment ago.

“Let’s get out of this shower,” San says when you finally part. “Before we drain the whole building of its hot water.”

You chuckle, nodding your head. “Yes. I want to be in your arms.”

“Always.”

It’s a promise if you’ve ever seen one.

San turns off the water as you get out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel. You hand him his, and he follows you out a second later. It doesn’t take you long to dry yourself and put your clothes on, and then you’re making your way to your bedroom, leaving the steamy bathroom behind.

Your room is cool, the streetlight outside projecting the shadow of branches heavy with leaves on the wall. They’re moving in the wind, almost as if a puppeteer is controlling them, and it would be a little creepy if you weren’t so damn happy.

How can you not be, when Choi San is by your side?

San plugs in your fairy lights as you retrieve your laptop from the desk of your vanity, and then you join him in bed. You’ve had a routine of watching some K-dramas in bed while cuddling every night you hang out and, tonight is no different. 

Or maybe it is. Maybe it is, because Choi San is your boyfriend, and you’re Choi San’s girlfriend. 

You smile, wiggling in place as happiness flushes through you again like a flood, and you grin from ear to ear. You can’t help it - his arm around you as the opening credits of the K-drama appears on the screen is just too perfect, much like everything about him after all.

“What’s got you dancing like that?” San asks.

“I’m happy,” you simply reply.

He pulls on you until you’re lying on your back, and he meets your gaze. “I’m happy, too.”

The kiss that comes next feels more natural than the sun and the rain and the clouds and the wind. It feels like maybe it’s the first rule of the universe, maybe it’s the Big Bang to a world of you and Choi San. 

It’s perfect in every way, even as you sigh against him, and he climbs on top of you, spreading your legs with his knee. Especially as he does so, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

“Girlfriend,” San says as he pulls away to catch his breath.

You run your hand in his hair, slightly pulling at the strands as the grin comes back to your lips. “Boyfriend.”

“Fuck,” he curses, much like he had earlier. “I… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Even though the words usually make you feel anxious, the amount of love in his gaze makes you feel safer than you’ve ever felt, and you just nod, grin softening into a small smile. “Yeah?”

“I’ve known you for a lot longer than you’ve known me,” he says.

The words get you confused, and your brow creases as you furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Frosh week,” he says. “You were drunk, and I should have known, but you asked me to kiss you.” His eyes flutter shut as he seems to be reminiscing the moment. You, on the other end, feel shocked, and you just wait for him to continue. “You were so pretty. You had two braids framing your face, and your eyes were so shiny. And you were smiling and laughing, and I thought I’d met the love of my life.”

He meets your gaze as you just blink once, not knowing what to say.

“And then you were laughing, and you spilled a drink on my shirt. And you said you were trying to kiss as many guys as you could -” not your proudest moment - “and that you were going to kiss me to apologize.” He laughs, slightly shaking his head. “And then you did. You kissed me, and I swear to God it was like the world stopped turning.”

“What?” you let out.

“I figured you were really drunk though, mostly because you tasted a lot like alcohol, so I pulled away. And then when you opened your eyes and looked at me, I felt like I was falling. And I never stopped. I know it might be weird, but…”

“San, stop,” you say, and his eyes widen in fear. 

He rolls on his side next to you, apologies taking over his features. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why did you never talk to me after that?” you ask.

And you scramble through your mind, trying to find memories of that moment. But you only remember kissing the first two guys, and even then you were already pretty gone. 

But you would have remembered San, right? How could you even forget him?

“I tried,” he admits. “First day of class, I tried to approach you. But you only smiled politely, bowed a little, and walked right next to me. That’s when I realized you didn’t remember me.”

“San, what the fuck?”

“I… fuck, I’m sorry, I should have told you before.”

You gulp as you sit up, pausing the K-drama. “It’s just… weird.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again as he too sits up.

“This whole time…” you trail off for a few seconds, and then finish, “you knew who I was?”

He nods. “Had a massive crush on you in the first year of college. You can ask Wooyoung. He kept making fun of me.”

The strangest part is, you remember Wooyoung from back then. Maybe because he hasn’t changed all that much, whereas San got a lot stronger over the years, his physique changing drastically. 

Hell, you barely recognize him from the pictures he showed you from when he was back in high school.

“And you never tried to talk to me?”

He chuckles, and this time, it’s a little bitter. “Oh, I actually did. For like two months. But every time I went up to you, I just felt so fucking awkward and inadequate and… I told myself that it was because of my father, and that you deserved better anyway.”

“San, no…”

He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s why I started working out,” he admits. “I didn’t like feeling insecure like that, and I figured I could at least look better.”

And he does. Not that he wasn’t cute before, but he was just… a boy. And now he’s a man, a man that’s swept you off your feet.

“Holy shit,” you let out after a moment of silence that stretches into awkwardness. “I… That’s so wild.”

San looks apologetic - sad, even. “I’m really sorry.”

“All this time…” 

He nods when you stop talking. “I should have said something before. But I felt like it didn’t really matter, since I was someone different back then.”

“But you knew it was me when the professor paired us together last semester?”

“Yeah, I did.” He wets his lips, gulping. “Wooyoung was a fucking shit about it.”

You’re not surprised. “How… did you feel?” you ask.

To think you went to his place and sucked his dick that very first time.

“I was surprised,” he says. “I’m not going to say that I was crushing on you all this time in a corner, just waiting for an opportunity to be with you.” Which you know he wasn’t, considering he had the reputation to sleep around a lot before you. “But I was happy. Thought maybe we could be friends.”

“But then I…” Your cheeks burn, and you clear your throat.

“Yeah, you came over and gave me the best blowjob of my life and the whole time, it felt like I was in one of my fantasies from three years ago.”

“Ew,” you let out, though there’s a teasing undertone to it. “You were imagining shit like that before we even talked?”

San flushes deep crimson. “Shit, no. I mean, you know, kind of, like all men. Which, wait, that’s disgusting of me to say. I… I guess I did. But not like, explicitly. Just…”

You listen to his rambling, eyebrows raising. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

You snort. “It’s weird. But you’re a guy, and guys have always been weird.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have always been weird.”

“What?” he lets out. 

“You’re weird,” you repeat. “I like that about you.”

“So, you’re not huh…” He gulps again, like he has a lump in his throat. “You’re not going to leave.”

“We’re at my apartment.”

“No, but I mean…”

You put a hand on his knee. “No, I’m not. I think it’s hella fucking weird that you had a crush on me before, and I didn’t even remember you, but that was years ago.”

“Right.”

“So, though I’m kind of shocked, I’m not upset with you,” you add. “So please stop looking so sad.” You lean closer, pecking his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

He sounds like he doesn’t believe it, so you remind him, “I’m your girlfriend, and you’re my boyfriend. We aren’t breaking up when we just started dating.”

He looks at you. His gaze is heavy with emotion, and you think he might say the words. But, much like you, they stay clogged in his throat, so he says it with his body instead. He says it with the way he pulls you in for the most gentle kiss, like you’re fragile china in a glass armoire. He says it like one wrong move might turn you to dust, says it like you’re the sun he’s orbiting around. 

He says it with the way he hovers on top of you when you lie on your back, pulling him then. Says it when he leaves a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat, and says it when he kneels between your legs.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks as you reach for the hem of his sweatpants.

“San, please,” you beg.

“Baby.”

He doesn’t usually call you baby, yet it makes you love him even more, and you sit up to take off your sweater while he takes his sweatpants off. He didn’t put underwear on, and he’s already hard when he kneels between your legs again, stroking himself slowly. 

You take it all in - the hard planes of his body shift each time he strokes his dick, and you admire him in the warmth of the fairy lights. There’s a vein on one of his biceps, his abs look rock hard, and you reach between you to run a hand up his abdomen.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “So, so beautiful.”

You want to say that he is, too, but he’s leaning down, stealing your mouth for another languid kiss that makes your mind spin out of control. Your hand moves down, finding the base of his dick, and you squeeze him, jerking him off slowly like you know he likes it, with a flick of the wrist when you reach the top. He grunts in your mouth, fucking your hand, and you moan as he bites at your lower lip.

“I want you slow tonight,” he says. “Want to make you feel so good.”

“Is that one of your fantasies, too?” you tease.

He glares at you, one hand finding your neck. He doesn’t choke you, just holds, and desire strikes you deep.

“Don’t be a brat about this, mmh?”

You smirk. “We’ll see.”

He tries to keep the glare, but then he bursts out laughing even though you have your hand around him. He kisses you, softly, and then pulls away to meet your gaze. “I’ll make love to you, m’kay?”

Make love. It’s a confession in itself, even if it isn’t those three little words. You take it in, and your heart races in your chest with love and lust and everything in between as San kneels back on his heels and takes off your shorts and underwear.

Once you’re fully naked, San meets your gaze again, one of his hands trailing between your legs. He parts your folds, teases your entrance, and then he pushes one finger in. Your mouth falls open at the intrusion, pleasure spiking up your spine, especially as he arches the finger to rub the sweet, nutty spot inside of you.

“You’re always so soaked for me,” he praises. “My perfect girlfriend.”

“Always for you,” you agree.

He smiles, eyes shining, and then he’s kissing you again as he eases a second finger inside of you, getting you ready for his dick. It feels good, far too good, but you want him whole. Want his body on top of yours, his hands in your hair, and yours on his back. 

You want his lips to never leave yours again. But they do as he pulls his fingers out of you, watching them glistening with your juices. He brings them to your mouth, and you lick them clean for him, the taste of you only serving to make your heart beat even faster.

“Ready?” he asks as he positions himself at your entrance.

You nod, hooking your legs around him as you try and lift yourself on him. He pulls his dick away, tapping it on your sensitive clit, and you moan a curse that makes him chuckle.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ve got you.”

The second he finishes the sentence, San’s pushing inside of you, stretching you wide open. This time, you moan in pleasure. He leans his forehead against yours, slowly pushing all the way in, only stopping when he’s fully inside of you.

And then you’re kissing again, all lips and tongues and racing hearts and so much feelings for such a small soul. Yet as he starts moving, rocking his hips back and forth, you think you might be infinite. Because being with him feels infinite, like nothing could ever stop you. Like your photons of light, travelling side by side in the emptiness of space, never feeling empty because of the presence at your side.

You’re full of all your emotions for him, full of him, and you moan in his mouth as he groans his pleasure. The kiss is wet, but you don’t care. You just want it all, and San gives it to you. Even as the pace remains slow and deep, his lips ravage your mouth with intent, and you scratch at his back as if that’ll bring him even closer.

Somehow, it does, and you hold him tight against you as he keeps moving, making love to you like he said he would.

“I wanna fuck you like this every day,” he says in your ear, voice low and husky. “Wanna feel your walls tightening because they want more.”

“So crude,” you let out, though it ends on a moan as he snaps his hips harder. “Fuck.”

“Just…” he trails off, and then he finds your mouth again. 

There are no words needed in the following moments. Just two heartbeats in sync, two bodies moving together, a rhythm increasing yet staying full of love. When your high hits, you fall along with him, and he paints your insides white as he pours his love into you.

And you feel so full of him, so full with him, that you just keep holding him as your breathing evens out, your heart returning to normal. He doesn’t try moving either, his face hidden in your neck, though he does gently peck your skin once in a while, to keep you tethered to him in this instant in time.

As if you would ever drift from him. 

How could you, when he’s the man that you love?

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i was so excited for y'all to learn what happened during frosh week haha i hope you guys liked it! let me know what you think:)

All rights reserved to @oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[moonleeai]

A touching, bittersweet reunion story!!

Familiarity | Seokjin x Yoongi

🏕️Pairing: Seokjin x Yoongi

🏕️Rating: MA

🏕️Tags: exes to lovers, ex-boyfriends, reunion, camping

🏕️Warnings: smut 🔞

🏕️WC: 7,430

#bangtanwhq

Summary:

Seokjin thought Yoongi was his end game. That was until Yoongi left him behind for bigger and better things. Seokjin has moved on and is thriving as a hard-working marketing executive in desperate need of a break. With terrible timing, as usual, Yoongi reappears and wants to try again.

With a sigh, Seokjin sits back in his office chair, tilting his head to the side with a stretch. A low groan escapes at the sudden crack that echoes through the empty office. He glances at the clock on the wall, grimacing at how late it’s gotten. He shakes his head with a tired chuckle, gathering scattered papers into neat piles, quickly shutting down his computer. 

“About time, Jin-ssi,” a teasing voice calls as he steps out of his office, pulling the door closed behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see his coworker, Sooyoung, smirking at him. “Finally decided to let yourself take a break?”

“Something like that,” Jin replies, palming his keys. “If anyone asks–”

“I'll tell them you’re unavailable. Completely unreachable.” Sooyoung interrupts, her tone fond but firm. “Please, just forget work exists for a few days.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jin promises, offering a tired but grateful smile. He shoulders his bag and steps past her, heading to the elevator.

“Don’t get eaten by a bear!” Sooyoung calls after him, her laughter following Jin into the elevator.

He quickly crosses the vacant lobby of the tall high-rise that houses dozens of various business offices. He can feel his shoulders visibly relax as he steps out onto the sidewalk and takes a deep breath of fresh air. He tosses his keys into the air, catches them, and heads to his sleek, white CUV in the nearby parking garage. He pulls out of the concrete structure, leaving the few cars behind without a second glance.

The drive to Jimin and Jungkook’s house is short, but traffic makes it feel much longer. It’s late, but this city never sleeps. Jin taps his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, already feeling the tension ease from his shoulders as the weekend ahead beckons–quiet nights, a crackling campfire, and nothing but the peaceful rhythm of nature.

He pulls into the driveway alongside Jungkook’s pick-up truck, triggering the sensor that turns the porch light on. He slips out of his car just as Jimin steps onto the porch, the light from inside haloing around him. He can’t help his smile as his friend eagerly waves at him. 

Jungkook exits the house, his truck’s keys dangling from his fingers, “Hey, hyung.” 

“Thanks for letting me borrow it. You don’t even know how much I need this.” Jin tosses his keys to Jungkook as Jungkook tosses his at the same time. “Promise I won’t get it too muddy.”

“Make it as muddy as you want. It will give it some personality.” Jimin coyly glances over at Jungkook. “And in the end, I’ll get some eye candy as he washes it clean.”

Jungkook returns Jimin’s look, sidling closer to wrap an arm around the smaller man’s waist. “Then, please, do your worst, hyung,” Jungkook directs to Jin.

With a roll of his eyes and a quip of the tongue, Jin backs toward the dark gray truck. “Happy to be of service.”

Hopping in, he pulls out of the driveway, leaving the other two behind with a wave.

Morning comes with a chirp of birds and rays of sun crossing the expanse of his bedroom. Jin lingers in the shower, taking his time moving through his morning routine before slipping into a pair of black joggers and an oversized white tee.  He shuffles into the kitchen as he straps his watch on, not even needing to really think about the process as he brews a cup of coffee. He stands there for a few moments enjoying the aroma before heading over to where he had already pre-packed everything he needed for his trip. 

He quickly double-checks that he has everything before he steps back over to the full cup of coffee. Leaning back against the counter, he slips his phone into his hand and reviews his list one more time. Feeling fully reassured, he flips over to Instagram, scrolling a bit to catch up on what his social network is up to. 

Tilting his head back, he drains the last dregs of his mug before rinsing it out and setting it on the drainer. He starts hauling camping gear out to the truck parked in front of his townhouse. Humming as he works, he carefully arranges the items to fit them as best as possible. He’s just strapping the tent into place when a long, familiar voice startles him. 

“You always made that look harder than it actually is.”

Jin freezes at the sound of the unseen voice–low, familiar, and painfully unexpected. He tightens the strap one more time before pivoting slowly. His breath hitches as he takes in Yoongi standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

“Yoongi?” Jin’s voice wavers before he steadies it, his eyes narrowing slightly in guarded confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi shifts uncomfortably, eyes fixed intensely on Jin’s. “Honestly, I don’t even know how I got here. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing in my life.”

“And you thought you’d find it here, of all places?” Jin asks, voice tinged with disbelief.

Yoongi’s gaze softens slightly, sincere and vulnerable. “No, I thought I might find it with you.”

Jin’s jaw tightens as a complex wave of emotions surges within him. “I’m leaving now, Yoongi. I don’t have time to sit here and figure out whatever the hell it is you’re here for.”

“Please,” Yoongi’s voice drops, quiet and determined. “We need to talk, hyung.”

“Well, then you’ll have to wait, as you can see I’m busy.” Jin snaps, surprising even himself. He starts to turn his back toward his ex-boyfriend, but hesitates, facing him again. “If you’re really determined to talk to me, you can come along. But either way, I’m leaving now.”

Yoongi hesitates briefly, conflict flickering across his face before resolve takes over. With a simple nod, he steps forward and climbs into the passenger side with nothing but the clothes on his back. Jin clenches his jaw, his hand gripping the door handle tightly as he yanks it open. 

He really didn’t think Yoongi would accept the challenge. If he knew anything about his ex-boyfriend, he would have been sure that Yoongi would back down at the thought of spending any lengthy amount of time in the great outdoors. 

Regret pushes back at the peace that he was previously feeling, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get it back as he settles next to the diminutive man already settled in the cab of the truck.

The first thirty minutes pass in silence, heavy and awkward. Jin keeps his eyes trained steadily on the road ahead, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles whitening with tension. Yoongi, for his part, stares out the window, tracing patterns absently against the passenger-side glass, the sun shifting higher in the sky, warming the cab around them.

“Did you eat breakfast already?” Yoongi’s voice finally breaks through the silence, low and hesitant.

Jin exhales sharply, caught off guard. He spares a glance at Yoongi before turning back to the road. “I’ll eat when we get there.”

Yoongi’s sigh is quiet but noticeable. “Still skipping meals, I see.”

Jin bristles at the observation, fingers drumming restlessly. “Don’t start.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles after another pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m just…trying, Jin.”

The sincerity in his voice softens Jin’s irritation only slightly, leaving space for a grudging, terse response. “Yeah, I know.”

They lapse back into silence, the rhythmic hum of the truck’s engine filling the awkward void between them. The city gradually recedes, giving way to winding mountain roads and dense forest. The tension clings stubbornly between them, an invisible yet palpable barrier. 

After nearly an hour, Jin clears his throat, desperate for anything to fill the uneasy silence. “How long have you been back in town?”

Yoongi shifts again, clearly grateful for any hint of conversation. “About two days. Mostly staying at a hotel, figuring out if I even had the courage to see you.”

Jin’s grip loosens slightly, curiosity slowly beginning to override his lingering resentment, “You could’ve just called.”

Yoongi huffs a small laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. “And said what exactly? ‘Hey, Jin, remember when I left? Turns out that was a mistake. Can we talk?’ Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

Jin’s mouth twitches slightly, despite himself. “You never were good at talking, to be fair.”

“Still not,” Yoongi admits quietly.  “But I’m trying now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Jin doesn’t answer immediately, gaze fixed intently on the road, rays of light slicing across the road between the towering trees. Finally, quietly, he responds, “We’ll see.”

Yoongi’s breath catches slightly, but he nods and sinks deeper into the seat, seemingly accepting Jin’s ambiguous answers for now. The stifling quiet returns, but less suffocating and more contemplative this time. Jin finds himself subtly easing his grip even further on the wheel as the familiar mountain roads lead them deeper into the forest, bringing them closer to confronting whatever truth awaits them at the end of this journey.

Jin finally backs into his pre-assigned campsite after hours of stilted conversation and headache-inducing silence. He quickly clambers out of the truck, sucking in a lungful of crisp moutain air. Not looking back, he shuts the door, maybe a little more forcefully than intended, and rounds the truck bed to start hauling things out.

On the other side, Yoongi exits more slowly, quietly shutting the passenger door. Jin feels Yoongi’s eyes on him, an unreadable weight against his back, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he grabs the tent bag, unhooking the strap roughly, frustration still simmering beneath his skin.

“Need help?” Yoongi’s voice drifts hesitantly from a few feet away, cautious and uncertain.

Jin glances up, half-surprised that Yoongi is even offering. He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. “Sure. You can grab the smaller bags and set them by the fire pit.”

Yoongi nods, approaching the truck bed and peering at the jumble of camping equipment. After a beat, he lifts a piece of equipment, his brows drawn as he turns it over, confused. 

“That’s a camp stove and definitely not one of the small bags I asked you to grab.”

Yoongi scoffs, glaring pointedly at him. “Not all of us grew up doing this. You know that.”

Jin huffs a quiet laugh, the familiarity of their teasing suddenly making his chest ache with memories. He quickly sobers, shaking himself mentally. “Fine, just…hold the stove. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, holding it with exaggerated care. “Better?”

“Much,” Jin replies dryly and begins transferring the gear out of his truck and setting things in the general area he wants them to end up. Yoongi worries at his lip, watching for a couple of minutes before finally setting the stove down on the wooden picnic table in the center. Quietly, he starts following behind Jin, carting the items he's sure won’t have the perfectionist mad at him.

The silence shifts to Yoongi awkwardly standing there watching Jin unfold the tent poles with practiced efficiency. He moves automatically, slipping the pieces together as muscle memory takes over; the rhythmic clicks serve as a soothing balm against his frayed nerves.

After a long pause, Yoongi speaks quietly, voice barely audible over the nighttime whispers of the surrounding forest. “I missed watching you do things like this.”

Jin’s hands falter, heart stuttering sharply. He swallows thickly, refusing to look up. “Yoongi–”

“I’m not trying to start anything right now,” Yoongi interrupts quickly, voice gentler now. “Just… it feels good. Familiar.”

Jin’s shoulders sag slightly as he secures the tent frame. His voice is quiet but firm. “Familiar doesn’t always mean good, Yoongi. Sometimes it just means comfortable.” 

Yoongi nods slowly, “Maybe. But maybe it also means there’s something worth fighting for.”

The quiet sincerity in Yoongi’s voice sends a tremor through Jin’s chest. He straightens abruptly, avoiding Yoongi’s searching gaze as he grabs the tent canvas. “We should get this set up. It’s getting late, and I don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Yoongi hesitates a moment before silently stepping forward, holding the canvas as Jin instructs him, their fingers brushing awkwardly at times. Jin pretends not to notice the small shivers each accidental touch sends racing up his spine, focusing instead on the task at hand–ignoring the subtle warmth that blossoms in his chest as they quietly set up camp underneath the setting sun.

Once the tent is secured, Jin steps back to inspect their work, nodding in quiet approval. The silence between them has settled into something softer now, less raw but still charged with uncertainty. Yoongi shifts awkwardly next to him, glancing around the campsite.

“Is there something else I can do?” Yoongi asks, voice still hesitant but determined. “Preferably something that doesn’t involve holding a camp stove?”

Jin lets out a small chuckle despite himself, running a hand through his hair. “Can you manage gathering some firewood without hurting yourself?”

Yoongi scoffs lightly, though amusement flickers in his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” Jin murmurs, motioning vaguely toward the tree line. “Find smaller branches, nothing too damp. Stay close enough so you don’t get lost.”

“I’m not a child, Jin-hyung,” Yoongi mutters, though the faint curve of his lips softens the scolding as he moves toward the edge of the clearing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jin shoots back dryly, turning away quickly with a faint smile. He busies himself organizing their supplies, unrolling sleeping bags, and preparing the fire pit, welcoming the distraction of simple tasks. 

By the time Yoongi returns with an armful of slightly damp but usable firewood, Jin has arranged their cooking gear, coolers, groceries, camp chairs, and lanterns, making the campsite now cozy in its simplicity. Jin wordlessly accepts the wood from Yoongi, arranging it neatly in the fire pit and quickly lighting a blaze. Flames flicker to life, casting dancing shadows over their tense, tired faces. 

They eat a simple dinner of premade gimbap. Conversation comes sparingly, with careful questions met by guarded responses, each of them cautious not to delve too deeply, too quickly. Eventually, silence takes over again, filled only by the crackling fire and distant rustling of wildlife in the underbrush.

Night falls completely, leaving only the dying flames to cast shadows over the space. Jin shifts in his camp chair and stretches, his bones aching from exhaustion and the emotional weight of the day. “We should get some rest,” he mutters quietly, eyeing the tent hesitantly. 

Yoongi nods, glancing at the small tent, clearly uncertain. “Right.”

The tight space inside the tent feels impossibly small as they settle, each pointedly avoiding the other’s eyes, their bodies stiff with tension. Jin turns away, pulling the sleeping bag over himself, back towards Yoongi, where he lies next to the taller man on a thick pad of folded blankets with the rest piled on top of him. He tries ignoring how Yoongi’s quiet breathing fills the small space, achingly familiar.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, Jin’s mind refusing to quiet, swirling with unanswered questions and complicated emotions. 

Finally, Yoongi’s voice drifts softly from the darkness behind him, hesitant but weighted with meaning. “Thanks, Jin. For not turning me away.”

Jin swallows hard, heart thudding in the small space between them. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’m trying not to.”

Silence stretches. Jin pulls the sleeping bag tighter.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Night, hyung.”

The simple exchange settles around them, bridging the emotional distance just enough to ease the tension slightly. Eventually, Jin succumbs to sleep, one that’s restless with unending tossing and turning, all because every fiber of his being is aware of Yoongi’s presence mere inches away–his presence painfully familiar.

Jin wakes to muted sunlight filtering through the tent fabric, creating a gentle glow around him. The air is cool, fresh, tinged with the earthy scent of pine and morning dew. He blinks slowly, consciousness coming in waves until the sound of Yongi shifting softly beside him jolts him fully awake. Jin lies still, staring at the tent ceiling, painfully aware of Yoongi’s quiet breathing, too close and yet entirely unreachable. 

“Morning,” Yoongi says, voice low, roughened by sleep.

Jin swallows, throat dry. “Morning.”

Neither moves at first, suspended in the tense, awkward silence of their shared space. Finally, Jin exhales sharply and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll start breakfast,” he mutters, crawling quickly from the tent, leaving Yoongi behind.

Outside, the brisk mountain air helps clear his head. Jin stretches his stiff muscles, rummaging through his bags to find fresh clothes — a soft thermal shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a flannel to complete the outfit. He pulls his shirt over his head, the cool breeze sending shivers down his spine. He hears the tent rustle behind him, but doesn’t turn around. 

“I…didn’t exactly think this through,” Yoongi admits quietly, stepping into the open, arms crossed protectively over his chest as he eyes Jin’s neatly organized belongings. “Guess I’ll make do.”

Jin hesitates, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a spare long-sleeved shirt and offering it silently. Yoongi takes it with a murmured thanks, turning away briefly as he swaps shirts, movements cautious and reserved. Jin tries to ignore the fleeting glance at Yoongi’s pale skin and the warmth creeping unbidden onto his cheeks. 

Pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, Jin busies himself preparing breakfast. Soon, the campsite is filled with the inviting aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. Yoongi sits quietly at the picnic table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, eyes distant. 

It isn’t long before Jin sets aluminum plates onto the wooden surface, laden with an egg and veggie scramble, accompanied by perfectly fried bacon.

They eat slowly, any conversation stilted and sparse, punctuated by awkward silences and cautious glances. 

“So,” Jin finally breaks one of those silences, pushing eggs aimlessly around his plate, “How’s work?”

Yoongi shrugs, gaze fixed on his mug. “Good. Busy, I guess. I produce mostly now, less performing, more background stuff.”

“Sounds like what you always wanted,” Jin replies neutrally, though his chest tightens at the reminder. 

Yoongi meets his eyes briefly before looking away again. 

“What really brought you back, Yoongi?”

Yoongi shifts uneasily, taking a long sip of coffee before answering. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but clear, heavy with vulnerability. “For years, I thought I was doing exactly what I’d always dreamed of. And I was, but every achievement felt emptier than the last. I kept pushing harder, hoping the next project, the next song, would fill whatever void I had. But it never did.” He pauses, eyes now firmly fixed on Jin’s face, unguarded and pleading. “And every time, I found myself thinking about you. About us. I thought maybe I just missed home, missed the familiarity. But it was more than that. I missed feeling whole, feeling understood. And the only time I’ve ever felt like that was with you.”

Jin’s throat tightens painfully, his chest aching from Yoongi’s words. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure how to respond. After a long pause, he sighs, running a hand over his face. “You could’ve said something sooner.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Yoongi whispers, eyes dropping to his coffee mug again. “Not after the way things ended.”

Jin studies him silently, caught between resentment and empathy, memories tangling tightly in his chest. Finally, he sets his fork down sharply, the metallic clang echoing loudly through the quiet campsite. He looks across the table, locking eyes with Yoongi–anger, curiosity, and unresolved pain mingling within him.

“You know,” Jin says, voice deceptively calm, “it’s pretty bold of you to just show up here after all this time and say these things, like I’m supposed just to accept them.”

Yoongi bristles at Jin’s tone, lifting his chin stubbornly. “I’m not expecting you to just accept anything. I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Your truth,” Jin corrects sharply, eyes flashing. “A truth you conveniently discovered after leaving me behind.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw, looking away as his fingers tighten around his mug. “I never claimed to have handled things perfectly, Jin-hyung. But we both made choices. I left, but you didn’t exactly fight to keep me.”

“Why would I have?” Jin retorts sharply, bitterness creeping into his voice despite his attempt to hide it. “You were the one chasing something bigger, something better. How was I supposed to compete with that?”

Yoongi exhales harshly, frustration sparking visibly behind his dark eyes. “It wasn’t about bigger or better. It was about doing something that mattered to me. You could’ve come along. We could’ve found a way–”

Jin laughs, the sound harsh and grating, shaking his head in disbelief. “And abandoned my life, my career, just like that? It's not even like you asked, Yoongi. You just assumed I wouldn’t.”

“Because you never gave me any reason to think otherwise,” Yoongi counters heatedly, leaning forward, expression raw. “You always acted like everything you needed was right here. Why would I assume you’d suddenly drop everything for me?”

“Maybe because I loved you,” Jin snaps, voice loud enough to startle birds from nearby branches. He freezes, cheeks heating immediately at the sudden admission, but his gaze remains fixed defiantly on Yoongi.

Yoongi’s eyes widen briefly before he recovers, voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Loved. Past tense?”

“What did you expect?” Jin replies quietly, voice brittle now. “You walked away, Yoongi. You left me here, and now suddenly you’re back, expecting what exactly? That everything would just pick up right where we left off?”

“No, of course not,” Yoongi mutters defensively, gaze dropping away briefly. “But I hoped–maybe–I thought you might still feel something, too.”

Jin swallows painfully, the vulnerable honesty in Yoongi’s voice pulling at him in ways he isn’t ready for. He sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Do you know how hard it was after you left? It wasn’t just loneliness. It was losing every future we’d imagined together. Every single one.”

“I felt that too,” Yoongi admits softly, hesitantly meeting Jin’s gaze again. “You think I wasn’t miserable? Every success felt meaningless because you weren’t there. I thought achieving my dreams meant something, but it never did–not fully. Not without you.”

Jin shifts uncomfortably, heart pounding as he searches Yoongi’s expression for any sign of dishonesty. Finding none, he sighs, tone turning softer but still wary. “You’ve always been good with words when you need to be, Yoongi.”

Yoongi smiles weakly, voice tinged with a gentle teasing that feels achingly familiar. “And you’ve always been good at pretending you aren’t affected by them.”

Jin scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward despite his resistance. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late for that,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning back slightly, the tension in his posture softening fractionally. “You’re already smiling.”, 

Jin scowls, though it lacks true irritation, eyes flickering downward briefly before returning stubbornly to Yoongi’s face. “It’s just…it’s complicated, Yoongi. This isn’t something we can fix in one weekend.”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything overnight,” Yoongi replies earnestly. “But I do think it’s worth trying, Jin, at least trying to figure out if this–if us–is still something we both want.”

Jin exhales, hesitating. Vulnerability flickers through his expression, brief and telling. “And if we do try, what happens when things get hard again? Are you just going to run off like before?”

Yoongi flinches slightly, but holds Jin’s gaze steadily. “I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Trust me, nothing out there was worth losing you.”

Jin’s throat tightens painfully, but he doesn’t immediately respond. The silence settles around them again, heavy and charged, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves in the breeze. Finally, Jin speaks softly, voice roughened by emotion. 

“We have this weekend. No promises beyond that.”

Yoongi nods slowly, accepting the fragile boundary Jin has set. “I can work with that.”

They share another quiet look, uncertainty and hope mingling openly between them for the first time since their reunion. Jin returns to his coffee, the warmth steadying his trembling hands as he silently acknowledges that shift that has begun–a careful, tentative step toward something that might be healing, or heartbreak, or perhaps both.

The remainder of the day passes in fragments–small moments that pile atop each other, slowly breaking down the barriers Jin and Yoongi had carefully built over time. 

They hike along a winding trail, Jin leading confidently while Yoongi follows, quietly cursing under his breath each time a low-hanging branch catches him unaware. Jin tries — and fails — not to laugh, the sound soft and bright, echoing through the quiet forest. Yoongi’s feigned annoyance only lasts until Jin reaches back, instinctively offering his hand over a particularly rocky incline. The warmth of Yoongi’s palm against his sends sparks racing up Jin’s spine, lingering even after Yoongi has safely climbed up beside him.

As they rest beside a creek, Yoongi sits with his back against a sturdy tree trunk, silently watching Jin skip stones across the water. The light catches Jin’s hair, and Yoongi’s gaze softens visibly, unguarded affection coloring his expression. Jin turns abruptly, catching him staring. Instead of looking away, Yoongi holds Jin’s gaze steadily, eyes smoldering with quiet intensity, and he feels heat rising to his cheeks. 

Later, once back at camp, they cook dinner side by side over a low-burning fire, their movements slowly syncing into a familiar rhythm. Yoongi tries seasoning the soondubu jjigae, earning a gentle teasing from Jin about his overuse of garlic. Yoongi retorts with a playful jab at Jin’s questionable obsession with overly spicy kimchi. Their laughter intertwines easily, warmth seeping deeper into each exchange, brightening their shared space beneath the stars.

Yet, not everything is smooth. An argument flares unexpectedly, harsh heated words breaking the evening’s calm as Yoongi stubbornly insists he doesn’t need Jin’s help with the firewood. Jin, equally stubborn, reminds him sharply of his lack of experience. 

 “Maybe I just wanted to prove I can be useful.”

Jin’s mouth snaps shut at the quiet admission that Yoongi throws out, frustration evident in his voice. Jin’s irritation fades instantly, replaced by shame, as he quietly acknowledges, “You never needed to prove that to me.”

By the following morning, the careful walls between them have become dangerously thin, each glance lingering a little longer, each accidental brush of fingers igniting deeper longing. Yoongi’s reserved smiles begin to reach his eyes more often, making Jin’s heart ache with recognition of how desperately he’s missed seeing them.

As the sun sets, Jin watches Yoongi from across the campfire, the golden glow casting warm highlights on Yoongi’s features. Yoongi feels the weight of Jin’s gaze and meets it directly, challenge and invitation clear in his dark eyes. The quiet tension between them thickens until it’s almost tangible, crackling around the fire. 

That night, as they crawl into the tent, Jin’s heart pounds loudly, each beat reverberating in his ears. Their bodies settle inches apart, warmth radiating through the layers of polyester and fleece. Jin lies rigidly, hyper-aware, just like the previous night, of Yoongi’s closeness. A new layer of tension coalesced in the air, making his breathing uneven, every nerve on edge.

The silence stretches unbearably long, filled only with the sound of their breathing, rapid and shallow. When Yoongi finally shifts, rolling to face Jin in the dim lighting from the lantern placed in the corner, Jin holds his breath, frozen in anticipation. 

“Jin,” Yoongi whispers, voice hoarse, barely audible.

“Yeah?” Jin answers, equally quiet, pulse racing. 

Yoongi’s fingers brush lightly against Jin’s wrist, hesitant, testing the boundary. “Can I…?”

Jin exhales shakily, feeling every ounce of his resolve crumble beneath Yoongi’s touch. He turns his hand over slowly, letting Yoongi’s fingers thread gently through his own. “Yes.”

That single whispered word breaks the last thread of resistance between them, and suddenly Yoongi shifts closer, their breaths mingling in the scant inches that separate them.

Jin’s heart pounds as he feels Yoongi’s warmth pressing close, realizing just how long he’s wanted this–needed this. The longing, stretched thin by years apart and days of cautious rebuilding, snaps taut between them. 

“Yoongi,” Jin breathes, voice strained with emotion, “please.”

And with that single plea, Yoongi closes the distance completely, pressing their lips together in a kiss filled with desperation, relief, and deep, undeniable need. 

Yoongi kisses him like he’s afraid Jin might disappear again–slow at first, searching, their lips brushing once, twice, before deepening with a kind of quiet desperation that only distance and time create. Jin responds in kind, his fingers tightening around Yoongi’s as he rolls toward him fully, closing the last of the space between them.

Their bodies align naturally, like they’ve never forgotten the way they used to fit. Jin shudders as Yoongi’s hand slides up his arm, over his shoulder, and into his hair, tugging gently as he angles his head to kiss him deeper. Jin parts his lips with a soft sigh, letting Yoongi in, tasting a flood of memories on his tongue.

It’s careful at first, reverent–like they’re relearning each other inch by inch. Jin’s hand finds Yoongi’s waist under his shirt, fingertips grazing skin that is still familiar, warm and firm beneath his touch. Yoongi groans softly into Jin’s mouth at the contact, his hips pressing forward instinctively.

The friction sparks something electric between them, and suddenly, careful turns hungry. Jin slides his thigh between Yoongi’s, pulling him closer, drawing another low, aching sound from deep in Yoongi’s throat. They kiss until it’s not enough–until hands start tugging at clothes in the cramped space of the tent, laughter and breathless curses slipping between them when elbows knock against nylon and zippers snag.

Jin pulls Yoongi’s shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them before pressing his mouth to Yoongi’s throat, teeth grazing a spot just below his ear. “Still run hot,” he murmurs against the skin, tongue flicking out, smiling when Yoongi gasps.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi breathes, fingers fisting in Jin’s shirt before yanking it off with impatient hands.

“Make me stop then,” Jin challenges, eyes dark and playful, and Yoongi surges to meet him–mouth on Jin’s collarbone, then chest, kissing and biting his way down with a focus that leaves Jin dizzy.

Hands roam freely now, rediscovering familiar curves and dips. Jin’s head tilts back as Yoongi mouths at his nipple, teasing until Jin’s hips lift of their own accord. When Yoongi’s hand slips into his waistband, Jin gasps, one hand shooting out to grip the younger man’s lower arm.

“Wait,” Jin pants. Yoongi pulls back immediately, eyes wide, concern flaring. 

“Too fast?” he asks, voice tight, almost afraid.

Jin shakes his head, eyes soft, even as his chest heaves. “No. I just want to see you. All of you.”

Yoongi’s breath catches, but he nods and lets Jin undress him slowly–each movement deliberate, reverent, like unwrapping something fragile. When they’re both bare in the low lantern light, casting shadows around the intimate space, they simply look at each other for a moment, letting the intimacy settle like a weighted blanket over them.

Then Jin reaches for him, guiding Yoongi onto his back before straddling his hips. He leans down, kissing him slowly and deeply, grinding down, teasing them both. Twin shivers work down their spines as insistent pressure keeps their hips pressed together.

Cutting through the moans spilling from Yoongi’s lips, Jin’s wet lips drag across the heated skin of Yoongi’s cheek to tongue at the sensitive skin of Yoongi’s lobe. “Are you ready for more?” he whispers.

Yoongi nods aggressively, “Yes.”

Jin catches the other man’s lobe between his teeth, pulling roughly. “And what do you need to do to get more?” 

Yoongi arches up beneath him, fingers gripping the lithe waist of the man hovering over him. A whine escapes his clamped lips as he tries to pull Jin down on top of him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin pressed against the other’s.

Jin tenses, resisting the pull. “Uh-uh. Good boys know what they need to say to get what they want.”

The skin between his brows pinches together as he scowls, wanting to resist. It’s a test of wills as they stare at each other. Yoongi’s jaw flexes as Jin’s lips curl into a smirk, knowing that the younger man will capitulate.

Like it is being pulled from the depths of his chest, Yoongi utters those magic words. “Please, Sir. I need you. Please use me, sir.” Giving in to the same familiar bedroom dynamic that has always driven them wild.

Jin’s swollen lips spread into a cocky grin. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Yoongi’s cheeks flush pink with heat. “No, Sir. It wasn’t”

Jin leans down, rubbing his nose along Yoongi’s, peppers him with kisses, then seals their lips together. Diving straight in as his hand palms Yoongi’s cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Drawing whimpers from the smaller man as he slips his hand up and down with a twist at the end. Time seems to draw out as Jin brings Yoongi to the edge, leaving him panting for more.

Jin shifts away, coming back with a small bottle of lube that he found stowed away in the side pocket of one of his packs. Returning to Yoongi, Jin settles between his spread legs. Slicking up three fingers on his right hand, he slides his other hand along the milky expanse of his…he doesn’t know what to call him, but that doesn’t stop him from gripping the man’s thigh and pressing it back towards his chest.

He teases a digit against Yoongi’s puckered hole, pulling his lip between his teeth as it flutters at the teasing touch. From beneath shuttered lashes, Jin watches Yoongi as he gently, but firmly, presses inside through the tight ring of muscle persisting until his knuckles press to the flesh of Yoongi’s ass. 

Yoongi’s breath shudders out of him, wiggling his hips subtly as he adjusts to the stretch. With a barely heard whimper, Yoongi pleads for more. “Sir, please.”

“I’ll take good care of you, baby.” Jin strokes the length of Yoongi’s thigh and starts prepping him with practiced care. His lengthy fingers, gentle but firm, watching Yoongi’s face twist with pleasure as he stretches around him, breath hitching with every push and curl against his walls. 

Yoongi’s hips twitch as he feels warm breath caress between his legs. Not having any time to brace before the warm cavern of Jin’s mouth engulfs him. A loud moan is wrenched from him as Jin slides down his length in one go.

Each curl of Jin’s fingers accompanied by the sharp suction of his mouth has Yoongi singing a symphony, such a beautiful melody. Jin grips Yoongi’s firmly, fingers bruisingly tight, to keep him where the older man wants him. Despite the rough grip, Yoongi can't stop writhing as he's driven absolutely insane at the pleasure being wrung from him. 

Right as Yoongi is sure that he is going to come down Jin’s throat, Jin withdraws his fingers, and pulls away from his cock with one last lingering suck of his lips. Jin looks down at Yoongi, satisfied with the tears he can see pooling in the corners of Yoongi’s eyes. 

Sitting back on his haunches, he slicks his cock up, adding a hefty amount of lube to himself as he prepares to replace his fingers with something larger. 

“You were such a good boy. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” Jin’s heated gaze rakes over the man spread before him. Yoongi looks utterly debauched: face and chest flushed, cock dripping steadily onto the smooth skin of his belly, and his stretched hole fluttering and begging to be filled. He smirks and chuckles low in his throat, as Yoongi hurriedly bobs his head in agreement.

Jin pulls his hips back, the pressure moving away from where Yoongi is desperately needing him. “Uh-huh, what have I always said?" 

Yoongi looks needily up at him, “Good boys use their words." 

“So…?" He trails off.

“Yes, I deserve a reward. I've been such a good boy for Sir." 

Jin smirks. " You're completely right. You have been so good for me.”

When he’s finally sinking into Yoongi, it’s slow, torturous, Yoongi’s name a broken sigh on his lips. They still for a moment, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling with the weight of being back here, together, like this.

Jin rolls his hips first, testing the waters and encouraged on by Yoongi’s breathy moan. Soon enough, he is setting a rhythm that’s deep and unhurried. Each thrust feeling like a promise, each slide of their lips against each other a confession remaining unspoken. Yoongi’s hands roam over Jin’s back, nails dragging down lightly, breath stuttering with every precise thrust that hits just right. His own body retaliates with a pulsating squeeze of its own, pulling a strangled moan from deep within Jin. 

They move together in sync, gasps and moans filling the small tent, hips slapping softly in the rising heat. 

“You’re doing so well for me,” the hushed words brush against the moist skin of his lips as Jin leans down, catching Yoongi’s lips again, swallowing the whimpers as his pace quickens. 

Every praise Jin worships him with has Yoongi thrashing beneath him, his dark black curls haloing around his head. Unable to hold back any longer,  Yoongi snakes his hand between them, stroking himself in time with Jin’s thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before they are both unraveling–Yoongi falling first, coming with a hoarse cry as his body arches off the ground, clenching tightly around Jin.

Jin is pulled right over the cliff with Yoongi scant moments after, burying his face in Yoongi’s shoulder with a strained moan as pleasure crashes over him in waves. Like his strings have been cut, Jin collapses on top of Yoongi, their heaving chests sticking together adhered together with the sweat and cum spread across their skin. 

They remain like that, for countless minutes, panting and clinging to each other, sticky and sated.

When Jin finally pulls back, he looks down at Yoongi–hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised–and feels something crack open in his chest.

“Still talk too much,” Yoongi mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion and tenderness. 

Jin laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “And you still like it.”

They clean up in silence, exchanging soft touches and half-smiles, neither ready to say what they’re both thinking. They curl into each other, their bodies pressed close together, with the sleeping bag spread fully open beneath them and blankets piled on top of them.

Sleep washes over them, and the sweet words whispered into the dark taper off into quiet, only disturbed by the rustling of leaves and the scurrying of nocturnal animals.

Jin wakes to warmth.

The sun filters through the mesh window of the tent in soft gold ribbons, illuminating the few specks of dust in the air and casting lazy shadows across the fabric walls. But it’s the warmth of Yoongi beside him–skin to skin, leg thrown haphazardly over his thigh, breath puffing softly against his neck–that anchors him.

Jin blinks slowly, not quite ready to move. Not prepared to let go of the weightless feeling that had taken root sometime after they fell asleep.

“I know you’re awake,” Yoongi mumbles sleepily, voice rough and low against his skin.

Jin huffs a quiet laugh. “You always did know.”

Yoongi stirs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he props himself up slightly to look at Jin, his eyes soft and searching. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Jin hesitates, unsure of what to say next, of how to name the thing they did last night, what it means now, in the brightness of day. But Yoongi, as always, fills the silence first. 

“Do you regret it?”

Jin exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent. “No. I don’t.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t smile. “But you’re not sure what it means.”

“That obvious?”

Yoongi shrugs, letting his head fall gently back onto Jin’s shoulder. “We’ve always been terrible at timing.”

Jin hums quietly, fingers brushing against the curve of Yoongi’s back. “Timing isn’t the only thing that matters, though. We hurt each other, Yoongi. That doesn’t just go away because the sex was good.”

“It was excellent,” Yoongi offers with a grin he tries–and fails–to suppress. 

Jin gives him a look but can’t hold back the small laugh that slips out. “Asshole.”

“Still your asshole, if you want,” Yoongi says, smile fading slightly as he adds, “I meant it last night, Jin. Everything I said.”

Jin sits up slowly, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “And I’m not saying I didn’t feel something. I did. I do. But it’s been years, Yoongi. We don’t even know who we are to each other anymore.”

Yoongi shifts upright, pulling a hoodie that was discarded in the corner over his head. He grabs for his pants, shimmying into them, fastening them under the oversized hoodie that belongs to Jin.

“So…what do you want?”

“I want to stop pretending like you showing up didn’t shake me,” Jin admits, voice quiet but steady. “But I also want to be sure that whatever this is-whatever we’re doing–it’s not just nostalgia or loneliness. I need it to be real.”

Yoongi nods slowly, then reaches for Jin’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Then let’s find out. Start over, if we have to. Just don’t shut me out.”

Jin watches their hands, thumb grazing across Yoongi’s knuckles. “You really think we can just pick things up again?”

“No,” Yoongi says honestly. “But I think we can begin something new. And maybe this time, we won’t let it fall apart.”

The city feels louder than Jin remembered. 

Or maybe it’s just the contrast; days of wind in the trees and crackling fires replaced by the bustling sounds of a fairly crowded city, the smell of exhaust in the air, the sounds of horns honking, and the buzz of crowds of people going about their lives. 

And yet, his home feels too quiet. Too still.

Until Yoongi clears his throat from the doorway of his bedroom.

Jin turns from the kitchen, blinking in surprise. “You’re still here.”

Yoongi shrugs, awkward in the way only he can be when he’s unsure of his welcome. “You said I could shower.”

“That was an hour ago. I had assumed you left; snuck out without saying anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I got distracted by your bookshelf,” Yoongi says, padding barefoot across the floor, hair still damp. “And…by the idea of being here.”

Jin watches him, arms crossed loosely over his chest, “Here, as in my home?”

Yoongi meets his eyes, serious now. “Here, as in...back in your life. Even if it’s only on the edges at first.”

Jin swallows thickly. The weekend had felt like a bubble – intimate and safe, sheltered from the complications that trailed after it. This…this is real life. And it feels harder to navigate.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” Jin says honestly. “I still have questions. Doubts.”

“I know,” Yoongi replies quietly. “I do too.”

They stand in that uncertainty for a long beat. 

Then Yoongi adds, voice steady, “But I meant it, Jin-hyung. I didn’t come back for a weekend fling or to relive old memories. I came back because I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever I built without you…it wasn’t home.”

Jin’s chest aches with that familiar pull. He crosses the room slowly, stopping just short of Yoongi. 

“I’m not ready to fall back into old patterns,” Jin states bluntly. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to see what new ones we could make.”

Yoongi nods once, a hesitant smile teasing his lips. “Okay.”

Later, they sit together on the couch, their legs barely brushing, the glow of the TV casting a vivid ambiance across the warm, no longer strained atmosphere surrounding them. Not looking away from the moving picture in front of him, Jin silently turns his hand over until his palm is facing up on the cushion between them. 

Sensing the movement, Yoongi looks down. His breath catching slightly in the back of his throat, his eyes flick to Jin’s, but the older man isn’t even looking at him.

Silently, Yoongi slips his fingers into the empty spaces, inviting him to settle. 

And it’s quiet. And it's small. And maybe, it’ll eventually be home again.

[moonleeai]

BE MINE

Fifteen

💜Fic Pairing: BTS Member x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Dark Romance | Demon Member

💜Warnings: (for entire work; not chapter specific) Mental Illnesses/Troubled Childhood/Alcoholic Parent/Mentions of Domestic Violence/Physical Violence/Stalking/Gore/Mentions of Blood/Sexist Remarks/Derogatory Remarks/Detailed Murder/Murder of an Animal/Language/Adult Themes/Sexual Themes/Mind Control/Telepathy (invading thoughts w/o permission)/Fingering/Masturbation/Manipulation/Alluding at Drug Usage

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 5,936

<Previous | Masterlist |

“The best way to get a rise out of him—or fuck with his head—is to take jabs at his manhood or ego. Or tempt him with sex. He’s a very simple and pitiful creature.”

Jimin had shared his father’s insecurities with Kamryn and Mariah, including how he was more incubus than anything—fueled by sex and driven by ego. With this knowledge, they were able to destroy him, sending him up in smoke and flames.

When Jimin collapsed soon after, Mariah helped Kamryn get Jimin into her bed and insisted on helping to treat his wounds. Thanks to his non-human DNA, his torso was already beginning to heal a bit, and there was no injury to the back of his head to warrant the amount of blood that had spilled from it. The women still had to work to stop the bleeding at his side and break his fever. There was no way they could take him to the hospital without having to explain how he’d gotten hurt so badly. The lacerations were deep and looked like he’d been attacked by some kind of wild animal. A very large one at that.

Instead, Mariah used herbs from her home apothecary and covered the puncture wounds with a poultice, then dressed them, wrapping gauze around Jimin’s midsection. She also forced him to drink a blend of her herbal tea, saying it would bring his fever down, ease his pain, and reduce the inflammation in the affected area. Kamryn stayed by his side, applying a cool cloth to his forehead and waiting on him hand and foot—only allowing him to use the bathroom on his own. Even then, she was waiting at the door when he finished to help him back to bed.

Jimin knew that he would be fully recovered within approximately forty-eight hours, but he let them do what they wanted, taking care of him with unfamiliar amounts of love and care. Even as Mariah grumbled that he wouldn’t have gotten hurt so badly had he just kept up with his sachet, he knew that allowing them to fuss over and care for him was healing something in them as well. Wanting nothing more than to sleep, he would only wake up to use the restroom, barely interested in food, before passing out again. He always needed more rest when he was injured or sick. Life on the cusp of the supernatural and human was strange like that at times.

The following night, Mariah decided to sleep in Tiara’s room again, since she was rarely there and hadn’t been for over a week. She said the energy still felt too ‘off’ for her to rest peacefully in her own room—even after burning palo santo, reading psalms verses, and leaving the windows open the whole day. They all hated that things went down in their apartment, especially in Mariah’s bedroom, but they were overjoyed that it was finally over.

“Hey. How’s he doing?” Mariah whispered to Kamryn, who was lying next to Jimin in her bed, cuddled up to his side, being careful to not touch his side or wake him. Kamryn took her eyes away from admiring his handsome yet pasty, sleeping face to look over her shoulder at Mariah.

“Better. His temperature has finally broken, but he’s still sleeping. I’m sure he’s exhausted.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he is. You’ve both been through a lot. You should be sleeping as well.”

“I need to shower first, then I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay. Love you. I left your food on the stove—try to eat a little.”

“Okay… love you.”

Kamryn watched as Mariah quietly closed the door behind her, then returned her gaze to Jimin. She startled slightly when her eyes met his.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Did we wake you?”

“No, you didn’t,” he said groggily. “How are you feeling? Are you going to eat?”

“Not yet. I’m okay now that your fever’s broken.” She ran her fingers delicately across his forehead and gave a weak smile. “You’re worried about me when you’re in this state?” she said, shaking her head. “How are you feeling? That’s what’s important right now.”

“Kamryn, I could be holding on by an inch of life, and you would still be my priority. I’ll be fine. Go eat your food.”

“I’m okay,” she insisted. Jimin pushed himself up on his elbows, abs tensing beneath the gauze as he winced and shifted upright against the headboard. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be moving too much. Just rest.”

“I will when I see you eating. At least get your food and eat it here with me, then.”

“Okay,” she obliged.

Mariah must have noticed Kamryn hadn’t eaten much since last night. In the kitchen, Kamryn found a bowl of rice with just a few bits of chicken in it. The consistency wasn’t quite rice pudding, but she could tell Mariah had cooked it longer for a softer, creamier texture. She usually made this when Kamryn was sick, knowing that this would be the only thing she would eat and it’d be gentle on her stomach. With her hands around the still slightly warm bowl, she smiled down at it with tears filling her eyes. There was so much to be grateful for. It was almost as if she could feel the love radiating from the bowl between her palms. Yes, she was sad that Jimin was injured, but he was here. He was still alive, Mariah was safe, and everything was going to be okay. 

She removed the cling wrap, grabbed a spoon, and stuck it into the rice. She moved over to the fridge where she grabbed a couple of bottles of water before returning to the room. When she returned, she found Jimin had fallen back asleep, still sitting up.

Not wanting to wake him again, she sat on the chair across from the bed to eat her food. It was good, as usual, but she still didn’t have much of an appetite. She found herself stirring more than she was eating.

“I’m telling Mariah you said her food was nasty,” Jimin joked, snapping Kamryn from her thoughts.

“Whatever. I did not say that,” she chuckled. “It’s actually really good. Want to try some?”

“Sure,” Jimin said, and Kamryn sprang up from her seat, gingerly settling next to him on the bed—careful not to jolt his body, but clearly excited that he was willing to finally eat something.

“Here,” she said, “let me know if you want me to warm it up a bit more.”

Jimin struggled to sit up again, opening his mouth for a spoonful of the rice.

“Damn. That’s good.” He ate a few more spoonfuls with Kamryn cleaning stray grains clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I had some. Just don’t have an appetite. I’ve been more worried about you,” she admitted while feeding him more. Between caring for him and praying for his recovery, her mind was still trying to compartmentalize the past few days' events. He swallowed his mouthful and Kamryn was so happy, knowing this would help him regain his strength.

“I mean,” he said, then paused to take a sip of water Kamryn handed him before he continued, “I really should have listened to Mariah and kept my satchel on me. This shit hurts like hell but I’m feeling so much better thanks to your care. I should be fully recovered by morning, though.”

“Fully recovered? Jimin. You were hurt pretty badly. I know you’re all superhuman, but chill out for a bit, okay?”

“Babe, I’m serious. That’s one of the perks to this demon shit. It’ll be as if nothing ever happened.”

“Damn. That’s definitely a perk,” she laughed and continued to feed him, beginning to scrape the bowl to get the last bits of rice at the bottom. “Is there anything else I can do to help? I feel like everything I’ve done was pointless now.”

“Awww,” he murmured, taking her gently into his arms. He nuzzled into her hair, wishing it was loose instead of in the cute high puff she favored. “Everything you’ve been doing has been helping so much. Yes, my body heals at a much faster rate, but I need you. You may not have been able to help heal my wounds, but you’re healing my heart more and more every day.”

“You sure have a way with words, don’t you?” Kamryn asked, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.

“It comes easiest when it’s the truth. But there is one thing you can do for me.”

“Anything.” When he grimaced and groaned in pain, Kamryn quickly placed the bowl on the nightstand to give him her full attention. “What do you need?”

“Can you—” he groaned again. “Can you help me numb the pain?”

“Of course,” she said with soft panic in her voice as her hands flew to rest on either side of his face. “Do you need more of Mariah’s tea?”

With a sly grin, he suggested, “Let me have a taste.”

And he wasn’t talking about the tea.

“Jimin—,” she said, shoving him lightly before catching herself. “You menace. Why would you do me like that?”

“I’m sorry, babe. Come back.” He giggled at how cute she looked, pouting as she got up to take the now empty bowl back into the kitchen. “Babe. I really think it will help, though,” he whispered as he slightly struggled to follow—hot on her heels.

With the bowl placed in the dishwasher and their empty water bottles disposed of, Kamryn returned to her room to get ready for her shower. Before she gathered everything, she thought to ask, “Do you think you’re up for a shower? Can you stand long enough?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.”

He was feeling uncomfortable with the dried blood in his hair and on his skin. Kamryn had wiped most of it away, but there was nothing like a nice, hot shower to freshen up.

“Okay. One second,” Kamryn said, placing her things on the bed, then moving to grab the clothes draped over the back of her chair. “Mariah left these in case you felt up to it. Hope you don’t mind—they’re Tae’s.”

“I don’t mind. I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing them.”

“Nah, he won’t.” She shifted, slightly uncomfortable at the thought of him about to be completely naked in her bathroom. “You can go first,” she offered. “Or… do you need help?”

“I think I can handle it, but I’ll yell if I need you.” 

“Okay.” She smiled, slightly relieved. Yes, they had been with each other intimately, but she hadn’t seen him naked before. Just seeing his bare torso was doing things to her that it absolutely shouldn’t be. He was hurt for God’s sake.

 He stepped out of the bathroom dressed in the pajama bottoms but opting out of wearing the shirt provided, water droplets fell from his hair and streamed down his bare chest. Kamryn couldn’t tear her eyes away as they roamed his body, watching how his muscles contracted and relaxed with his every move. Continuing to dry his hair with his towel, he stood at the door saying something, but then paused.

“Kam?”

“H- Huh? Yeah?” she stammered. “Do you need me to bandage you back up?”

“No?” he chuckled. “I was just saying that I don’t think I need it tonight. Where did you go?”

She couldn’t admit that her mind had taken a sharp detour straight into the gutter, so she simply asked a question that’d been on her mind all day.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about everything that happened yesterday.” She paused. “I wanted to ask if you thought that I overstepped. I had so much to say to your father—I was so pissed, but I get that it wasn’t really about me. I kind of got caught up in the moment.”

“No, you didn’t overstep at all. I’m thankful, actually.”

“Thankful? Why?”

“Because you were able to articulate things he needed to hear. The things I couldn’t, and honestly, had no desire to. But, at least for my mom—” He moved closer to her, kneeling in front of her seated on the bed. “I needed you to put all of that pain into the words I couldn’t find.”

She stared at him, searching for any regret but found none. All that was reflected back to her was adoration and gratitude.

“Ah, get up. Come lie down,” she said suddenly, thoughts springing back to the fact that he was injured.

“I’m okay,” he said while standing.

Her jaw dropped as she came face to face with his injury, gasping as she examined him. 

“What the hell?” she questioned, running her fingers against his skin, circling the small puncture wounds. Even the bruising was nearly gone. “This is—” Her eyes were wide with wonder. “What the hell?”

His complexion changed, and the puncture wounds seemed to shrink in on themselves. What were deep gouges yesterday were only small dots along his side. Jimin snickered, both from her reaction and because of the feather-soft kisses of her fingertips.

“Pretty neat, huh?”

“What the hell?” Kamryn breathed. “This is amazing!”

“That’s not all. If my theory is correct—we can heal these instantly,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Kamryn looked up into his eyes, noticing his flirtatious tone.

“We? What are you getting at, Park Jimin?”

Hearing his full name on her lips, spoken with such authority, was like a cool breeze across his skin. Goosebumps formed on his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.

“I was serious earlier,” he said, his eyes searching her face for a silent nudge that he should continue. “A taste.” He hinted at his previous statement—slightly embarrassed, alluding that her nectar had the power to heal him. It was her orgasm, specifically, that seemed to hold the energy—surging with an unexplainable superpower. He felt it before—in her shower and as she came undone while riding his face. The power she held inside was so strong, he wondered if she might be of demonic lineage too—or something much greater.

“Jimin. You should be resting. Besides, I haven’t even showered yet.”

“Okay? What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked with a smirk.

“It means that I’m not fresh. I’ve been inside all day, but I still need to—” Her words caught in her throat when he took her hand and kneeled back in front of her.

“They say prayer heals. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she said breathily, wanting to freshen up but too curious to fight him anymore. “I think so.”

“Let me worship you, Kamryn. I’ll bow my head—” Removing his hand from hers, he slowly slid his hands up her thighs—never breaking eye contact—to hook his fingers under the band of her shorts and panties. “I’ll pray hard and for as long as I need to—” He pulled them down with Kamryn lifting her hips to help slide the fabric from under her plump bottom. After placing her clothes in a pile next to him, Jimin hooked her legs over his shoulders and yanked her to the edge of the bed by her thighs. Kamryn yelped and fell back onto the mattress. 

“Jimin,” she whispered.

“I’ll pray—” He kissed and licked along the tender skin of her inner thigh. “And pray—” Moving to the other thigh, he sucked and placed open mouthed kisses there as well. “And pray—” Closing his eyes, he inhaled her scent deeply before coursing his tongue against her—separating her lower lips with its tip. Her back arched from the contact as he continued to travel up. Soft and warm, his tongue found her clit to circle it lightly. His touch and the warmth of his breath against her caused Kamryn to jerk in response. “And pray, until you shower blessings down on me.”

His fingertips dug into her flesh, keeping her body flush to his mouth. He licked and slurped up the gift already spilling from her. Humming his thanks, he sucked her outer lip, moved to the other side, then repeated the motion to the inner pair.

“Oh my God,” Kamryn groaned.

“Mmm, you taste so good,” he said with a mouthful of her.

Jimin dipped his tongue into her core and smiled to himself when her hips began to roll. She fucked herself on his tongue and he loved it. With his arm encasing her thigh, he collected some of her slick on his thumb to caress her clit as he continued to lick into her. He began to curl his wet muscle up against her sensitive spot each time she pulled slightly off of him, and her body began to quiver. It felt like new nerve endings were firing for the first time.

“More. Tongue,” she pleaded, already becoming comfortable with asking for what she wanted. Even if what she wanted was for Jimin to yield his power for her pleasure. He obeyed, unnaturally stretching his tongue longer to brush against the depths of her. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, her movements becoming choppy as she moved one hand to dig nails into Jimin’s arm. The other gripped his hand—still holding her thigh—as she rode his face.

Jimin knew she was close. He continued his exact movements and tempo—never straying from the rhythm that had brought her this close—until he was able to tip her over the edge. Reflexively, she rose from the bed, her hands cupping his face, as he continued to lap into her. In perfect tandem, she slid up and down his tongue, pressing her clit harder against his lips. Her moans fed his soul as he consumed every drop of grace she gifted him until she was clean—her overstimulated body trembled from the slightest touch.

“Uhm.” He pulled away from her and her body dropped back to bounce on the bed. Snickering, he stood to roll her limp body to lie comfortably on the bed. Face still glistening, he whispered, “Amen.”

After Kamryn regained the strength in her legs, Jimin helped her up to collect her clothes that had been kicked onto the floor by accident. In the bathroom, she showered in silence, mind reeling at what she’d just witnessed. He was right. Not only did he worship her pussy and make her cum so hard, she might’ve lost her vision for a split second—because he healed. Right before her eyes, the pinholes completely vanished. She saw it—didn’t she? There was not a single bruise or blemish against his perfect skin—only a few scattered moles and a black-inked word nevermind tattooed across his ribs. She’d been able to communicate with Jimin telepathically, be influenced the same way, and she’d witnessed his and his father’s demonic shift—yet, this. This is what had her speechless.

Standing under the spray of the showerhead, she thought about it all. Kamryn had to admit that she felt relieved to know that she and Jimin were destined to be together, which would explain the feelings she had felt for him almost immediately. She noticed that after she’d received that revelation from Mariah, she began to allow herself to lean into whatever this was that they had with less reluctance. Whatever they had, had her heart swelling with the knowledge that she belonged somewhere—to someone. She finally had a place where she was special, cherished, and truly loved. She was worthy; a direct contradiction to the ideology she’d been programmed with since childhood.

In the bedroom, Jimin’s conscience ate away at him. He was still getting used to this voice of reason, lecturing him in his mind. At the same time, his heart spoke, telling him that Kamryn would do anything for him. They didn’t even know how she was able to heal him. Was he siphoning her life force? Was she a majestic being with healing qualities? Even with that uncertainty, she allowed him to feast on her just so that he could heal. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

He’d done so much she had no idea about, then he pulled her into his shit. Had he just left her alone after seeing her at the track that day, none of this would have ever happened. Instead of leaving a beautiful flower to thrive and fully bloom, he plucked her from her garden for his own selfishness. All because he wanted her. But they were divinely bound. That’s what Mariah had said. Jimin mentally warred with himself, feeling the pull to confess everything. He had to bare his truth, place it at her feet like an offering that she would either accept or reject. He pulled on Taehyung’s shirt—just in case Kamryn decided to kick him out. That, and she seemed unsettled after watching the last of his scars heal before her eyes.

Back in her room, Kamryn slid under the cover, molding herself against Jimin’s frame. He pulled her into his chest as she rested her head on his bicep. Her little hand slid under his t-shirt, fingertips gliding across his skin, much like she’d done earlier. But this time, he noticed how she slightly trembled. Was she afraid of him?

“Are you okay?” He asked gently, studying her face while dragging a lazy finger against her brow. She closed her eyes, nuzzling into his touch. “You haven’t said much since—”

“Yeah,” she cut in. “It’s just… this is a lot.”

What was a lot? His finger stilled, and Kamryn opened her eyes, already missing the feeling.

Here it was. He knew it would happen soon enough. The moment when she admitted that he wasn’t worth all the drama. There was no way he would be able to find love—find peace. Not after the life he’d lived. She was about to tell him that he was too much.

“Should I– Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Kamryn said, lifting herself from her arm pillow—her eyebrows pinched with confusion. “Why would you say that?”

“I— You said this was too much. I assumed you were talking about us. About me.”

“Babe, I’m speaking about everything we’ve been through and witnessed since knowing each other. I’m not talking about you. If anything, you have helped me get through all of this with my mind still intact.”

Kamryn laughed lightly, though there was nothing funny about her confession.

“Nah. Don’t give me credit for that. You’ve been strong—all on your own—well before me.”

“Yeah, but, you helped me realize it.” Jimin pulled himself to sit up, his expression too serious for the conversation Kamryn thought they were having. “What is going on right now?”

It crushed him to know that she thought so positively of him. After all the fuck shit he’d done. He had to tell her. He couldn’t take away her right to decide whether she wanted to stay or walk away. But would he be able to survive if she pulled away—if she looked at him like the piece of shit that he is?

“Look, there’s so much I haven’t told you.” He sighed. “I manipulated you, Kamryn. I infiltrated your mind—I influenced your thoughts— It’s like I’ve conditioned you, which is why you’ve been able to handle all my shit. I can’t blame all of this on my father. I’ve done a lot of shit on my own. I don’t deserve for you to speak so highly of me.”

This caused Kamryn to sit all the way up.

“You told me about the things you’ve done. Where is this coming—”

“No. Not that stuff.” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “There are things you aren’t aware of.” He turned his body to face her—his legs criss-crossed in front of him—then detailed everything. He spilled his guts, telling her about seeing her at the university, about that night at the bar, even about the times he stalked her around the city, coming as close as delivering her food. He disclosed how he entered her mind then, and that he’d even killed her neighbor’s cat. “It was stupid and evil, I know. At the time, in my mind, I thought I was protecting you.” Jimin confessed to lurking around like a creep, peering into her window and patio door to try and catch a glimpse of her. He wrung his hands nervously in his lap as his words drew the shameful picture—depicting his obsession—even illuminating the darkest corners. While never making eye contact, he looked down at the duvet as he took her into the perverse parts of his mind where he’d masturbated to the image of her changing clothes in the safety of her own home—fantasized about her moaning for him. “I’m deadass wrong. In no way am I trying to justify my actions. It was all fucked up, I know. But, that’s not who I am anymore.”

“Ha,” Kamryn scoffed uneasily. “What?” Her crooked smile was forced as she said, “Stop playing with me.”

Her eyes silently pleaded for this all to be a joke, but Jimin never laughed. He sat there, head hanging low, still unable to look at her and unsure if he ever deserved to again. Had he ever?

“I— You—” Kamryn struggled to find the words she wanted to say. She didn’t want Jimin to leave, even after hearing all that he’d done. Even though she’d seen him heal before her eyes, she still wanted him to rest. She did, however, need a moment to think. “Uhm. I don’t know what to say, Jimin. I don’t want you to leave…” her voice quivered a little. “I’ll be back.” She slid out of bed, not running away from him—not wanting him to feel abandoned—but she needed a moment to breathe.

She walked quietly into the kitchen, unsure what drew her there. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she sat at the island, drawing shapes with the condensation on its surface. Thinking back to all of the things Jimin said, she was most stuck on the fact that he stalked her for years before weaseling into her life. Were the feelings she’d developed for him in such a short duration of time due to their fated love? Or had he influenced that too? 

Like he said, not to justify his fucked up behavior, but in his twisted mind, a lot of what he did was to protect her in some way. She couldn’t forget how relieved she felt after learning that she wouldn’t have to live in fear of that damn cat. And, she hated to admit it, but she was relieved to not have to deal with Micah anymore. But why did he have to drop this bomb now? Right when she’d made up her mind to be vulnerable and allow him all the way into her heart. After she’d gotten comfortable with the fact that she was worthy of a love that’s written in romance novels, he was snatching it away.

“Damn, sis. Your thoughts are way too loud,” Mariah joked, rounding the corner from Tiara’s room. “Have you been to sleep yet?”

“No, not yet. Was I really too loud?”

Mariah grabbed some fruit and water from the fridge before joining her friend at the island.

“No. But I was spooked—coming out to see you sitting in the dark. Thought I was about to have to beat somebody’s ass,” she said with a chuckle. Kamryn could only offer a weak smile. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Even though she knew that Mariah would be sincere in helping her wade through the confusion and concerns, Kamryn didn’t want any more influence in her mind.

“I’m fine and no. Not really, friend. Not right now—I’m just thinking.”

“Okay,” she said, with more uncertainty than she intended. “You know I’m here if you change your mind.” She reached the tupperware in Kamryn’s direction. “Fruit?”

Kamryn shook her head, eyes downcast, seemingly fighting back tears. Mariah took the hint and quietly returned to the bedroom.

The next morning, since she hadn’t slept a wink, Kamryn took the opportunity to make breakfast. She was biting into a piece of toast when Mariah came out to join her. After initial greetings, the room fell quiet as Mariah watched Kamryn pick over the food she’d just prepared. While she was worried about her, she knew that whatever she was going through was something she would have to sort through alone. However things turned out, and whatever she decided to do, Mariah would be there for her in the end. She made sure to hug her a little tighter, kissing the top of her head, before she grabbed her things to leave. Just as she was about to walk out, she saw Jimin coming up the hallway from Kamryn’s room. Part of her was thinking that being a little late to pick Taehyung up from the airport wouldn’t be that big of a deal. The logical and respectful part, however, moved her to throw him a friendly wave that didn’t match her curious face. He returned it, and she stepped out, allowing the door to close behind her.

“Good morning,” Jimin said, sliding into the barstool across from Kamryn.

“Good morning,” she offered weakly. “I made breakfast if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks.” He stared at her pretty face, upset that her troubled expression was due to his foolishness. “I’ll eat in a bit, if that’s okay. I only need to know that you’re okay right now.”

Kamryn huffed out a breath at that statement. For her, it could mean so much. Was he hoping she was okay with everything he’d told her? Did he want her to condone his behavior? Was he worried about her well-being? Even after ruminating all night, it was as if her thoughts weren’t any more clear.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not—what were my decisions, your decisions— I just don’t know.”

This was what Jimin was trying so hard to hide from her, even from the beginning. Before, he didn’t want her to find out because he knew it would make obtaining her more difficult. Now, he didn’t want her to look at him like the monster he was. He didn’t want to risk their love being over before they hardly had a chance to begin.

“I’m an open book. I’ll answer any questions you have. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

“Why?” Her voice quivered as she tried to rein in her emotions. “Why me?”

Her eyes traced the patterns on the plate, unable to meet his eyes.

“I can’t lie. When I first saw you, I was attracted to your body. You’re breathtaking.” He paused before continuing. “But the more I ‘got to know you’,” he said with air quotes, “I found your heart compelling. I wanted to be closer to you. The way I felt toward you was immediately different. I’d never come across anyone like you. While I did have ulterior motives, wanting to harm you or feed from your emotions like I did others wasn’t one of them. Looking back now, I think that I was drawn to your light—and the way you cared about others. I wanted you to care for me like that, too.”

“So didn’t you just approach me—talk to me like a normal person?”

“I was too weak. I couldn’t stand the possibility of being rejected. I wanted to make you mine like a possession, and was willing to do anything to have you. And—I’m not a normal person. I didn’t know how to interact with humans with no ill intent. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how awkward I can be in social situations. It’s like I have to read everyone else's expressions and mannerisms to understand how I should act myself. I’m only learning how to be more human from watching you. You’ve opened my eyes, making me realize that I shouldn’t try to be ‘normal’ as a way to gain something. I want to fit in comfortably—to build real relationships. I want to belong in your world, Kamryn.”

“So, why stalk me?” 

Kamryn pulled the crust from her second piece of toast. She needed something—anything—to focus on.

“I just couldn’t believe that you were, genuinely, good. At first, I wanted to prove to myself that you were just like every other human I’d encountered.” He scoffed. “Like I was waiting for you to slip up. Instead, I became even more fond of you.”

“All of this is so fucked up, Jimin. Really?” Her demeanor shifted, emotions tipping between hurt and agitation. “But what I can’t seem to get past is the fact that you took over my mind. Taking away my freewill is the worst thing you’ve done.” 

Jimin finally reached across the countertop to take her hand in his, and she allowed him. His heart burned and ached at the sight of a stray tear falling from her eye. Everything he’d done to protect her, yet, he was the person hurting her the most.

“I know. And I am so sorry for that. For everything. Because of that, we’re linked to each other so deeply, I can’t seem to separate us. I forced myself into your life, and I can’t express to you how sorry I am. If you never want to see or speak to me again, I would completely understand. I would even meet the same fate as my father to unbind us if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would I want you to die, Jimin? I’m pissed the fuck off but I don’t want you to leave— To leave me.”

He stood to round the island—needing her in his arms. And judging by the way her body collided with his, she needed to be held just as badly.

“Whatever you want, babe, I’ll do it. All of this shit is on me and I’m ready to take responsibility—no matter what that looks like. I just need you to be okay.”

Was it crazy that everything he was saying to her made sense? Empathy for him and his intentions began to soften her abrasive edges. She was glad that she didn’t remember meeting that version of him, only falling in love with the softer, protective Jimin she’d gotten to know. Knowing that she was responsible for that shift in him and he was responsible for pulling dormant strength from her, nudged her closer to accepting everything that was him.

“When was the last time you were in my head?”

“I swear, I’ve tried to unbind our minds, but I can’t. I’m still able to hear you when you allow me to.”

“Yeah. I can hear you, too. I mean, like, to control me?”

“I just did it the other day. When the cops came by. I’m able to ease your heart and mind through our connection.”

“You did.” Kamryn’s voice softened with adoration as she remembered the feeling, smiling against his abdomen. Kamryn then tugged at his t-shirt. He wasn’t understanding her question. “I’m just wondering… when did you do it for you instead of me.”

“In your shower. I relaxed you to the point you weren’t able to be afraid of what was happening. I would have stopped if you said so, I just didn’t want you to be scared of me,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s still fucked up, no matter my intent.”

Thinking back, she remembered him asking if it was okay. She had the opportunity to say no, but she hadn’t wanted to. She wanted his touch, even if it wasn’t physical. And if he was controlling her after that, he would have done it when she ran away from him after he’d confessed to killing Micah. He could have used it to push things further that night at his place after she’d told him to stop. He’d had so many chances to control her since then—but he hadn’t.

“Will you ever do it again?”

“Absolutely not. Being with you and you sharing your love with me has shown me that it isn’t an honorable thing to do. And, after experiencing it with my father, I know it doesn’t feel good to not be able to think for yourself—to feel out of control.”

They stayed this way, both clinging to the possibilities of what could be. While neither knew what the future would hold for them as a couple, they did know that they would give their all to hold tight onto the strings of fate that bound them together.

A/N:

Hello, Loves…

Is this how you expecting things to end for Jimin and Kamryn? Is this the end for them? 👀

Thanks so much to @moonleeai for beta reading this chapter and going on this adventure with me 🫶🏽💜

Okay… love you. Byeeeeeee!!!!!!!

[moonleeai]

A new BTS Collab event hosted by myself and @anyamaris

Proof. The up and coming hot new music company born from the dreams of seven friends: the wealthy Kim Brothers- Seokjin, Namjoon and Taehyung along with their half-brother Jungkook, their cousin Jimin and two friends from school, Yoongi and Hoseok.

Each of them are very dedicated to their careers, and yet, there is something lacking in all of their personal lives. While they created something together as a team, every one of them will have to face their own trials when it comes to matters of the heart.

*Links will be added as they're posted. Individual posting dates TBD

Title: Loosen up

Author: @colormepurplex2

Pairing: CEO!Namjoon x Personal Assistant!Reader

Genre(s): CEO AU; boss/assistant; Angst; fluff; Smut

WC: TBD

Summary: Namjoon is uptight, strait-laced, and far too serious. He knows it, his business partners and family know it, and, as his personal assistant, you know it better than any of them. So, what do you do when he asks—no, *begs*—for you to help him loosen up a little?

Title: A pinch of pixie dust

Author: @remedyx

Pairing: CEO!Seokjin x Barista!Reader

Genre(s): Grumpy/Sunshine; Fluff; Comedy; Smut; Comfort

WC: TBD

Summary: Jin's life was structured around routine. He preferred it that way. A rigid businessman in public and private meets his match in a vivacious barista employed at the coffee shop he stops in at every morning. She flips his world on its axis and forces him to question everything he thought he wanted. But will he let her melt the ice around his heart and can love brew where it's least expected?

Title: Looking in

Author: @anyamaris

Pairing: CEO!Taehyung x Childhood Friend!Reader

Genre(s): Unrequited love; angst; smut

WC: TBD

Summary: Returning home after years at University, you’re eager to establish your own business and reconnect with your long time friends. Surprisingly, your childhood crush has developed into something more mature, but there’s just one catch. He’s in an arranged marriage with your best friend.

Title: Beautiful Mistakes

Author: @lo1k-diamonds

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi x Songwriter!Reader

Genre(s): Co-workers to lovers; Angst; Smut

WC: TBD

Summary: Yoongi wouldn't be caught dead meddling in people's lives, but once he sees you on that screen, he has to help you somehow. It's an impulse, a mistake. The kind that ruins everything for you. He can't undo it, but he can help you turn your life around, even if he can't tell you why.

Title: Rhythm reborn

Author: @moonleeai

Pairing: Lead Choreographer!Hoseok x Ex-girlfriend!Reader

Genre(s): Second chance AU; angst, smut, fluff

WC: TBD

Summary: You took a chance on love, but Hoseok’s relentless pursuit of success pulls you apart, leaving both of you tangled in loneliness. Yet, beneath the weight of pain and silence, a fragile hope flickers—a chance to rediscover the rhythm that connects the heart, offering a second chance at love.

Title: Promise

Author: @pars-ley

Pairing: Lead Lyricist!Jimin x Family Friend!Reader

Genre(s): Arranged marriage AU; love triangle; mutual pining; angst; fluff; smut

WC: TBD

Summary: Jimin has been a constant in your life ever since you can remember. He's the person you go to in times of need, the one you trust more than anyone and the one you fantasise about spending your life with. If you gave him the chance you know he'd jump at a life with you too. Sounds perfect, right? Just one problem…you're betrothed to his cousin.

Title: Who...

Author: @mrsparkjimin18

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Older!Reader

Genre(s): Forbidden love/taboo; age gap reader; Smut; Angst

WC: TBD

Summary: You never expected to see him again – not like this. No longer a little boy, but a man. And not just any man…the one you can’t seem to ignore. There’s a line between your fates. Drawn by time, by age, by everything you’re supposed to be. But this – whatever this is – feels like the kind of choice that changes everything. If you take one step closer, there may be no turning back…

[moonleeai]

Be With You | ch 10

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: nightmare of oc's abusive relationship with jungkook/night terror, mention of blood, cursing, anxiety about finals/in general, a therapy appointment

☆word count: 8.6k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: still sad, still in korea :') i promise it will get better one day! and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, November 21st

Your childhood bedroom looks weird. Out of focus, or maybe it’s just because all the furniture is misplaced, and the bed sheets are on the floor. 

Or maybe it’s Jeon Jungkook sitting on your bed like he owns the place, smiling at you with that saccharine smile of his.

“So, so cute,” he says. “Why don’t you buy the dress?”

Confused, you furrow your brow. You look around - you’re now in a huge convenience store, and you’re holding a dress. It’s beautiful - black, with an open back, and Jungkook’s smile is more genuine.

You’ve been here before. Hell, you’ve worn this dress before, too. But you can’t remember when.

“Are you sure?”

“You don’t trust me?” Jungkook says, and he rolls his eyes.

You look down, ashamed, and then the dress is on, and you’re at the party. Jungkook dances with you, kisses you, and you hold him tight, afraid to let go.

Yet it feels wrong, like Jungkook isn’t the one you’re supposed to be holding. 

The scene changes - it’s Mingi in front of you. No, it’s Jungkook again. He’s mad, and he raises his hand like he’ll hit you. But he doesn’t, or maybe he does. You don’t know. There’s blood on your arm, and you can’t stop it, and someone’s screaming.

Someone’s screaming and then you wake up, sitting straight in your bed. You almost knock yourself on Yunho, who moves back just in time.

You meet his gaze. You’re covered in cold sweat, and your voice is scratchy - you were the one screaming after all.

You haven’t had night terrors since the first year after Jungkook. You’d used to take meds for that, pills to help you sleep without any dreams, but you haven’t taken them in almost a year and a half, as you’d slowly gotten better.

You don’t know where the nightmare came from. And it just hurts so much you burst out crying, and Yunho pulls you in his arms, patting your back.

“You’re okay,” he says. “It was just a nightmare.”

But you both know it wasn’t just a nightmare. It’s proof that you’ve been doing worse with every passing day, the stress of finals coming closer and of the awkward conversations you’ve had with San over text for the project getting to your head.

You think seeing Jungkook at that party might have triggered it. It makes sense - your therapist did encourage you to go to the police, but you chose to never file a complaint, refusing to relive the hell of it all just to get a restraining order.

You knew Jungkook wouldn’t try and get close to you again, and you were right about it in the end. Not that you want to excuse what he did, but you know he was as ashamed about it as you were traumatized. If only because his mother beat him all through his childhood, and Jungkook’s biggest fear was to become like his mother.

You reckon he’s always been like her, you were just blind to it at the beginning.

“Y/n, I think…” Yunho trails off. “I think you should talk to your therapist again.”

Your mother said the same thing two days ago when you called her crying. And you agree with them, you just haven’t found the courage to text your therapist yet.

Hell, you wish your father could be the one to talk to you, to help you through the trauma, but he’s on a work trip to another city for a conference.

“I know,” you say, and you straighten to dry your tears, sniffling. “I didn’t think I’d get nightmares again.”

“It’ll pass,” Yunho replies, and it sounds like a promise. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You gulp, nodding once. Because what else is there to do then agree? Then nod and hope that Yunho is right, that things will indeed be okay?

“Do you want me to get Syd so that she can sleep with you tonight?” he asks.

Right. Sydney slept over and, when she sleeps, she sleeps like a rock. You doubt your screaming woke her up.

“No, it’s fine,” you reassure him. “What time is it anyway?”

You both glance at your phone, and you reach for it, turning it on. The light blinds you for a moment, but you can soon see that it is currently 6:17 am, which means you still have an hour and a half before you have to get up for your 10 am class. But you won’t be able to fall asleep again. Especially not as you also notice the text message that you received while you were sleeping.

[2:21 am] San: i finished my part. feel free to check whenever

There’s not a single ounce of familiarity in the way you and Choi San talk now. But at least he’s replied to you after that text you sent the night of the soccer game. He’d just asked you what you wanted him to do, and then he’d sent you a couple of updates over the last two weeks to tell you about what he’d done.

You like to tell yourself that he wants to talk to you, and that’s why he’s texting you regularly. But then again all the messages are impersonal, cold, with no emojis or no questions about you. It’s always just about the project, but at least he’s not entirely ghosting you anymore.

Are you being delusional about this? Maybe. But to you, this is already better than the silence he’d reserved for you before.

“Yeah, no, I’ll just get up,” you tell Yunho as you turn your phone off. “I’ve got some stuff to do for a class.”

Yunho nods, glancing at the door he left open. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Your brother gets up, patting the top of your head. “Love you, sis.”

“Ew, what the fuck,” you say, dodging his hand. “Fuck off.”

It’s like you weren’t crying in his arms ten minutes ago. Yunho just shrugs, laughing, and then he’s walking out of your room, leaving the door wide open.

“The door!” you say after him.

He ignores you, and you curse underneath your breath as you get up, shutting the door softly. And then you sit back on your bed, sighing deeply as you grab your phone once more. You watch San’s name on the screen, missing the emoji that used to accompany it. It’s the first thing you removed when he finally replied to you - seeing it just hurt too bad.

But you’ve been doing a little bit better. Emphasis on the better. If you ignore the fact that you just had a nightmare similar to those you used to have years ago, you have been feeling slightly better over the last two weeks.

You’re fully aware that it’s because of those rare interactions with San, but nobody needs to know. Except your mother, perhaps, whom you called crying the other day because the pain resurfaced for a time as San didn’t reply for two days to something you’d said about the project. He eventually did, and you felt stupid for getting so upset, but then again it’s not like you can control your emotions.

Especially not with finals coming, and with your anxiety slowly increasing as you realize how much you struggle with studying at the moment. Indeed, your mind always wanders down memory lane while you try to sit down and study, and it obviously ruins your focus for a while. But you’ve decided to start your studying early, occupying yourself with it and…

And perhaps that’s been helping, too. It makes you feel like you’re more in control of your life right now, and it’s a baby step toward feeling better.

The biggest step would be to text your therapist. She’d told you to never hesitate if you needed it, yet you haven’t been able. You don’t want to admit you’ve been doing bad again, scared that it will make it much more real, yet you know you need it.

You need it a lot more than burying yourself in studying. Because the second the semester ends, you know you’ll crash hard if you don’t.

So maybe the nightmare was a good thing. You tell yourself it was, if only because it convinces you to text your therapist, and by early afternoon, she’s already replied that she can squeeze you in for an appointment next Tuesday. It takes some weight off your shoulders, and it also gives you the courage to open San’s text.

[1:34 pm] You: sounds good. have you read my part?

You’re in class by then, and your eyes trail over to where he is sitting at the front of the class with Wooyoung. He’s started coming to class again last week, though he’s never looked at you once. You’ve noticed he hasn’t looked at Nayeon either, and you wonder what happened between the two of them after the soccer game.

Because Nayeon has stopped talking to you too - not that you talked a lot to begin with - and you feel like there’s some sort of animosity between the two of you. Or maybe you’re just imagining it, and that animosity you feel is actually just jealousy in disguise.

San grabs his phone and, even in the distance, you can tell his shoulders have tensed. You gulp at the sight, wondering if he’ll reply, but he just puts his phone back down, focusing on the professor at the front of the class.

Your heart sinks in your chest, but it’s not like you were expecting him to reply right away.

You know he will eventually - the presentation is in less than two weeks after all. The thought of it makes anxiety surge through you. Your heartbeat quickens, and you take a deep breath, trying to remind yourself that you have time to prepare.

That, no matter how hard it might be to present with San, you’ll make it through the presentation. 

It doesn’t lessen the anxiety all that much, but the class thankfully ends not too long after, and you prepare to leave, waiting at the back as you usually do for San and Wooyoung to leave first.

Wooyoung glances your way, awkwardly waving at you like he’s been doing in every class since San came back. For the first time since that day though, San turns your way.

The world slows down. It slows so much it comes to a halt, and then there’s just you and San in the empty classroom. Just you and him, sharing a first look after that time outside of his place, after the soccer game. His features are unreadable, closed off, but he’s acknowledging your presence.

He’s acknowledging your presence, and your eyes fill with tears as your heartbeat aches in your chest.

You wonder if one day he’ll talk to you again without hiding behind the project. If one day, you might get an explanation for what happened that Friday night. But that day isn’t today. San turns around, breaking the connection between the two of you, and you blink back your tears as he leaves the classroom, Wooyoung in tow.

You watch them leave, and then you wait five minutes before you leave, too. Five minutes that you spend fighting your heartbreak, but at least you win the battle. At least you don’t start crying like you did at the soccer game.

It’s progress, isn’t it?

Tuesday, November 26th

You watch the screen of your laptop, staring at your reflection. It’s staring back at you, and you watch it as it pulls on its lower lip. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, and you lick at the spot you chewed off, hoping to ease the slight pain that irradiates from there.

It doesn’t really work, and you start chewing at another spot a second later. You’re trying to fight your anxiety - you’re having a therapy appointment in just a few minutes, and it’s been scaring the shit out of you - but it’s not really working.

Indeed, with every passing second you just get increasingly more anxious. Perhaps because your therapist is late. Two minutes late, to be precise, but you’re terrified she won’t show up.

To your relief, your therapist finally lets you into the call, and she appears on the screen, a kind smile on her lips.

“Hello, Y/n,” she says.

“Hey.”

You watch her as she grabs a pen and opens a notebook, still worrying at your bottom lip.

“So what brings you here today?” she asks.

There’s a moment where you don’t know what to say, don’t know where to start, and you just look at her, the anxiety spiking so much in your bloodstream you reckon it might make you sick.

“I just…” you trail off. “Life has been hard lately.”

It’s vague, too vague for her, and she tilts her head to the side, waiting for you to say more.

You take a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. “I started getting bad again this semester,” you admit. “It was okay at the beginning but then… then I met a guy, and things didn’t work out.”

“When did you meet him?” she asks.

You don’t even remember the exact dates. Everything about Choi San is growing fuzzy in your brain, like he’s slowly disappearing from your memory.

“Late September?” you say like a question. “Things went a little fast, though, and we were practically dating like two weeks later.”

“And what happened with that guy?”

Everything happened. Everything happened and, at the same time, nothing did.

“I… ended up developing big feelings for him,” you reveal. “And I was really happy about it because after Jungkook, I didn’t think I would be able to.”

“Right,” your therapist comments. “Yet you did.”

“I did.” You look down at your keyboard. “I really did, but then we went to a Halloween party?” Your therapist nods. “And he left before me, ghosted me and we haven’t really talked since then.”

Your therapist remains silent for a time. “Have you tried reaching out?” she inquires.

“Well, yes.” You clench your jaw, looking up again. “We have this project to do together in a class in common, so we have to talk because of that.”

“Oh, so he’s a guy from your program.”

“Yeah, we have a couple of classes together.”

Your therapist nods, writing down something, and then she looks back at you. “And when you say you feel like life has been hard, what exactly do you mean?”

It’s hard to explain - you barely understand it yourself. But you start with the worst, hoping she will be able to understand.

“I had a night terror again.”

A long silence follows that. You swear your therapist seems sorry for you, but she doesn’t say anything, instead just writing it down.

“When did it happen?”

“On the night between Wednesday and Thursday last week.”

She nods. “I’m proud of you for texting me right away.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you gulp around it. “I didn’t want to wait until it got worse,” you admit. “Because… I don’t think I mentioned it? But I saw Jungkook at a party. We didn’t really talk, but I’ve been feeling awful since then.”

“I understand.” She glances down at her notes. “Is it at the same party you mentioned earlier?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, looking outside the window on your right. The view is that of the street and the building across from it, and you notice a woman closing the curtains in the other building. “I think Jungkook talked to San. Cause like…”

“San is the guy you were seeing?”

“Yeah, he was,” you confirm. “But I really think Jungkook talked to San, because everything was perfect until that party. I don’t… I just don’t understand what else could have happened.” 

Your therapist sighs. “From what you told me about Jungkook before, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

The validation doesn’t make you feel better - hell, you almost want your therapist to tell you that it was indeed your fault when it comes to what happened with San. You want her to tell you that you’re the one that screwed up, that you should hate yourself and yourself only.

You don’t want to have a reason to hate Choi San.

“Yeah…” you trail off.

“And how is that making you feel?”

Horrible. Terrible, heartbroken and everything in between.

“Not good,” you instead say.

Your therapist just stares at you through the screen, and you feel so seen, so much like an open book that words start flowing out of your mouth. The dam broke, the beaver moved the wrong log and the water is gushing out with no way to stop it.

You tell her how bad it’s truly been. How you feel like you’re always on the verge of tears, always on the verge of breaking down. How, every time he texts you, you feel like you’re dying a little more inside, the guilt eating at you so thoroughly you’re convinced there won’t be anything left of you soon. You admit that you’re angry at yourself, more than you’re angry at him, and only then does your therapist speak up.

“Why is that?” she inquires.

Why indeed. Why do you hate yourself so much for the ending of you and Choi San?

“Because I didn’t tell him about Jungkook,” you say, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. “I lied and said I didn’t have an ex, and then I lost him.”

“You didn’t truly lose him, did you?” your therapist says.

You slightly frown. “It feels like I did.”

She nods. “It might feel like you did, but you’re still doing that project together, aren’t you?” It’s your time to nod your head. “If he truly wanted to be fully out of your life, he could have asked the professor.”

“I’m not sure,” you say. “We’ve been working on this project since the beginning of the semester.”

“Oh.” She looks down at her notes. “You still have some sort of a connection with him, though. Why do you tell yourself that you lost him?”

“Because I lost him in the ways that matter,” you reply. “I lost his affection and the time we used to spend together.”

“So, is it more his affection that you feel like you lost, or the perspective of spending time with him?”

You have no clue where your therapist is headed with this, so you only furrow your eyebrows some more. “I mean… both?”

She senses your confusion, and she adds, “What I’m trying to figure out is, do you miss him as a person, or the relationship?”

“Both?” you repeat, still unsure of what she wants you to say.

“So you are missing the relationship with him,” she says, putting emphasis on the with. “Not just the act of being in a relationship.”

“Oh, yeah, no,” you let out. “I miss him.”

She writes something down. “And what do you do when you start feeling this? When you start missing him?”

Torture yourself with sad music while thinking about him, but you’re not going to tell that to your therapist, are you?

“Not much,” you say. “It’s like I can’t do anything else.” Which is indeed true - anytime San invades your thoughts, everything else disappears.

“Do you remember the list you had made when you were thinking about Jungkook?” she asks out of the blue.

You do. Well, you didn’t really but, now that she mentioned it, you remember how she had asked you to write down a list of things to do when you started getting sad, or when you were thinking about the trauma so much that you couldn’t do anything else.

“I…” you trail off. “Kind of.”

“Why don’t you write a new list this time around?” she suggests. “Something you can refer to whenever you’re feeling bad.”

It’s a good idea, one you probably should have had yourself, but a good idea nonetheless. So you do that for most of the rest of your appointment, up until there’s only five minutes left, and your therapist quickly brings the conversation back to your nightmare.

“I have to admit, I’m a little concerned that you had a night terror again,” she says when there’s a lull in the conversation. “Have you considered talking to your primary care physician about it?”

You purse your lips. “Not really. I figured I’d start with therapy, and see if it lingers. I don’t really want to take meds at the moment.”

It’d taken you a long time to get adjusted to the meds the last time, so it’s no wonder you feel hesitant about taking them again.

“That makes sense,” your therapist replies. “We can see if it happens again first, and maybe try and find some solutions to prevent it from becoming recurrent.”

You agree with that plan, and then your therapist gives you as homework to try and use the list you’ve made together, and maybe to see if you’re able to add more stuff.

So far, you have ‘watch funny videos, talk to Sydney , or listen to happy songs’ on your list, but you agree that you should be able to find more stuff if you really think about it.

Your appointment finishes not too long after that and, despite the weight that still lingers on your shoulders, you do feel better now. It’s a relief, a sign that you will be able to heal this time around again, and it encourages you to work on your project some more, checking what San did.

What he did is good. Better than what you’ve come up with, and your heart clenches in your chest when you see the suggestions he’s added to your part. He’s even put a smiling emoji next to one of them, and you stare at it, emotions rushing through you.

A single emoji, yet it’s as if it holds the weight of the universe for you, taking it off your shoulders and letting you breathe for a time. It’s relieving, oh so relieving, and you end up working on the things he suggested, feeling lighter than you’ve felt in weeks.

It’s almost two hours later when you decide you’re done for the day, and you grab your phone, hesitating to send him a message. You don’t know what to say - the whole conversation with your therapist is turning in your head and you wonder, did he truly not leave in the end?

Is he still closer than you’ve been imagining he is, or is he truly fully gone? Wooyoung had said to give San space after all - is that emoji, and the fact that San’s been talking to you about the project a sign that he truly just needed space?

The hope is bright, a sunrise over the horizon, and you cling to it. It’s probably wrong of you to do it, but you’re too weak when it comes to him.

If he asked you to come back, you’d run back to him. You’d sprint back to him faster than light travels, and you wouldn’t let go.

But you can’t hope too much, can you? You’ll just get disappointed in the end. Indeed, you saw how he looked at you at the soccer game. You saw the disgust and the resentment and everything in between - what makes you think that he’ll overcome that one day?

He won’t. Because he left, and he didn’t tell you anything, and fuck you just wish you could sleep with your head on his chest for one last night and…

You stop the train of thoughts. It’s already brought tears to your eyes, and so you stop it. You think about a fire burning through the thoughts, and when it doesn’t help, you grab your phone and put on a funny Vine compilation. And though it doesn’t chase the returning sadness from your heart, it does help with stopping the spiral that you were slowly descending on. 

You take a deep breath, sitting back in your desk chair as you let your eyes close. For a moment, you push every thought away - you just focus on your breathing. Slow and steady, in and out. And once the pain stops clenching your heart in your chest, you open your eyes, grabbing your phone to turn off the video you’d put on.

It will get better, you tell yourself. It has to. Even if you and San weren’t meant to be, it has to get better.

You’re not going to spend the rest of your life mourning a lost love, are you?

*****

The weather outside is cold tonight. Freezing, yet you find yourself following Sydney and Yuhno in the lazy snowfall, heading to the campus movie theater. They managed to convince you to go to the last movie night of the semester, which was supposed to be yesterday but was moved because there was a short power outage planned around 8 pm at the building due to some renovations.

You watch a snowflake as it traces its way down from the sky, up until it lands on the ground next to you. It joins the melting snow there, turning to something more akin to slush, and you look away, noticing Sydney and Yunho’s entwined hands. 

You long for something, for someone, but tonight, you refuse to voice his name. To give him any power over you like that anymore. You’d done the same with Jungkook, for entirely different reasons and though it had taken months, it had helped.

One step after the other, you’d healed from everything that Jeon Jungkook has ever done to you. And so with the passing of time, you hope you’ll heal from him, too.

It’s no surprise when you reach the movie theater to find the hall packed with students, everyone trying to enjoy a moment of normalcy before going into the finals.

In just a few weeks, the semester will be over, and the holidays will come. You have to stay strong until then.

“Do you want to have something to drink?” Sydney asks.

You brought a tote bag with a water bottle in it, so you decline, slightly shaking your head. Yunho and Sydney decide to follow your lead, so you all head to the theatre right away, and you find three empty seats to settle on somewhere to the right. You take off your coat, shoving it on your seat before sitting on top of it. Sydney is next to you, Yunho on her other side, and they’re talking about the movie.

Casablanca, apparently. You’ve heard about it before, as it’s a classic movie, but you’ve never seen it before. All you can hope is that the transatlantic accent and the scenes on the screen will provide a good distraction. It works for most of it, but then your phone vibrates where you squeezed it between your thigh and the seat, and you grab it, thinking you’ll just check what the notification is before putting it back there.

But then you see the name on the screen, and your heart drops to your ass.

[9:02 pm] San: hey, I was thinking, we should meet up to practice for the presentation

You can’t really believe your eyes. You reread the text, make sure that you haven’t imagined it, yet it doesn’t change, the same words greeting you whenever you open your yes again.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

Sydney glances at you, a crease between her brow. “What?”

You show her the text, and her eyes widen. “I know,” you whisper back. “What the fuck should I say?”

Someone shushes you behind you, and you mouth an apology before looking at Sydney again. She shrugs, clearly not knowing what to do either, and Yunho’s face appears behind her, a confused look on his face.

You show him the text, too, and his features turn hard as he slightly shakes his head. It’s evident that he doesn’t want you to see San at all, his dislike for him since he ghosted you clear as spring water.

But it’s not Yunho’s choice. It never would be, and he knows that just as well as you do. So when the movie ends, and Yunho turns to face you, you steel yourself for the reprimand that’s to come.

“Don’t go and see him,” Yunho sternly says.

You clench your jaw. “Why? It’s for the project.”

“He’ll just hurt you again.”

“Hey,” Sydney intervenes. “Shut up, Yun.”

He frowns. “You know just as well as I that that’s what’s going to happen.”

“And? Your sister is an adult, she can make her own decisions.”

Your best friend is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Alway quick to defend you even though she hates confrontation, you’ll forever be thankful for her.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say before they can start bickering. “I already answered.”

You did. You answered five minutes ago, agreeing to meet up with him, and your heart has been beating just a little faster since then. With anxiety or hope, you can’t tell.

“If he hurts you…” Yunho trails off.

“Yes, yes, you’ll beat him up,” Sydney intervenes. “We know.”

You smile. You smile at your friend’s word, and this time, you reckon it reaches your eyes. It reaches your eyes, fills your chest with hesitant hope, and you think the sun might finally be rising,

Choi San wants to see you.

Sunday, December 8th

You’ve been staring at your reflection in the mirror for what feels like an eternity, unable to step out of the bathroom even if Yunho told you he needs to take a shower at least fifteen minutes ago.

You might have outdone yourself a tad bit. You did your makeup, styled your hair, and you’re wearing an outfit that is probably more appropriate for a date - a nice, woolen sweater tucked in a skirt, and pantyhoses to make sure you don’t get too cold outside even though it’s been fairly warm for December today.

It might even rain later, so you’ve put an umbrella in your school bag so that you don’t get a free shower before coming back home after meeting up with San at the library.

You can barely believe that you’re about to see him. That you’ll talk, maybe even exchange pleasantries and jokes like no time has passed, like he didn’t bail out of your life after the Halloween party. 

Will it be awkward, painful, or will you pick up where you left, rekindling the easy familiarity that you used to share?

You know it’s most likely going to be the first option. Maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to leave the bathroom, the lack of courage making a coward of you.

“Can you hurry?” Yunho yells from wherever he is in the apartment.

You gulp, blinking once before taking a deep breath. You know you can’t hide here forever - what good would it be?

“My bad,” you yell back, and you immediately spin around, opening the door and stepping out before you can reconsider it.

For a few seconds, you stand in the hall with your heart beating out of your chest as if you just ran a marathon. It’s pathetic, especially as Yunho walks out of his room, catching sight of you. He cocks an eyebrow in confusion, and you just shrug, glancing at your school bag by the door.

“What took you so long?” he asks.

“Just took a shit,” you deadpan.

He scrunches his nose in disgust, his gaze travelling to the bathroom behind you. “Guess I should wait before going in there.”

Your throat feels dry, and you swallow, though it doesn’t help at all. “Actually, you’re good. I, huh…” you trail off, and you chuckle awkwardly. “I’m going to meet with San.”

He clenches his jaw, remaining silent for a moment. He ends up sighing deeply as he slightly shakes his head. “Let us know if the dickhead is being a dick.”

You’d throw something at him if you had something in your hands. Instead, you just roll your eyes, moving to the closet by the front door. 

“Just enjoy your time with Syd before I come home and we watch that movie,” you grumble as you open the closet, grabbing your coat.

You leave it unzipped, not wanting to get too hot and sweat before you see San.

“We’ll order fried chicken, so don’t be late.”

You grit your teeth, choosing silence over telling Yunho to fuck off, and you slip your feet in your platform boots, zipping them on the side before you straighten up.

“I’ll be there at 6:30 like I said I will,” you remind him, grabbing your school bag. 

You likely will be there even earlier, and you make a mental note to text your best friend before you do, the last thing you want being to catch her and your brother in a compromising position.

“Alright.” Yunho walks towards the bathroom, and he stops with his hand on the door. “Good luck.”

You offer him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod. “Thanks.”

And then your brother walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and you find yourself with no excuses to delay your leaving for campus. So you take a deep breath, opening the front door and then slipping outside. You lock the door behind you and make your way outside, hiding your face in the lapels of your coat the second you’re hit with a gust of wind.

It does smell of rain, but the pavement is still dry so far. And though the wind is strong, undoing the curls you spent a long time perfecting this morning, you manage to make it to campus entirely dry. 

As soon as you step inside, the sky opens, rain lashing down. You’re relieved that you thought about bringing an umbrella, though your thoughts soon drift away from the rain outside, instead returning to the fact that you’re about to talk to San again for the first time in weeks.

Your insides twist, stress washing over you, and your feet are glued to the ground. You can’t take a step forward, and you just clutch the strap of your school bag as if that will give any ounce of courage. Evidently, it doesn’t do anything, and you remain frozen in your stop until someone walks in behind you, startling you.

You move out of the way, barely even glancing at them as they look at you curiously before walking into the building proper, heading to the elevator that leads to the study rooms on the second floor. San told you he reserved one of those - as if reserving your usual room would be too strange.

Maybe it would be. Maybe sitting in the space where you shared so many memories would be too strange for him. You know it would be for you, likely sending you down a spiral of remembrance that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

It’s with that in mind and a lump forming in your throat that you follow behind the person that just walked in. They’ve already called the elevator, and you do an awkward jog to be able to get into the elevator before the doors close. The person doesn’t even glance at you, looking down at their phone in their hands, and so you ignore them, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

It doesn’t help. You don’t think anything will help until you see what the dynamic with Choi San will be like now. Even then, you don’t think anything will help until you’re back home, watching the Ghibli movie that Sydney has been pestering you and Yunho about.

The elevator stops at the second floor, the doors sliding open. You walk out first, not letting yourself freeze this time around. You don’t think you can afford it, not when you’re already running late. And perhaps there’s a part of you that’s also excited to see San, no matter how painful it might be, because your heart races in expectation, a silver lining of hope appearing over the horizon.

You see him before he sees you. The room he chose is at the end of row lined with bookshelves, and the glass door allows you to see him where he’s sitting at the table, his grey sweater on. He’s got the hood on too, as if he’s trying to hide in it, and he’s typing away on his laptop, most likely tweaking some stuff for the presentation next Friday. He looks cosy, like the Choi San you used to know, and your heartbeat speeds up in your chest as you stand there for a moment, just looking at him.

For a moment, the weeks fade, and you remember how his face used to light up whenever he caught sight of you. You remember his soft lips against yours, and the fingers he threaded through your hair while you lay with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You remember the way he used to whisper sweet nothings to you while making love to you, or the way he praised you endlessly when the sex was rougher, needier.

You remember the things he told you that Wednesday night, and that last hook up session in the bathroom at the party. You remember everything with stark clarity, and you hold on to the magic of the time you spent with Choi San, hoping it might linger around for just a little longer.

Long enough to heal the broken pieces of your heart.

San must have sensed you looking at him. His fingers still on his keyboard, and he slowly turns his head towards you. Your gazes connect, and your heart stops in your chest momentarily as you offer him a small smile. He responds with a tight-lipped smile so unlike the one you usually know, and the weeks come rushing back in, the ending stark in your mind as your gaze drops to the ground and you make your way to the door.

Your hands turn clammy, fingers shaking slightly by the time you open the door, and the faint smell of San’s cologne hits your nose. Your throat, now fully dry, makes it hard to swallow, and you gulp as you notice he’s still watching you, his gaze dropping down your frame before it climbs back up to your face.

“Hey,” you say in the awkward silence that follows, and you put your backpack down on the floor next to the chair in front of him, taking your coat off next.

Is it you, or is the room really hot?

“Hey,” he replies, and his gaze follows you as you sit down, bending to retrieve your laptop from your bag. 

It feels like he has other words on his lips, though they never fully take form. He just looks at you until you meet his gaze again, and then his eyes drop to the screen of his laptop.

From so close, you notice how exhausted he looks. His eyes look hollow, dark circles adorning them, and he seems pale, like he hasn’t seen the sun in a while. It’s striking, and your heart aches in your chest, forcing you to look away, too.

“So,” he lets out. “I’ve made a draft of what you can say for your part.���

You’d briefly mentioned that you sucked with oral presentations back when you were… in a situationship with him, and it hurts to think that he remembered, and that he’s actually trying to help.

What the fuck happened that night, San?

“I sent it to you when I got here.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you turn on your laptop. “Let me take a look.” You watch the screen as it comes to life and soon, you make your way to your email, opening the google drive link that he sent you. You skim the draft quickly, raising your head to look at him when you’re done. “That looks good.”

Another tight-lipped smile appears on his face. “Thanks. It’ll work well with what I’ve got for my part.”

His part is at the bottom of what he has for you, and you read that too. “Yeah, it seems perfect.”

A long, awkward silence follows as he connects his laptop with the TV screen so that you can both look at the Powerpoint you made while practicing. You wait as he does so, rereading the draft he made for you - bullet points of important stuff you have to mention - and when the Powerpoint finally appears on the TV, San clears his throat.

“So we have to hit the fifteen minutes mark,” he reminds you. “I’ll time us, and we can try with what we have so far, and add more if needed.”

“Sounds good.”

The conversation is robotic, void of any warmth or familiarity that used to inhabit the two of you. It’s as if you barely know each other at all, two strangers with common memories that almost feel like excerpts of your life in an alternate universe. It’s painful, a lot more than you expected it to be, and it makes it hard to concentrate, so much so that you stutter every few words, your hands trembling as you nervously  play with your fingers.

You know San notices. He watches your hands on the table and, feeling too seen, you hide them on your lap. A muscle feathers on his jaw as you do so, but he doesn’t say anything, letting you continue to talk.

You manage to make enough full sentences to cover the bullet points San prepared for you, and then it’s his turn to speak. He’s much better than you, like he practiced already, and you listen to his voice closely, trying to ignore how dissimilar it is to the one you used to know.

San has changed. In just a few weeks, San has changed beyond recognition.

Your eyes fill with tears, but you’re quick to blink them away, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of him again.

Once you finish the first practice, San stops the timer on his computer, frowning slightly. “Yeah, we’re going to have to bullshit a little more than that.”

You’re fully aware that you didn’t speak as much as him, so you take the blame for it. “Okay, sorry. I can try to do that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says with that same weird smile. “We’ve got plenty of time to practice.”

You nod your head, pursing your lips. You’re unable to reply and, most likely sensing your unease, San clears his throat, suggesting some things to add in your part so that you can reach the fifteen minutes. That’s how you find yourself spending the next two hours and, though the atmosphere doesn’t become warmer, it does become easier to go through the presentation, especially as you manage to make it long enough the third time you practice.

“I’m getting tired,” San says as he sits back in his chair. “Do you think we’ve practiced enough?”

You’ve never been comfortable with talking in front of a group of people, and you know this presentation won’t be any different. Yet the way he looks at the door, as if he wants to escape, doesn’t go unnoticed to you, and you can’t bring yourself to ask him to practice some more.

Especially considering that none of this was the way things used to be between the two of you.

“Oh, yeah,” you answer. “I’ll practice some more at home.”

He nods, his gaze scanning your features for a few seconds. It feels intense - you’re too much of a coward to hold his gaze, to try and read what might be written in the depths of his eyes. Instead, you look at the screen of your computer, focusing on the words written there.

“You good?” he asks.

You’re painfully aware this is the first time he’s asked how you are feeling since you got here. And the question strikes deep. You find yourself clenching your jaw once, taking a deep breath to keep the pain at bay.

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been doing horrible.”

Your answer settles a heavy weight on the room, and San remains silent for a few seconds. You wait, hoping he’ll say something, hoping he asked to see you like this for more than the presentation.

Is it wishful thinking, to hope that Choi San still cares for you?

“Huh,” he lets out, clearing his throat. “I meant for the project.”

Embarrassment flushes through you, though a spark of anger ignites in your chest, and you look up to meet San’s gaze. “So, you’re just going to pretend I imagined everything?”

The words are out before you realize it. You watch in horror as San’s gaze widens, and then he sighs deeply, looking at the door again. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I just…” you trail off, because what’s the point?

What is the point in talking to someone that feels so long gone anyway?

San waits for you to continue, and you manage to do so after worrying at your bottom lip, all in the hope that he doesn’t notice it quivering from the sudden onslaught of sorrow that plagues you.

“Don’t you feel like this is wack?” you ask.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, and then shrugs his shoulders as his eyes glide away from you. “It is what it is.”

“What happened, San?”

You whisper the question. You whisper the question through the tears filling your line of vision, through the water filling your lungs, making you feel like you’re drowning all over again.

He shuts his eyes, leaning his elbows on the table as he rubs his face. His hands remain against his mouth, almost as if he’s praying, and you furiously blink, hoping the tears won’t fall.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he insists.

“It’s unfair. It’s unfair, San. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He closes his laptop, putting it in his bag. “Let’s just focus on the project. Then you won’t have to deal with me in your life ever again.”

“Is it something with your dad?” you ask, ignoring him.

He frowns, coldness invading his features. “What?”

“Is it because you opened up about your dad?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. The look he sends you next is enough to tear your heart from your chest. “No, it’s not. The fact that you’re so clueless about it shows that it’s better if we don’t talk.”

Silence. Silence follows, louder than bombs, and San looks just as pained by his words as you feel. Yet he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t say anything else. And you don’t talk either, unable to form a single word through the sob working its way up your throat. All you can do is look at him, taking his features in despite the blurry wall of tears in your eyes.

I’m falling in love with you. So, so much.

Just a few weeks ago, he’d whispered those words on your lips while making love to you after the arcade. Just a few weeks ago, you’d reciprocated the sentiment, thinking that you had an eternity with him ahead of you. It feels like it happened ages ago, like maybe it was all just a lie.

He didn’t even care for you at all, did he?

“I…” you choke out, the sob that was working its way up interrupting your sentence. It sends the tears cascading down your face, and you look at your laptop, drying them as they come.

“I’m sorry.” He adds your name. “I’m really sorry, but it’s better like this.”

You laugh. You laugh through the tears, laugh through the pain. Laugh through the knowledge that he’s so far gone you won’t ever reach him again. “You’re not sorry. You can’t be fucking sorry.”

He puts his coat on. “I am. But like I said, it doesn’t matter. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

You glare at him through your tears. “So that you wouldn’t have to see me cry? So that…”

You’re stunned silent at the sight of the silver lining his gaze, and of the tear slipping free. He dries it quickly, but you know it was there - why was it even there?

“I’ll see you on Friday,” he says, and his voice is raucous, tone heavy from the pain wrapped in his words. 

You can’t even bring yourself to reply. You just watch him go, fully aware that he lingers by the door for a few seconds, hand on the doorknob. You think about saying his name, think about getting up and stopping him. You even think about running after him once he finally decides to leave, but you don’t.

You don’t, and maybe he’s right. Maybe things are better this way. Maybe a breakup like this - if you can even call it a breakup - is better than everything that happened with Jungkook. 

Maybe that’s how healthy couples break up. Maybe that’s what your story with Choi San was supposed to be. Maybe he was just supposed to show you that you could love again, that your life didn’t end after that August night and after the passage of Jeon Jungkook in your life. Maybe San was just meant to teach you that you can move on, build yourself anew.

With someone else. You needed San to heal, and now San is gone. San is already gone - will you need someone else?

You don’t want anyone else. You want to drown in the pain, to let it take you on its stormy current - there has to be peace at the end of the storm.

But not tonight. You don’t find any peace tonight - you only break, distracting yourself with trying to study. Sydney and Yunho try to convince you to watch that movie with them, but you lock yourself in your room with music in your earbuds, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. 

Tonight, you break for what could have been between you and Choi San if things had worked out. More than that, you break for the way you let yourself get hurt again, you break for the fact that San wasn’t any better than Jungkook.

Though that’s a lie. San was never abusive, unlike Jungkook that last night. If San is one thing, it’s a coward. It’s a coward for choosing the easy way out, for ghosting you, for refusing to even talk. You don’t like to think of him as such, but who else than a coward would flee like he did? Who else than a coward claims they’re falling in love with you and then disappears like he did?

But San was also sweet. San was box cakes and dimpled smiles and Lego sets and trips to Ikea. San was everything, and now he’s nothing. Nothing but a coward who doesn’t even want to talk to you. You cling to the word - coward - all night, hoping to fall asleep at some point.

As if it’ll make things any better, as if you won’t wake up with the same choking pain tomorrow.

Will the pain ever stop?

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

slowly going through all the angst. i promise it's going to start getting better soon :') hope you still like the fic! let me know what you think:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[moonleeai]

Review for @bangtanwritershq Ficstoric Society

~ I love me some Hoseok~

The level of detail in your writing pulled me in right from the start—I could picture the setting and feel the atmosphere. The reunion between them felt really genuine, not just because of the professional tension but also all the personal history simmering underneath. Their banter and the way their shared memories came up naturally in conversation made their connection feel real and relatable.

When they finally act on those past crushes, it’s not just about attraction—it’s about reclaiming a piece of the past and rewriting it with all the confidence and maturity they have now!!

Diabolically delish! 🥵 😈

Adage 💜

SX Seoul Series | Hoseok's Entry

PAIRING: Hoseok x (f) Reader (you can also read it on AO3 or Wattpad)

SUMMARY: You have an exclusive interview with the event coordinator of SX Seoul, who happens to be your teenage crush.

WORD COUNT: 5.2 k

GENRE: old crush, pwp, smut

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: bratty reader, soft Dom!Hoseok, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, pulling out, handjob, nipple play, dry humping, leg humping, hair pulling

A.N.: Whoa, those Hobi concerts were just what I needed to finish this series. Plus, now that the series' visuals have been fully revamped (thank you, @eerieedits!!), I had even more reasons to! Thank you to @moonleeai for being incredible and catching all my mistakes! Hope you have fun with the last SX Seoul series entry! 💜

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You walked down the busiest street of Itaewon, your black boots tapping on the ground as you hurried and tugged your handbag’s straps further onto your shoulder. The sun was barely visible between the clouds, but it helped you avoid the puddles just as much as the passerby as you muttered to yourself.

“Hello, I’m— Good afternoon, my name is—” You swallowed and brushed your hair behind your ear as you went down the street, the cold winter wind chilling your legs under your long beige skirt. “I’m a Vice contributor, and I’m here to brief you on a piece on—”

You staggered as the buildings on your right suddenly gave way to a large and tall staircase leading to a parallel street. It was deserted, but you imagined that at night, it filled up with clubgoers waiting in line, chatting with a drink in hand, or waiting for a cab.

Right now, though, it had only the casual shoppers and folks going out for coffee on a Saturday afternoon, so the lively lights that marked the club’s presence were off.

Still, you straightened your cream coat, smoothed your hair, and climbed the few steps needed to enter the closed club. You raised your hand to press the doorbell, then figured they’d want some type of identification for—

The heavy metal door suddenly opened, and you bowed instantly, your heart nearly escaping out of your mouth as it raced so quickly. An older guy held the door open for you and jutted his chin, “He’s inside, you can go in.”

You swallowed your heart back down and bowed your head again, making your way in.

Once inside, the door closed behind you as you marveled at the place. Perhaps because it was always crowded in pictures, you never imagined it was so… wide. The coatroom looked nice and big, as did the couches around the hall before stairs could be taken up or down to reach the club rooms. The faint smell of smoke and liquor lingered in the air, but it wasn’t so pungent you were bothered. In fact, you expected things to look greasy and sticky; after all, those places typically had no magic without the lights, the drinks, and the people. But it was actually pretty nice.

You turned back and realized the man who had let you in was gone. Looking around, there was no one who could help you find your way. How were you supposed to know where to go?

“Hey!” Someone called from upstairs, and you stepped forward to peek up. “You can come on up!”

He shouted and disappeared, so you couldn’t take a good look, but your heart still somersaulted.

Before you moved, you smoothed your coat again and swallowed your emotions. It was the same name; it did not mean it was the same person. You were there to do your job, not to act like a fool. You started climbing up the stairs as you convinced yourself to keep your cool and go over what you would say.

“It’s my pleasure to interview the event coordinator of SX Seoul,” you muttered under your rushed breath as you went up the stairs. “Someone regarded as a pioneer in multiple genres, fostering a comfortable home for multiple underground events—”

You sucked in a breath when you got to the last step. The doors were open in front of you, showing a long room flanked by windows that were exceptionally letting the daylight in. All tall tables had been pushed against them, creating the illusion the space was even more prominent.

As you walked in, your steps echoed. On your left, the opposite wall, covered with mirrors and an extensive bar, revealed itself along with him. He was putting down the phone after ending a call, but you hadn’t even noticed because recognition froze your steps.

He looked taller and more buff than you remembered. His white top and zip-up hoodie perfectly framed his shoulders, contrasting with his dark, wavy hair falling just below his ears. The tight black military pants and military boots he had on offered a stronger look that had you averting your eyes quickly. Recognition looked good on him because he instantly brightened up and smiled so brightly that your heart trembled.

“Whoa! I can’t believe it,” he beamed, circling the bar counter to get to you. You noticed then the big silver buckle of his belt, the way his hips moved— And forced your eyes to meet his. His smile was as dazzling as you remembered. He said your name, yet you simply blinked, making him stop in his tracks. “Right? I mean… Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” you blurted, then felt sweat thread down your spine. You cleared your throat, trying to save face. “Jung Hoseok… How could I forget our hope?”

His smile widened as he laughed with delight at hearing the nickname he had back in high school. “It’s embarrassing if you say that…”

You shook your head, still befuddled. “Not if it’s true.”

He laughed freely then, showing no embarrassment or regrets as he neared you. “Well, what about you? Don’t tell me… You’re the journalist I’m supposed to meet?”

You nodded, and the reason you were there suddenly rushed to the forefront of your mind. You bowed deeply in a greeting. “I’m here to brief you on tomorrow’s interview. I thought it would be easier than a phone call, and your team said I could drop by today…”

He was nodding before you even finished talking. “Of course, gladly. Woah, this is— I’m a bit shocked, honestly.”

“I apologize,” you bowed earnestly, and he stepped forward so close to you that the buckle was right within reach.

“No, it’s good! I’m shocked but stoked, trust me.”

You raised your head, straightened your back, and saw nothing but ease and joy in his expression. If anything, it soothed your nerves, too.

He raised his hands. “So let’s get comfortable. I can take your coat.”

“Oh, I know you’re very busy.”

He shook his head with an incredulous smile. “Always putting others before you. I see some things never change.” Heat rose to your cheeks, but he reacted before you did after gently nipping his bottom lip. “What if I tell you it will be an excuse to take a long-awaited break? Won't you chat a bit with me?”

You almost shook your head in disbelief; instead, you chuckled and obliged. Hoseok was also exactly as you remembered as he reached to readily take your coat and lead you back to the bar. His charisma always mesmerized you, yet his attentiveness and perfectionism always drew you in. He didn’t have to be the coolest or most popular kid at school; many of your former high school friends would have said he wasn’t. Yet, the way you remembered him, there was no one cooler. Especially when he always helped you and rooted for you.

He placed your coat on the bar counter and pushed a bar stool for you before circling the bar. “Is it okay if I offer a drink?”

You sat down, put your handbag on the stool behind you, and brushed your hair behind your ear. “As long as I’m not abusing your goodwill…”

He laughed as he started grabbing what he needed. “You’d never.”

You couldn’t really see his reaction until he sat next to you, holding a few bottles of strawberry soju and two glasses.

“Still your favorite, I hope?”

You chuckled and nodded, waiting for him to pour you the first glass. “How do you even remember that?”

His smile became mischievous as he made sure to pour both glasses quickly. “You’d be surprised.”

You grabbed your glass. “By your elephant’s memory?”

He chuckled. “Something like that.”

You clinked glasses and drank your first shot together, neatly putting the glass back on the counter while he looked at it and let the taste and alcohol burn him.

Then he also put it down, looking at you. “Didn’t remember it so sweet.” You had to chuckle at his grimace, and he continued, “What happened to you?” Your easiness faded a little, and he tried explaining, “I mean, one day, you were there; the next, you weren’t.”

“You noticed it?” you asked, the slightest hint of skepticism passing through your expression as you reached to play with your empty glass.

“Of course I did,” he retorted, eyes dropping to your hand. He stayed motionless and only looked at you. “A precious classmate disappeared.”

You smiled and let go of the glass. “Nothing bad happened; I just changed high schools. My parents didn’t think I had a future in anything art-related, and I dropped out of every trainee program I entered.”

“That’s awful,” he nearly gasped, seemingly more outraged than you were.

So you chuckled. “Not really.”

“How can you say that? You’re such a good dancer!”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “What?! No, I’m not!”

“You are!”

“I think you might have mistaken me with somebody else.”

“I have not!” He was already leaning toward you with his arm on the counter and looked almost about to jump off his seat, but you simply gave him a look, asking him to be reasonable. “You might not have excelled at other things, but you danced very well. I remember,” he underlined, yet you didn’t change your posture or expression. It seemed nonsensical to think someone like Hoseok would remember you, so you assumed he was just trying to be nice. He jumped from his stool. “I’ll prove it.”

You bit your lip as he moved to the DJ mixing station and fumbled with whatever was on there. You weren’t being coy; you honestly didn’t think you were better than the average person, so you couldn’t figure out why he’d be so set on proving you wrong.

“Maybe you don’t remember it…” he voiced quietly before a familiar beat started from the speakers and gave you goosebumps. “Do you remember our Junior year dance project? We had to dance to this song.”

You nodded, remembering it all too well. “The Mannequin song… Everyone was so excited because SNSD did a special on KBS…”

He chuckled as he neared you again. “We all wanted to go viral on YouTube. But do you remember what the test was?”

In all your years, you thought the view of Jung Hoseok walking toward you with those eyes would make you melt into a puddle on the floor. Yet, instead, you were calm, letting your heart leap slightly as you thought back to all those years ago.

“Hmm… We all had to know the choreography and then would be paired randomly for the test. One boy and one girl.”

“Right,” he confirmed, biting his lip to hide a smile as he reached out his hand. “Come on.”

“Oh no no no no,” you instantly flinched. He insisted with a firm gaze, and you just felt your palms sweat. “I— I don’t remember it anymore!”

“You don’t?” he asked, sadness spreading across his features. “Really?”

You opened your mouth and hesitated, mutely going back and forth with him with glances and grimaces while your heart squeezed inside your chest. At least until you sighed and relented, “I might remember a little bit—”

“Perfect!” He grabbed your hand and pulled you along to the center of the room, where you could face the mirrors since the high tables were all pushed to the windows. He left you there to play the song from the start, then joined you with a smile. “Let’s do it!”

You smoothed your white shirt and gave him a look as he looked at you, posed in the posture you both were supposed to start once Trish started singing. You puffed briefly as he smirked, just waiting for you to be ready on time, and you were.

You didn’t know you’d remember it well, but as you moved, every sharp movement came back. Every snap of your fingers, every sway of your hips, and especially every time you looked back at him because you two were supposed to mirror each other perfectly.

One second, the song was starting; the next, it was ending. You had to wave your hand in front of your face to catch your breath and cool down, but Hoseok was already rushing to the DJ mixing station to put on another song. You tried to refuse, but it looked like Hoseok was having the time of his life reliving every song and every choreography with you. The most surprising wasn’t even that you remembered them all, but that you had fun dancing with him again. Suddenly, it felt like you were a teenager again, having the time of your life, dancing with your crush.

After at least a dozen songs, if not more, you had already unbuttoned your shirt a little, revealing the beige top underneath. He had removed his hoodie, and instead of reaching for water from the bar or sitting down to catch his breath, he chose to throw his arms around your neck.

For a second, his full weight crashed on you, and you grabbed him to prevent the both of you from going down. You did it on instinct, the type of play you would have had when you were seventeen. But you weren’t teens anymore.

You didn’t pay any attention to whatever music started playing after the one you just danced to. Instead, your breath deepened as you realized that he was purposefully not only keeping you close but also keeping your personal bubbles perfectly merged.

“You see…” he breathed, wiping the sweat off his brow. “How could I have forgotten? When I’ve beaten myself up over this so many times.”

“What? Over what?”

He smiled at your confusion. “I never got to ask you… For senior year, we had to dance with one partner for the final project. All styles, a year-long project. I was going to ask you, but you left.”

You felt the heat burn your cheeks. “You— You were?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“But… I mean.” You swallowed, trying to be rational. “You never really said anything about it to me.”

“They call it being an awkward teenager.”

He laughed, and you frowned. “You were not awkward.”

“But I never told you I wanted you as my partner.” 

You swallowed dryly, having trouble hearing those words from his lips so close to you that his breath was fanning your face. “Well, I… would have said yes.”

His eyes locked with yours as though trying to see if you meant it, and he must have been pleased because he smiled. “You would have likely found out I had a big fat crush on you.”

His voice was secretive, and you swallowed dryly, instantly letting your truth out of your lips. “Well, you would have found out for sure that I had the hugest crush on you, too.”

His eyes connected with yours for a second, staying on your lips for the remainder of your words so he could read them. You were left breathless, deaf by the racing sound of your heart above the music. Now what?

You could swear he was leaning closer to you, but he straightened back when the music shifted to something slow-paced. His arms lowered to your waist as he paced in place with you in his arms, still absolutely breathless.

“I hope there’s no competition about whose crush was bigger,” he teased, pulling you just a little closer to him. You let him, almost falling into him and shortening any lingering distance between you.

You blinked up at him, dazed by how dashing he was. “Of course not.”

“We should be partners,” he declared cheekily, smiling as you slow danced with him.

“I agree.”

You might have whispered, but he heard you. He smiled. “Happy you accepted to dance with me after all?”

You hummed. “Very.”

It was easy to slip into his embrace and sway according to his direction. No matter the sweat, the heat, or the media badge lost in the bottom of your handbag, it all seemed meaningless when you were living your teenage dream.

But your body seemed keen on reminding you that you were no longer a clueless teenager. You both had aged well and if you could have thought your attraction to him was innocent, now you knew it was anything but. If anything, Hoseok had become even more charming and confident, and you were already weak for him. 

The heat and the sweat only intensified as you kept your bodies close and tangled. Holding your breath wasn’t enough when his breath down your neck made you shudder. Your fingers gripped his hair involuntarily to keep him closer, and he groaned quietly, nuzzling down the collar of your unbuttoned shirt.

His hands were respectfully on your waist, but what your bodies were doing was sinful. He guided your hips to move with his, and you complied, going above and beyond to leave no molecule of air between you. So much so that your movements could have been seen as lewd, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. He could guide you in any other direction, and he chose to keep you close.

He nuzzled up your neck to whisper into your ear, “I want to kiss you.”

You moved your face to meet his but didn’t close the distance. Instead, you looked into his eyes, seeing his want as you hoped he saw yours. His eyes hooded, shortening the distance enough to ghost your lips, and you closed your eyes.

His mouth pressed to yours softly, and before you could fully grasp how this would go, his kiss was taking over you. His lips pressed and brushed, exploring, eager to discover everything about you while you tangled your fingers with his hair, mirroring him. His hands felt your curves unapologetically, and so yours swam under the hem of his tanktop, not holding back either. His firm and taut abs under your touch made you groan softly, and he pulled away, letting you breathe.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about this moment,” he whispered, pecking your lips once more as though he couldn’t help himself.

You opened your eyes, barely able to say your own name, let alone put on any brakes. Still, you tried speaking, “About kissing me?”

He smiled. “About meeting you again and telling you how I felt. I regret never having the guts to do it. To take you out, to confess, to face your rejection if it came to it. I shouldn’t have taken your presence for granted. Don’t want to do it again.”

His lips traced your cheek far more gently than you were craving. You gripped him close. “You don’t have to worry about the past. I heard you, loud and clear. I wanted you then, and I want you now.” Your hips moved as though with a mind of their own, and you realized your skirt had raised past your hip, revealing not only your legs but how you were shamelessly grinding on his thigh. You finally had a mind to hold back. “But if you don’t want to continue, I fully understand—”

His mouth was on yours in a split second, moving so quickly that you couldn’t keep up. You could feel the goosebumps rake up your arms and legs and knew it would only get worse from there. He held you closer as his lips ravished you, finally pushing past the seam of your lips to find out that much more about you. Yet, as you were busy with his untamable kiss, you barely noticed how you were stumbling back while wholly caught up in him. You realized it only when your back hit the bar counter, making you gasp.

He relented his onslaught on your mouth to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, and you were able to breathe. He was pressed to you, grinding a hard-on on you just as shamelessly, making you grin. Your hand moved to tangle with his hair as his mouth lowered to your cleavage, and you simply closed your eyes. It was funny to think you dreamed of this so many years ago and were finally getting to experience it — your teenage self would have kicked her feet and squealed. Perhaps you weren’t as naive or in love as back then, but you wanted him much more now if that was possible. When his hands lowered to grip your ass and spread your legs to accommodate him, you moaned and were reminded exactly why.

He was cute and gentle growing up, but now there was confidence in every gesture and look that made you soft. He held you against the bar counter, parting his mouth from your cleavage to kiss your mouth and own it so easily that your legs were mush, even though he was holding them. Your hips swayed with his, blatantly telling him exactly what you wanted. Yet despite the way you were burning and gushing between your legs in anticipation of the real deal, he only kept kissing you. He moved with you and released little moans into your mouth when you jerked your hips in a way he didn’t expect, but he wasn’t going further. At least not yet, and you didn’t have it in you to wait.

You leaned back on the counter with one arm, taking support with your bent elbow before reaching your other hand between your bodies. His hips stammered as your kiss became uneven and your hips became erratic, but he soon understood what was going on. His eyes followed your hand unbuckling his belt before looking up at you.

“Keep going,” you whispered, lust fueling your every breath. “Don’t stop now…”

If there was any hesitation on his part, it vanished right there. He gripped you better in his hold, giving you time and space to undo his pants and stick your hand inside his boxers. He wasn’t shy about it, pecking your cheek as you grabbed him and pumped. His breathy moan against your cheek made you even hotter to the point that you needed to hear more of it. Yet stroking him wasn’t enough, even when he looked into your eyes like that as you did it. His skin was soft and warm, contrasting with the thickness and hardness in your palm, and you were greedy. His hips started swaying you again, his eyes barely able to stay open and locked with yours as his arms lost strength. And still, you didn’t miss one step of that rhythm, knowing that if you played your cards well, you’d have him on his knees in three, two, one…

You were jolted up suddenly, and everything happened faster than you could process. In a second, he picked you up, dragging a nearby stool with his foot to slip under you. Your hand didn’t lose contact but lost its rhythm, and even though you were now comfortably sitting down, things didn’t become easier for you.

Because now he had his hands free to grab your head and overpower you with his kiss. You were so dizzy that you could barely do anything but try to match his fiery tongue as you gripped his length in your hand, and unbeknownst to you, it drove him wild. He was so lost and equally consumed in everything you that by the time he caught on, he was already dragging harsh fingertips up your hips, marking you as your skirt raked to give him access to what he wanted.

He broke your kiss apart in time to let you both breathe and paused despite the eagerness making both of you tremble.

“Are you sure?” he asked, pressing your foreheads together to keep himself from seeking your taste again. 

You had goosebumps from the way his fingers pressed down on your flesh, and just the anticipation was making you dizzy. Your eyes snapped open to meet his, and the certainty that Hoseok was exactly the type of man you wanted made the fire inside you barely containable.

Still, you were able to breathe out, “Please.”

It was enough to have him all over you, pressing his mouth to yours and holding you with a hand at the nape of your neck while his hand dove under your skirt. You kept holding onto his excitement firmly, feeling the wet traces reach your fingers, yet what made you whimper while his tongue battled yours was his deft fingers skimming your core. You suddenly wished you had skipped the underwear this morning, but fortunately, it proved no obstacle for him. He was agile in brushing the fabric aside, groaning into your mouth as soon as he picked up on how wet you were.

From there on out, it was as though all barriers had been lifted, and there was no more use for words. You pulled on his hard cock to align with you as his hips pushed forward, helping you do it as quickly as humanly possible. With a thrust, he pushed inside you, opening you so bluntly that it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Yet all you did was let your chin drop and sink your nails into his bare shoulders. He cursed under his breath, thrusting again to accommodate himself inside your walls, and you let your head fall back. The stool you were on wiggled under you, but you wouldn’t fall, not while he had you. His foot pushed the stool to hit the bar, and his hands gripped your hips to keep you in place as he started a sweet dance.

Your toes curled inside your boots with every snap of his hips, spreading liquid heat through your whole body. You were unashamed to admit that you were covering him in slick, letting him slide inside you only to tighten up around him as you clenched and gritted your teeth. It was overwhelming, so torrid and intense you had no control over your hips rolling to match him. All you knew was that the way he fucked into you was divine, bringing you closer and closer to losing yourself, and that was all you ever wanted.

You thought you’d reach your limit soon but could swear he wouldn’t let you. His hand pulled your head back to reveal your neck, and the way he nibbled, sucking until it bruised, and making you gush around him even harder, convinced you he was possessive. That he would direct your fuck as he did your dancing, and it was the hottest shit in your fucked-out daze. You wanted him to fuck you there and leave you a heap on the floor, absolutely ruined for anyone else. You craved it; you almost begged for it, but your pleasure was rolling in fast.

Perhaps he noticed it because he relented with a quiet growl, and you chuckled under his lips. You could feel him twitching inside you, edging himself, making himself last, but you were proud to be a vice and would throw his control easily if he let down his guard.

You bit your lip as you squeezed around him, making it just a little harder for him, and he saw it. It was hard to hide the glint in your eyes; it wasn’t just pure lust or the pleasure flowing in your veins. There was Hoseok, of all the men on earth, fucking you so wet and right your skirt was likely ruined. Maybe even the bar stool. You chuckled at the thought.

His eyes darkened as he unglued his chest from yours. You raised an eyebrow, too fucked out to react quickly, when he pulled your shirt down, forcing it until your bra was under your chest. You moaned, both surprised and delighted with the way he handled you, and even more when he nibbled your skin down until he could slip a nipple inside his mouth.

“What the fuck—” you moaned in a long whimper, squirming under him. 

You liked having his tongue teasing your nipple, but you didn’t expect the angle to open the way for his palm to spread over your lower stomach and his thumb to reach your clit. The stool moaned and hit the bar counter behind you as he slammed into you so much harder, purposefully keeping a steady pace while fucking the daylights out of you.

So much so that you were moaning without control, leaving red marks on his shoulders and squeezing around him so much that he had to let go and curse, even though this time, it wasn’t on purpose.

His hand wrapped around your hair at the back of your nape, and you kept your back arched, aligning perfectly so he’d hit you deep with every pound, all while his thumb made you see stars.

“Fuck—” he didn’t stop cursing. “Cum— Cum now, fuck—”

Your mind lit up with the permission. Your legs wrapped around him so he’d fuck you deeper, and you didn’t even have to count the number of times he fucked into you until you were cumming so intensely that you stopped breathing.

The way your pleasure was unleashed, making you clench and suck his cock further inside you, was only topped by the way he kept rutting into you, now a bit more desperately. This man really wanted to get his cock milked and slicked perfectly, and you were happy to have the pleasure. The thought alone made you feel powerful, but the way he moaned and fell apart once you looked at him hit the bullseye. 

The stool slammed against the bar counter a few times as he gripped your hair so much that the sting could only make you clench harder. You were eager to feel him coming undone inside you, but he was able to pull out and cum on your leg, offering you a sinful view of his pink cock spurting cum over you. It shouldn’t have looked this hot or made you feel this wronged, but you understood your thoughts were only the aftermath of your still throbbing and now empty pussy. 

Looking at him soothed you, though. He was panting, looking like a million bucks while sweating sexiness with every heave of his chest. You chuckled at your thoughts, wondering if that shouldn’t have been enough to fuck the silly and horny out of you when he relented the grip on your hair but didn’t let you go.

It was enough for you to finally look at him properly and notice his eyes were still dark.

“I’m just getting started,” he noted quietly, looking down. 

You clenched at the view — he was still hard. Damn hard, even though you had just seen him cum without a shadow of a doubt. His cum was dripping down your thigh and getting soaked into your skirt.

He must have noticed it, too, because he reached behind you and grabbed a few napkins, using them to clean you as much as he could before crumpling them in balls and tossing them back.

“If that’s okay with you,” he added more relaxedly, and you stared up at him in wonder. Where had he been all your life?

He gave you a look that demanded a response, and you just chuckled again, wrapping your legs around him.

[moonleeai]

My Demon, My Love - Part 3 - The Sacrifice (End)

"I saved myself."

PAIRING: Demon!Taehyung x human (f) Reader

SUMMARY: All Taehyung wanted was business as usual — strike a deal, claim a soul, and enjoy dessert. But somehow, he ended up powerless, with no choice but to ask for your help.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

GENRE: demon AU, fake dating, marriage contract, smut

RATING: R (explicit - MDNI please!)

WARNINGS: arguing, gunshots, blood, lots of angst and tears, major character death (with a happy ending)

A.N. Here we have it, the finale! When I originally saw My Demon, I was left with questions... And when I thought about how to adapt it, I feared oversimplifying things... But in the end, I love how it turned out. I know I introduced new elements, but hopefully they give the story a fun twist! Thank you @moonleeai for kindly beta reading, @pars-ley for the gorgeous banner, and @colormepurplex2 for believing I could do it 😁 Enjoy! 💜

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous part

When Taehyung woke up, he instantly searched for you in bed. 

Fortunately, you were just within reach. He spooned you, hugging you close as your damask rose perfume grounded him in reality. You sighed as you snuggled up closer to him, letting your naked body mold to his, soothing his distress, making his heart beat unbridledly.

He had three days. That wasn’t a lot of time to try to find another way, but—

You turned in his arms, looking at him with the most heartwarming smile he had ever seen. “Good morning.”

His heart skipped; you were happiness itself. He couldn’t even put into words how much he loved you.

He cradled your cheek and kissed your lips, pouring his entire heart into that gesture. Your radiant smile greeted him again as soon as he withdrew to look at you, and suddenly, he was at ease. He would try to stay by your side just a little longer, but in the end, there would never be an easier decision in his life. He brushed your cheek as he remembered his promise.

I will stand by you through thick and thin and always put you first.

He smiled as you sighed, happy with his caresses. You were his wife, and he would fulfil his vows and promises, no matter what.

“I don't want to get out of bed,” you confessed, sighing.

“Then let's stay,” he suggested, kissing your cheek. “It's Christmas…”

“Not yet,” you countered. “Christmas is in three days. I still have to work two days. I have to, I can't ask my staff to do it and then bail,” you explained as you brushed his cheek.

He caught your hand to nip the palm before sighing. “Fine, but I need you to come with me somewhere first.”

“Where?” you asked curiously.

“To visit someone.”

Your expression sobered up. “The demon.”

He nodded, enjoying pecking your palm, lingering in that moment with you. At least until you pulled the covers back and told him to get ready so you wouldn’t be late for work. 

He huffed and fell back on the bed in protest. He almost told you to ask your right hand to take on your functions as he had asked Bok-gyu, his director, but in the end, he stayed quiet. Three days wasn’t a lot, but it was something. Maybe Namjoon would have the solution you needed.

He got ready and took your hand when you offered it, ready to be taken wherever he needed to go. He smiled cheekily at your ivory chiffon blouse with a dramatic bow tie at the neck, but before you could ask what the problem was, his eyes turned red. You picked up on his shirt changing color from light blue to creamy-white to match your blouse, making him chuckle as you gasped. Yet before you could admonish him for it, he hugged you.

He didn’t have to when he wanted to transport you to another place with him, but he liked it. Particularly, he enjoyed the glimmer in your eyes as you raised your head and looked around, observing curiously before letting go of his arms.

Unfortunately, he had to be the first to let you go this time. You were surprised by the decoration around you. The wood beams and structure were very well preserved, and the books, statues, and art evoked the home of a scholar or artist. Yet it was when you looked out the window that your chin dropped in wonder. Luxurious forests surrounded that home, nestled in the mountainside. More structures were attached to that one, with curved tiled rooftops reflecting centuries-old architectural elegance. 

You probably recognised the traditional Korean hanok village and wondered why a demon would live in such a tranquil place. At least, that was what he imagined you meant to ask with your quizzical glance, yet he had already mastered his expression to be welcomed by the host.

“Taehyung, what a surprise.”

The voice boomed softly from across the room, and you turned. Your surprise was evident in your eyes as you observed the new demon in the room. Your host didn’t move with as much grace as Taehyung, but he was much more knowledgeable and powerful than he would lead anyone to believe. Taehyung couldn’t say he loved the buzzcut with the long white tunic, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it. Not today.

Taehyung bowed gracefully before Namjoon pulled him in for a hug. Namjoon quickly tapped Taehyung’s cheek before turning his attention to you.

“I see you have a helper now.”

You tilted your head in surprise, but Taehyung didn’t let you speak. “She can stay here, I need to talk to you.”

Namjoon agreed easily, reentering the library he had come from as he projected his voice in a command, “Seok-min, get us tea.”

Taehyung gave you a comforting nod, which you reciprocated, calmly heading to a nearby sofa to behold the view while your husband tended to his business. Taehyung’s gaze lingered on you a second longer before he followed his fellow demon and made sure to slide the hanji door behind him.

“I thought you didn’t like humans,” Namjoon commented, circling piles of books on the floor to reach a couch area where he usually had tea.

“They’re fine,” Taehyung replied, following him.

“More than fine, it seems,” Namjoon teased, sitting down and waving at Taehyung to do the same. Taehyung noticed Namjoon’s wrist with a familiar cross tattoo and sat down with a lump in his throat. “Surely, you didn’t have to marry her.”

Namjoon pointed at his empty ring finger, and Taehyung fidgeted with his wedding ring absentmindedly. “It was part of a deal,” he said quietly, unsure how to broach the topic.

“Really?” Namjoon sat back with raised eyebrows. “You know you can say no, right? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” he sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his legs. “It’s something else.”

Taehyung decided to lay everything out: how he met you, how he saved you before you could strike a deal, how his tattoo moved to you, how he had figured out the circumstances of his deal to become a demon, and now, his conversation with God.

“You’re the only other demon I know,” he concluded, unable to read his fellow and older demon as he simply listened with his hand covering his mouth. “I wanted to know what you think. Maybe you can think of a loophole? Or maybe I could make a deal with you? I—”

The door opened, and Taehyung quieted, both demons letting Seok-min serve tea and holding out until he left.

“You got yourself into a dangerous situation,” Namjoon commented, still hiding his face. Those timeless eyes unsettled Taehyung. At least God looked approachable.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, but now, I’m out of time.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows twitched before he leaned forward to grab a cup of tea. “You’re out of time and options.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a demon — I can’t make a deal with you, even though you’re temporarily human. Then, there’s your wife. Say I would be willing to risk God’s wrath and make a deal with the human,” he raised his hand to stop Taehyung, “which I’m not. You already broke your contract. There’s no guarantee that anything I could do would work, and there’s always a matter of price.”

Taehyung shook his head imperceptibly. “That’s not an option.”

“I think your hu— wife would be more than willing to make a deal, but I don’t see the point. Especially if God herself told you that making her forget wouldn’t work twice.” Namjoon shrugged, sipping on his tea. “There’s only one option.”

“What?”

“You have to handle it.”

“We can’t—” Taehyung scoffed. “Even if I could, I would never hurt her.”

“There are ways.”

“We can’t kill humans,” Taehyung deadpanned, irritation clear on his features.

“You can ask a human to do it for you.”

“No.”

“Then you’ll vanish.”

Namjoon’s eyes were inscrutable, but he couldn’t hide his slight annoyance when Taehyung simply stayed silent, watching the vapor rise from his untouched teacup.

“Think about it,” Namjoon said, putting the cup down. “She’ll be reincarnated. In twenty years or so, you can find her again if you really want to. At least, you’ll live to see her again.”

Taehyung nodded softly as he spoke, knowing what his answer would be before Namjoon was done. “That won’t do.”

“Why not?” Namjoon asked, finally with irritation.

“Because I’ll only be able to see her.” Namjoon frowned, confused, and Taehyung explained, “She won’t ever know I exist or how I feel. She’ll never be allowed to feel the way she does now.”

Namjoon’s expression was riddled with confusion as he shook his head. “But she’ll be alive. And so will you.”

“No, not really. Living… no. I’d simply… exist.”

“But— The alternative is to disintegrate into ash. Do you understand?” Namjoon insisted, irritated with Taehyung’s naivety. “I’ve seen it, it will happen!”

“I see,” Taehyung breathed, and Namjoon smacked his own knees in annoyance.

“Are you listening? You’ll die because you want to feel?”

“I already do,” Taehyung declared simply, and Namjoon scoffed.

“You’re just confused!”

“I love her.”

“You—” Namjoon was breathless. “Love? We can’t feel love! You’re being delusional!”

Taehyung got up and bowed deeply at the waist. “Thank you, hyung. I know what to do.”

Namjoon sprang up. “What?! You need to think clearly about this! There’s a way for you two to live, isn’t that what matters?!”

“No,” he replied calmly, turning around to leave with Namjoon hot on his heels.

“You prefer to die? Does that make sense?!”

“Yes.”

“Why?! Because you can’t kill her? Tell her! I’m sure she—”

“No,” Taehyung stopped in front of the door and turned to face him. “Because I can’t let her end this beautiful life abruptly, before time, because of me.”

“So you’ll die instead?!”

“Yes.”

Taehyung slid the door open and rushed to you, entirely blocking out whatever Namjoon said about him having lost his mind. You got up from the couch, surely surprised to see Namjoon fuming, and Taehyung held you in his arms as quickly as he could.

“Wait! You’ll regret this!”

Taehyung closed his eyes, kissed your head, and you two were gone.

Taehyung was fidgety while the elevator carried him to the top floor of your company building. He had spent the whole day musing over Namjoon’s opinion and what to do, and he had finally decided. Raising the flower bouquet, he confirmed that it was still perfectly arranged with the envelope properly tucked in between the red roses. 

He planned a getaway trip for the next two days with you. It would mean spending Christmas just the two of you, but he was sure you’d understand why it should be this way.

He strolled down the office, greeting the people who worked for you as he crossed them, until he reached your office.

“Wait, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung turned to Secretary Shin with a smile. “I’m on time, right? My lovely wife should be just about to finish her day.”

Secretary Shin nodded. “She has an unexpected guest and has requested not to be disturbed.”

Taehyung pursed his lips but nodded, refusing coffee or any other drink. Instead, he paced the hallway, meaning to wait patiently in the designated area, when he staggered. There were couches for guests to wait comfortably, and Taehyung’s heart froze. He recognized that human in the furthest corner.

Taehyung gripped the flowers and ran back, barging through your office without bothering to knock. Namjoon had seen your face. In his mind, all types of scenarios were unfolding, and not even knowing that demons couldn’t hurt humans was calming him.

He found you and Namjoon, who now had a more casual and businessman look to him, sitting on the couches having tea. Your eyes were red and watery, and Taehyung instantly clenched his fist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he seethed at Namjoon, who got up, same as you.

“My part,” he replied, nodding back at you. “I think she should know. Don’t you?”

“Get out,” Taehyung snarled, knowing his eyes would have turned red if only his tattoo were still on his wrist.

Namjoon sighed. “Fine.”

Taehyung’s posture didn’t break until the older demon was out the door, following after him, just to make sure he was leaving down the hallway.

“Tae,” you called, making him turn back into the room to almost stumble on you.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, grabbing your shoulders. He wouldn’t think so, but—

“No,” you took a step back, though you were trembling. “Tell me the truth. Were you going to tell me?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. Your lips trembled, and he had to groan his annoyance, waving the bouquet in front of him. “Yes, yes, I was!”

Your brow furrowed, looking at the roses. “What? With flowers?”

Taehyung huffed and strided to drop the flowers on your desk. He grabbed the envelope and waved it. “No, with a trip for the both of us to get out of here and be together.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why? So you can just let yourself die?” He groaned mutely and tossed the envelope on the desk. “And you thought what? That I’d just applaud and let you do it?!”

Your voice broke, and he rushed back to you, hating himself for the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“It’s okay—”

“It is not okay!” you countered, haphazardly slapping his hands away before reaching out to grab him close. “He said there is another way—”

“There isn’t,” he cut in firmly, his eyes watering as well.

“There is!”

“It’s my decision,” he declared, cradling your cheek.

“It’s not! I’m in this too, it’s my fault!”

“Won’t you stop saying that?” he begged, hurting with the very thought that you blamed yourself for any of this.

You gripped his shirt, ivory, to match your blouse. Tears streamed down your face. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself constantly! Once is enough!”

He grabbed your hands gently. “I made my own decisions, you—”

“But they weigh on me! And I don’t want you to die!” You smiled as you blinked the tears away. “So let me do it.”

“No, you—” Taehyung found himself speechless with the intensity of the emotions inside his chest. “You’d be gone. Gone. I can’t bring you back.”

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, wiping the tears there. “That’s okay.”

He shook his head violently and gripped your waist closely. “You’re not thinking clearly—”

A bang echoed in the room, cutting his words short. When he realized what type of noise it was, he quickly spun the two of you around so he’d be between you and the raised pistol with smoke coming out of its muzzle. Yet the human, Seok-min, lowered his hand with a victorious, skewed smile on his lips. 

People screamed, and in seconds, security had tackled Seok-min to the floor, but Taehyung turned to you with horror gripping his heart. Your knees faltered as your breathing became shallow, and he caught you.

You tried to grip his shirt and speak, but you could only look at him while he shook his head, clenching his jaw in utter anger that this was happening. That Namjoon came to you and brought that human, who shot you, making you drown in your own blood as you struggled breathlessly in his arms.

You coughed up blood, and Taehyung couldn’t keep you up anymore, afraid that straining your body would make it worse. He let you settle on your knees as he did the same, supporting you. He was crying, though he didn’t notice; all he could think of was how long you had. Time was ticking; he knew it well. Between the people shouting for ambulances and the eventual advent of a doctor who could save you, would you make it?

“It’s okay,” you tried breathing, though the gargling unnerved him to the core.

No.

He felt it the moment you slipped away. Your body became limp, and your eyes closed, the sparkle held within them snugged away forever, and the very thought maimed him.

He called out your name as he wept, desperation gripping his heart. That couldn’t be happening. He was going to tell you, he was going to convince you that living two days by your side was better than a whole existence without you. Because even if you were reincarnated, you wouldn’t be you. He needed you to know that he couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist. That he loved you.

He withdrew to look at you, pale and lifeless, and wiped the blood off your chin. A tear fell as he smiled and realized, once again, that it was the easiest decision in the world. He gripped you harder, feeling the tattoo burn on his wrist as he invoked his demonic powers, then he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

He felt the moment you were back. You sucked in a faint, painless breath as your eyes flickered open. Taehyung had to smile the second he saw that sparkle again, feeling deep inside his heart that he had made the right decision.

You muttered his name, and he said yours, still smiling. It prompted you to sit up, wiping your chin and feeling your body to find that despite the blood and gunshot, there was no bullet wound. People were still screaming and shouting outside your office, but until the guy who shot you was taken away, nobody was moving.

Taehyung could read in your eyes how quickly you realized that the only way you were alive was because he had done something.

You looked him in the eyes. “You— You just said you couldn’t bring me back.”

He smiled. “Not without a price.”

Your gaze widened, horrified. “Kim Taehyung,” you called, your voice wavering. “Did you—” You cradled his cheek. “Did you save me?”

He still couldn’t help but smile. “I saved myself.”

Your voice was smothered as you shook your head. “No! No, no…”

Your breath caught once you realized that all around him, little specks of ash were fluttering in the air as he began to burn.

You wept and clutched at his face and clothes, desperately begging him to stay, and it hurt so much more than disintegrating. All he could think of was that at least you were safe, and nothing made him happier. Still, the pain in your eyes as you cried hurt because he didn’t want to leave you. He truly only wanted to love you until his last breath, and he did.

He caressed your cheek, feeling the fire consume his heart, still beating for you, and looked at you until he couldn’t breathe and everything ended.

Few words could describe how you were feeling.

You would have never described your life as ordinary or dull, but meeting Taehyung allowed you to call it magical. Saving your life was, in itself, an obviously important feat, but it wasn’t just that. You ended up loving every little thing about him, from how he teased you to the way he bit his lip when he looked at you. It made you feel special and cared for, and not because you had his tattoo on your wrist. He respected and loved you just as much as you loved him, that much you knew. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be dead.

You could barely sleep in your premium Eliena Hotel suite. All you could think about for the last two days was how Taehyung looked at you right before vanishing into thin air. There was so much in his eyes, so much you’d never get to unpack. To ask. All you did was desperately call out to him and beg him to stay, and a small part of you regretted it, filling you with such grief that you were sobbing again, hiding in your pillow.

You should have told him you loved him. He knew, but you should have told him. Those were his last seconds on this Earth, and all he saw was how terrified you were. You knew he would have stayed if he could, just like you knew what he would have said if you had insisted.

It’s my decision.

You cried harder, voicing your pain. You would have gladly gone ahead if it meant you could meet again one day. Now, there wasn’t even that option. You were stuck.

You raised your head to look at your hands, both with wedding rings, though one looser than the other. Taehyung’s wedding ring was the only thing left of him, something you clutched as you wept desperately as soon as he disappeared. You remembered hearing the commotion outside as the police showed up to take the shooter away, and in your anger, you got up to your feet and stomped your way, pushing everyone aside. 

As soon as you laid eyes on that guy’s smug face, you unleashed your anger, shouting, kicking, and punching him with everything you had.

You remembered people trying to pull you away from him, but most of all, you remembered his surprise as he realized you were alive.

“What—How’s this possible? I shot you! You were supposed to die! How are you still alive?!”

The blatant confession got the police to get him away from you as quickly as possible while you broke down crying. You preferred to have died rather than to live with that guilt and sorrow.

“We can’t let you stay in the dark,” Secretary Shin had said once you entered that suite after giving your testimony to the police. It was hard to explain how you had been shot but were fine while your husband had vanished. Fortunately, they had other charges they could use to keep that man away, including his being deranged and talking about supernatural entities and powers. “The days are very short now, and you need all the sunlight you can get.”

“Sun or no sun, it will be dreadful anyway,” you had muttered, sitting on the couch where she left you to open the curtains.

Secretary Shin pressed her lips together not to cry before nodding. “You need to try, miss. You need to rally, otherwise you won’t make it.”

Her voice trembled, and you nodded. “There’s no point in living in this execrable world. But I can’t hope to die,” you shook your head, hugging yourself as your shoulders trembled. “Not after everything he went through to ensure I’d live.”

You cried, and Secretary Shin held you, trying to convince you that spending Christmas with your family would do you good, yet you refused. You decided to hide away in that Eliena Hotel suite. Your family would ask questions you didn’t want to answer if you showed up alone, and it turned out they weren’t expecting you anyway because Taehyung had planned for you to go on a trip together.

You hugged a pillow again, letting the sobs shake you as you kissed his wedding ring on your finger. Time had lost all meaning to you, but somehow, once you saw light through the curtains, you were reminded of what day it was. Taehyung’s smile as he spoke about spending the first Christmas together drew fresh tears out of your eyes, but it also got you to drag your feet out of bed.

You wrapped yourself in a robe and made your way to the hotel’s rooftop to catch the sunrise. Feeling its gentle light touch your skin wasn’t nearly enough to warm your heart. You neared the ledge from which you fell once, and the bittersweetness made a tear run down your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Taehyung,” you say gently, facing the sun on the horizon. “It feels like when you died, a part of me died with you.” You tried to contain the urge to cry, instantly kicking yourself for focusing on the negative instead of what you wanted, in case he was listening. “I insist that you make a deal with me. Kim Taehyung — my wish is to have you back.”

You couldn’t help the convulsive breath that instantly muted you and drained you of all of your strength. Yet before you could fall to your knees or bend over the ledge, two arms surrounded you, pushing you back into a warm embrace that felt like home.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear, making you shudder from head to toe.

You spun around and gasped, eyes widening in shock as you stared at him. The perfect image of Taehyung was right in front of you, exactly like he was two days ago, with tears in his eyes and a hopeful smile on his face.

You raised a hand to cup his cheek. “What— Tae?” He grabbed your hand to kiss your palm, and you couldn’t hold back the tears. “How?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, eyes red and tearful as he looked at you. 

You could tell he was happy to see you, and so were you. You had never been more ecstatic and on the verge of weeping your heart out before, and you could tell he felt the same way. Yet as he brushed your hair out of your face with his free hand, surely noticing the way your sorrow had blemished and drained you, he realized you really did not know. And that made his pure, sweet smile shift.

He pulled your hand from his face and looked at both your wrists — empty.

“Christmas miracles do happen.”

The female voice sounded from just beside you two, and you both turned to see who it was. The voice gave you goosebumps, though you didn’t recognize her face. 

Taehyung bristled in your arms, muttering, “You. Why did you do it?” he asked more firmly, and you raised an eyebrow, looking at the woman again.

She looked so ordinary to you. She laughed. “She wanted a deal.” The woman smiled, meaning you, and her smile resembled one from a TV hostess handing out the grand prize. Only you didn’t know if you should feel lucky. “Since you were gone, I had to step in.”

“A deal?” Taehyung was instantly defensive, and you looked at the woman curiously.

“Nothing prevents us from making a deal,” the woman stated, looking deep into your eyes. You could only stare back at her. “Since your demon never made one with you, after all.”

“What’s the price?” he instantly asked, reaching to grab your hand. You could see that he was worried, but you were happy.

“Something simple, as fate would have it.” 

The woman smiled, pleased with herself, and Taehyung frowned next to you. You pulled on his hand. “I don’t care as long as you’re back.”

Your gesture drew his attention to your wrists again. “I’m human.”

“You lost your powers,” the woman confirmed, and you looked at her under the new light of Christmas morning. You had made a deal with God. “Managed to find a way to live by her side in the end,” God told Taehyung, smiling cheekily. “I suppose you were right. Fate can also be kind.”

Taehyung gripped your hand and looked at God in the eye. “Thank you.”

You were about to thank her, too, but she smiled at Taehyung and winked at you before vanishing in the blink of an eye. You wondered for a few seconds where she had gone, but soon forgot all about it because Taehyung pulled you into his arms and kissed you. Your heart was overwhelmed with joy as you hugged him closer, unable to contain the relief and happiness as your tears streamed down your cheeks.

He withdrew to look at you, wiping your tears away gently. “We finally get to be together, huh…”

“Our first Christmas together, it seems,” you teased, sniffling, and he chuckled.

“Our first life together,” he pointed out, biting his lip and making butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Your eyes filled with tears, so incredibly happy, your voice was a whisper, “Finally.”

[moonleeai]

Be With You | Masterpost

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆status: next update on April 18th, 2025.

☆pairings: Choi San x female!reader, Jeong Yunho x female!OC and other pairings as the fic advances

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in some chapters)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: I will be posting individual warnings for each chapter so look out for that!

☆word count: 185.2k for the total fic

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆come join the discord server here

☆a/n: This took forever and ever to write but it's finally ready and I am so excited to share it with y'all. I hope you love this story as much as I loved writing in <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you

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Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

➳Teaser

➳Chapter one: when you start your semester project (12.9k)

Well then, call me boring, Choi San.

➳Chapter two: when an evening of studying turns into an impromptu date (11.4k)

Can't I just think you're pretty?

➳Chapter three: when you go on a double date to the movies (6.6k)

I don't know why I kissed you.

➳Chapter four: when you and him begin (15.7k)

Let me explain.

➳Chapter five: when you realize falling for him is inevitable (8.2k)

What happened with San last night?

➳Chapter six: when you spend a day together with him (14.1k)

You've got some plans for us, Choi San.

➳Chapter seven: when the past comes resurfacing (11k)

You really can't resist, huh?

➳Chapter eight: when he leaves (7.2k)

I've never seen him like this.

➳Chapter nine: when you break (7.2k)

Shit happens, right?

➳Chapter ten: when you try to understand (8.6k)

I'm going to meet with San.

➳Chapter eleven: when you explode (12.8k)

What did I do wrong?

➳Chapter twelve: when you talk (11.7k)

I don't think I can just forgive you like this.

➳Chapter thirteen: when you try to move on (10.1k)

I'm happy for you.

➳Chapter fourteen: when you start healing (13.1k)

I really care for you.

➳Chapter fifteen: when you inevitably collide (14k)

Fuck, just kiss me again.

➳Chapter sixteen: when you move on, together. (11.9k)

And you were smiling and laughing, and I thought I'd met the love of my life.

➳Chapter seventeen: when the rest of your life awaits you (8.6k)

For the rest of our lives, I will love you too.

☆☆☆☆☆

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[moonleeai]

Unique | KNJ | Masterpost

PAIRING: idol!Namjoon x OFC

SUMMARY: Namjoon dedicated his whole life to being a diligent idol, putting the music and group above his individual needs and desires. He believes he's doing the right thing until an unexpected meeting shifts how he sees the world. But life isn't easy, and even a unique connection can't change fate. Or can it?

WORD COUNT: 81.1k (ongoing)

GENRE:  Idol AU, strangers to lovers, time jumps, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut

RATING: R (explicit) (not all parts)

WARNINGS: (check each individual part) explicit smut, one-night stand but not really, angst, protected sex, oral, fingering, handjob, toys, sapiosexuality, body worship, dirty talk, mouth riding, switching, making out and dry humping in a moving car without a seatbelt on, BTS being chaotic around Namjoon and making him all embarrassed, alcohol, getting drunk, arguments, smoking, parallel Yoongi x OFC

A.N. Unique has a really special place in my heart. It was never supposed to be more than a one-shot with a bittersweet ending. All I wanted was to portray Namjoon as accurately as possible. Then, a year later, I decided I wanted Yoongi (yes, him) to have a chance at a different outcome, and now, another year later, I want Namjoon to have it, too. It's peculiar that every part has been written with the same time intervals as the story, and I'm contemplating keeping this tradition for future parts. Since @eerieedits already created wonderful visuals, it only makes sense to show them! (thank you!) I hope you all enjoy this star-crossed lovers story featuring our incredible Joonie 💜

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Schedule and WIPs

He was in love with their time, place and interaction, but it was limited. There was no heartbreak because of that agreement. Seeing her again was not part of the deal, but who was he kidding? That chance was too sweet to miss, too tempting to refuse.

SUMMARY: After overhearing something he shouldn't have, Namjoon promises to make it up to the bride by keeping her bridesmaid company during the rehearsal dinner party. What was supposed to be an unremarkable night became something so much more.

WORD COUNT: 20.8k

RATING: R (explicit)

I wanted to be the guy you chose to come and find and chat with, not the one Hyejin asked to babysit you and that you didn’t want to meet.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

SUMMARY: It's a year later when Angie decides to visit Hyejin, both women looking to get away from their problems. But a certain group is just pausing their tour, and old feelings are rekindled when their paths cross.

WORD COUNT: 60.2 k

RATING: R (explicit)

Be the person I was searching for and found, not the one I have to let go of.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

Chapter 1 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 2 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 3 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 4 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 5 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 6 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 7 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 8 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 9 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 10 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

SUMMARY: (coming soon...) Now that the PTD tour was coming to a close, Namjoon dreamt of meeting the one lover he couldn’t forget. Unfortunately, things have changed.

WORD COUNT: 11.7 k

RATING: PG-13

Isn't that what we're made of? Our dreams and regrets.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

(coming... March 2026?)

I wanted all seasons with you, but in the end, I got none.

(coming... September 2026?)

Is it finally time?

[moonleeai]

My Demon, My Love - Part 1 - The Contract

Is this really the time to discuss a deal?!

PAIRING: Demon!Taehyung x human (f) Reader

SUMMARY: All Taehyung wanted was business as usual — strike a deal, claim a soul, and enjoy dessert. But somehow, he ended up powerless, with no choice but to ask for your help.

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

GENRE: demon AU, fake dating, marriage contract, smut

RATING: R (explicit) (this part is PG-13)

WARNINGS: dangerous situation on a rooftop, misogyny, bantering, supernatural events, you make a deal with a demon ;)

A.N. I wasn’t sure if I’d get around to writing this, but here it is! This fic was inspired by the Netflix series My Demon and is my entry for @bangtanwritershq's Writing Event: 'Netflix and Chill'. Thank you @moonleeai for kindly beta reading, @pars-ley for the gorgeous banner, and @colormepurplex2 for believing I could do it 😁 Enjoy! 💜

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs | AO3 | Wattpad

Taehyung closed his eyes, appreciating the sweet caress of the night summer breeze twirling his dark locks gently. There was nothing like feeling he was in the right place at the right time. Knowing that he didn’t have to keep searching, wasting his precious, if endless, time on this Earth because fate was coming to him.

The door to that segregated part of the hotel’s rooftop opened behind him, and Taehyung still didn’t open his eyes. His lips curved in a smile — he could smell the desperation from there.

Yet soon, muffled weeping started, and his smile vanished, forcing Taehyung’s dark eyes to stare at the night sky to tame his annoyance. Really? He usually met humans in sad circumstances, but that was nothing to cry like a baby about. He had made deals with starving people, with mothers who sacrificed their lives so that their babies could survive—

A desperate wail behind him jolted him into turning around and looking at the poor, unfortunate soul with a pout. Taehyung almost complained — the guy wearing a tailored suit and bawling would ruin his appetite for cake if he kept sobbing like that. He surely ruined the fate-fulfilling feeling Taehyung had just a minute ago.

The guy’s shoulders trembled as he tried to stifle his cries and wipe the snot on his sleeves, and Taehyung clicked his tongue.

“Seriously,” he murmured, muted by the sounds of the night and the breeze on that thirty-fifth floor. “Humans.”

He finally shrugged and walked towards the man with his hands in his pockets. The man was facing the night and had yet to notice he wasn’t alone. Taehyung didn’t need to see his face to know the human’s predicament at the root of all that weeping. The soul was ready to be tempted. All Taehyung had to do was step into the light.

And he did with a shrug. “Business is not what it used to be, huh?”

At first, the man scrambled to wipe his tears and snot as much as possible, but he stopped once he faced Taehyung. It was as though eyeing the face of perfection reminded the human of everything he was not, and Taehyung pursed his lips.

“I lost everything.”

The man’s emotions had dissipated, and Taehyung faced the night. “Seems you have.”

“My wife, my son…” The man blinked, his mind far away in the night lights of the cars and buildings down below. “I’ll ruin their lives with debt.”

Taehyung nodded. “Tragic. What if…” His tone was purposefully curious before he eyed his target with a smile. “What if there was an alternative… A deal. Would you take it?”

“Alternative… What?” The man faced him with big, tearful eyes, confused before he blinked blankly. “You mean, the life insurance?”

He faced the city below again, and Taehyung clicked his tongue, grabbing the man by the shoulder to pull him away from the ledge towards where he had been before, where the view of the rooftop swimming pool and lounge was mesmerizing on its own.

“Nah, I mean another option,” Taehyung enticed, smiling dazzlingly as he dragged the human to see what he saw: the elite in a fancy party, dressed to impress, enjoying their champagne flutes. “One that means that your wife and son would stay part of the echelon while—”

The door slammed open, letting out a drum of tapping heels rushing for the ledge. It made Taehyung raise an eyebrow and look over his shoulder. He seldom got interrupted, least of all, by a lady clearly running away from something. Or someone, he mused, picking up on racing steps from within the building, guessing they’d soon be out there too.

He suppressed a sigh and turned back to the task at hand with a mysterious smile. Taehyung still had the human by the shoulders, now shrinking and looking at him wearily.

Taehyung couldn’t blame him. “As I was saying, I can—”

“Yah!”

Taehyung’s eyebrow twitched. As he predicted, a man had caught up with the woman, addressing her poorly, shouting drunkenly. 

Taehyung gritted his teeth, a second away from snapping his fingers and making them both go away, but instead, he just… listened.

“Why are you so stubborn?!”

A female snicker made Taehyung keep his eyes on the scene and focus on you.

“You’re way out of line,” you stated as you turned around, and Taehyung raised an eyebrow. You were a world of contrasts: dainty curves draped in a classic black nightdress, a petite frame with a powerful voice, delicate features hiding an incredible presence.

“Me?! What about you?!” The man’s outraged screech made Taehyung purse his lips in disapproval, and the man still in his hold noticed, bristling. “I’m offering you a solution—”

“To a problem that doesn’t exist,” you deadpanned.

“You’ll ruin your family’s comp—”

“It is mine to ruin,” you declared, stepping forward.

“You—” The man stumbled on his words for a second, then attacked again. “You’ll ruin your family’s name!”

“Ah, my family name…” You tapped your chin pensively, and Taehyung chuckled before turning to face the party downstairs again, dragging the human in his hold. You had it all under control, it seemed. “Again, mine to ruin. I suggest you start taking care of yours instead of worrying so much about others.”

“So, like I was saying,” Taehyung said more quietly, eyeing the man in his hold meaningfully so he’d focus. “I know you want to keep your business and your family safe. I can do that for you; give them the life you dream of,” he promised, eying the party downstairs, where a loud toast was enough to draw the man’s attention. Taehyung smiled. “All you have to do is give me one tiny little thing.”

The man’s wide eyes turned to him, hopeful. “What?”

“Your—”

“Because you’re not taking it seriously!!”

Taehyung’s eye twitched, ready to snap at the guy who was screeching and interrupting his pitch, but the guy wouldn’t stop blabbing.

“Your hotels need to attract families!”

You crossed your arms over your chest, expressionless. “My hotels are high-end—”

“Even businessmen want to bring their kids along and won't if the owner has such a frivolous reputation!”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “And you think marrying will fix my reputation?”

“Yes!!”

“No.”

Your voice was so absolute that Taehyung finally sighed, glad it was over. Fortunately, the human with him was still eying the party so Taehyung wouldn’t have an issue closing the deal.

But he heard a scream before he could, and this time, it wasn’t the obnoxious man. Taehyung turned in time to see you hanging on to a mental pipe with your legs dangling over the city while the man shouting at you raced for the exit. 

Taehyung frowned at the weird turn of events, and the man in his hold gasped and jolted. “Is that…?”

Taehyung had no idea who you were, but it didn’t matter. The scent of desperation was replaced by fear in a flash, and in seconds, his deal was running back inside the building.

Taehyung heaved a deep breath, pressing his eyes closed to alleviate the annoyance that peculiar evening was instilling, when a second scream for help made him look.

He stepped closer, and indeed, you were dangling thirty-five floors high as the night wind disheveled your hair.

“Help me,” you breathed, and Taehyung tilted his head.

“Are you asking for my help?”

“Yes!” You almost screamed again, but pinching your eyes closed for a moment was enough.

You were frightened, and the other human had run off, so… “Fine,” he agreed, and you sighed. “But before that, you need to make a deal with me.”

“A what?” You were baffled. “Is this really the time to discuss a deal?!”

Despite you dangling over that ledge, Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he stated, “Nothing’s free in this world.”

His gaze was so serious that you undoubtedly realized you didn’t have a choice. You clenched your teeth for a moment before agreeing, “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“There’s a lot to cover. Do you really want to go over it now?” His tone was almost amused as he glanced behind you. “This isn’t exactly tea time, is it?”

Your irritation was all over your face as you held on for your life. “It’d be crazy to enter into a deal with no information!”

“Suit yourself.”

Taehyung turned around, and your desperate plea was almost instantaneous. “Wait! Fine, I’ll be crazy! Help me!”

He had a smile on his face when he turned, raising his hand next to his head to show you the dotted line, but you were gone. 

He leaned over to see you screaming with your full chest as you fell through the air, passing the windows of the floors beneath you with your hair hiding your face. He gritted his teeth; he’d be crazy to help you before you signed the deal. 

He guessed he was crazy because he didn’t hesitate to jump after you and use his focus to dive faster and faster in your direction. You couldn’t see him because your hair was thrashing against your face, but he could see you as you fell and fell with your arms in his direction.

Until he grabbed your hand, and your scream halted. At that moment, you were able to get a glimpse of him, and you surely saw his eyes turning red. Then, he snapped his fingers.

Both your feet landed on the concrete rooftop again, and you screamed, stumbling. Taehyung was still holding onto your wrist, but you grabbed his other arm for support as though you thought you were still falling. He had to chuckle as you hid in his chest, still trembling with adrenaline and fear.

Eventually, you froze. You raised your head slowly to look at him, and he was waiting, raising a playful eyebrow.

You jolted back, letting go of him, and he let you. “Can’t say that wasn’t fun,” he teased, winking.

You grabbed onto the nearest railing, your knees buckling unsteadily as you tried to recover your labored breath. Taehyung observed you, tilting his head slightly. You were shaken but fine, which meant he fulfilled his side of the bargain.

Speaking of. “Now, back to what matters. The deal.”

“The what?!”

His eyebrow twitched at your breathless screech. “Our deal.”

“Deal? Deal?!” You got back on your shaky legs, still holding onto the railing. “How— How did you do that? How am I still alive?”

“Like I said, the deal,” he repeated, amused. “Isn’t that what you asked me to do? To save you?”

You were even paler now than before. “But— I fell. I fell, I’m sure I—” You turned to glance over the ledge and instantly flinched back, frightened. You turned back to him. “It’s not possible!”

He shrugged. “It’s possible when you’re me,” he grinned mischievously, raising his hand next to his head, but you interrupted him again.

“And who are you?”

“Your kind has many names for me.”

Your shoulders squared as your confusion gave way to irritation. “And what are those?”

Taehyung hummed and then waved his hand dismissively. “Not that important—”

“Wrong! We have time for the details now, so start talking!”

Taehyung lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow. “I already saved you, you can’t—”

You stepped forward. “Your name.”

“Taehyung.” He huffed, leaning in your direction to speak as bossily as you had. Then, he straightened back up with a smug smile. “I believe the modern name humans give me is demon.”

“Demon?” Your face lost all traces of anger as you stared at him, and Taehyung nodded.

You scoffed, hiding a bewildered laugh as you tried to compose your dress and hair, giving yourself time to understand what had just happened.

Taehyung didn’t have time for that. 

He raised his hand next to his head with a triumphant smile. Finally, the night would go his way and—

That was odd. You raised an eyebrow as you hugged yourself, and he wriggled his fingers in the empty air.

Empty? Why was it empty?

He frowned and brought his hand to his face, scrutinizing it. That never happened before. Why wasn’t it working?

“What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, swallowing dryly.

He pursed his lips, unable to quite put his finger on it, so he shrugged. He could get it in another way.

He snapped his fingers with his eyes on you, silently telling you not to move, and you held your breath. Yet, after a beat, he was still empty-handed. Nothing had happened.

He looked at his hand again, puzzled, and you finally laughed awkwardly, running a hand through your hair. “That was— A nice prank, huh?” He glanced at you, and his eyes fixed on a particular spot on your wrist. It made you uncomfortable, and you put your hand down. “So I guess that’s it.”

You meant to go around him and leave as quickly as your weak legs allowed it, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled it up to his face. “What’s this?”

He couldn’t help seething; he looked at his wrist and then back at yours — how was that possible?

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He turned your wrist so you could see it. “The tattoo. My tattoo. How the hell is it on your wrist?!”

You flinched, eyes wide as though you couldn’t believe it. You pulled your wrist to rub the black cross inked there, and he let you go, scoffing bitterly. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? The interruptions, the weird deal, and now his tattoo on someone else’s wrist! 

He gasped, looking at his empty wrist as you frantically brushed yours. That could only mean…

He looked at you and grabbed your wrist again, his fingers right next to the tattoo you had just stolen from him.

You bristled, uneasy, and annoyed. “What are you doing?”

He raised his other hand and snapped his fingers.

You jolted back, afraid of his eyes, and he let you go. He was more relaxed now that his suspicions were confirmed. He looked around and snickered, instantly realizing what had happened as you screamed when you realized you were no longer at the Eliena Hotel.

The hundredth twenty-third floor of the Lotte World Tower had a stunning view over Seoul. You almost stumbled before you sat straight and recognized the observatory, eying the glass floor and windows that allowed a complete view. He knew your stomach was churning, upset from the heights and thrills so far, but he was not thrilled at all.

“How did you do that?” he asked quietly, eying you closely.

“Me?!” You were outraged. “I didn’t do anything! What? How can you even think I could bring us here?!”

“No, not that,” he scoffed, facing you again. “I mean, my tattoo. How is it on your wrist?”

“I don’t know!!” You were freaking out, rubbing your wrist again, but it wouldn’t come off. “Take it— Take it back! Why is it there?!”

He huffed and neared you again, grabbing your wrist and invoking all his power. He felt it when he grabbed your wrist, but somehow, no matter how much he wanted it or stared at it, the cross didn’t budge.

He scoffed and let go of you, almost fuming. You were stupefied and overwhelmed by the situation, and of course, you were. You were a human. No matter how much he’d like to blame you for this, how could you have the knowledge or power to steal his powers from him?

“It’s still there,” you pointed out, jutting your wrist in his direction.

“I know.”

“Well, make it go away!”

“I can’t!” he roared, annoyed.

“You can’t?!”

“I don’t know how!”

“What do you mean you don’t know how?!”

He gritted his teeth and gave you his back, thinking hard about it. But no matter how much he rattled his brain, he could never recall this happening before or any passage in the book about it.

You huffed. “Then I’ll laser it—”

“No!”

He spun to face you, and you were angry. “What? Why the hell not?!”

He opened his mouth to answer but then pointed at you accusingly. “You didn’t sign a deal! I saved your life. You have to make a deal with me!”

Your lips parted as you stared at him as though he had lost his marbles. “What— I said okay when you asked!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t sign it! And now you’ve stolen my powers!”

“Stolen?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Are you insane?”

Taehyung’s expression became as stone-cold as marble. All he did was grab your wrist again, and while you fretted about it, he snapped his fingers.

You gasped as reality changed around you — you were back on the Eliena Hotel’s rooftop. He let go of your wrist with the most sour look on his face. Did you get it now?

“Oh my—” you breathed as you stumbled back, then flinched away from the ledge out of which you had fallen earlier. “This is crazy.”

“Yes, indeed. You have my powers, and I need them back.”

You straightened and faced him furiously. “Well, take them!! This is all your fault!!”

“I told you I can’t!”

You groaned in frustration and composed your dress, finally letting the anger and oddity of the events wash past you. “You know what? That’s not my problem.”

“Don’t you—” He grabbed your arm again and faced you, equally angry at this whole thing. All he wanted was to make a deal! “I helped you. So you have to help me.”

“I really don’t see a reason why I should. I said yes to whatever deal, so you have a verbal agreement.”

“It doesn’t work like that!”

You shrugged. “Not my problem.”

You pulled your wrist free, and Taehyung huffed in exasperation before trying again. “Wait. You must want something. Since saving your life is not enough,” he scorned, irritated. “What do you want in return for your help in returning my powers?”

Your eyebrow quirked subtly as you eyed him from head to toe. Taehyung couldn't wait to hear what futile thing you wanted in exchange for your help. All humans wanted was money and—

“Marry me.”

He choked on his spit. “What?”

You paced around with your eyes on the ledge. “That psycho has a point, no matter if I’d like to admit it or not. Not for the hotels’ clientele, that’s stupid.” You sighed, visibly vexed by the other guy’s imbecility. “My family won’t make my life easy now that I’ve inherited the company. Just because I’m a woman. My grandfather clearly didn’t care, but my younger brothers and cousins seem to have a problem with it. They say I’m too obsessed with work and should start a family instead. Domestic bliss, they call it. What a load of crap,” you snickered, turning to him again. “You have powers, that much is clear. So if we get married, you won’t try to steal my company or force me to abandon my career. I’ll be married, so they can’t say anything about it.”

“So you… want me to pretend to be your husband?”

“Yes, you’ll need to actually marry me.”

“For how long?” he frowned.

You shrugged. “Until they get off my back. Then we can divorce amicably.”

He mused about it. “And you promise you’ll help me get my powers back? Actually, actively help me?”

You squared your shoulders as you faced him, the image of professionalism. “You have my word.”

Taehyung bit down on his tongue as he considered it. Unfortunately, he had already saved you and hence held no leverage on you anymore. He actually had no way to make you sign a contract or help him. And he didn’t have much of a choice. 

He nodded, dark eyes fixed on yours. “Deal.”

[moonleeai]

Be With You | ch 2

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: oc stressing out about seeing san in class, cursing, mentions of drinking alcohol, sydney and yunho <3, san's dimples, very vague mentions of a toxic relationship, some tears, mentions of the memorial/nick, explicit content: oc reminescing about sucking san's dick

☆word count: 11.4k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: a new chapter for y'all! I hope you like this one. it's mostly them two simping fr fr enjoyyyy <3 Last but not least, thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Tuesday, September 24

You’re anxious. Not too much, yet you’ve caught yourself pulling at some skin on your lower lip since you got to class, sitting at the very back hoping that you’d go incognito.

It’s your first class with Choi San after… whatever it is that happened on Sunday. 

You’ve been trying not to think about it too much, yet whenever you close your eyes, San has a tendency to creep in your thoughts, and you remember how he made you a cake.

Mostly, you remember how he sounded while you were choking on his dick.

It’s insane. You think you’ve gone insane, but you still chose to go to class, mostly because you hate skipping class. You’re lucky he didn’t have the same afternoon class as you yesterday, even luckier that he decided not to come to the morning class after all. You’d almost expected him to be there, but then again, he’d made it pretty clear that his goal was to sleep in.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your laptop. The class is bound to start in three minutes, and San still hasn’t shown up. You hope he just won’t come, but then again you kind of want to see him.

Just to make sure that things aren’t awkward after Sunday, considering you have to make a project together.

It’s one minute past the start of class when Choi San actually walks through the door, his backpack on one shoulder. He’s clad in a light grey sweater, and there’s a guy behind him you recognize as Jung Wooyoung, San’s best friend.

San scans the auditorium for a moment, his eyes landing on you after a few seconds. He visibly lights up then, and he walks up the stairs on the side of the class, heading your way with his best friend in tow. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and you make a show of focusing on the powerpoint displayed on your screen, ignoring San as he reaches you and sits next to you.

But he doesn’t ignore you - San leans forward, appearing in your line of vision.

“Hey,” he lets out.

You squeeze out an awkward smile, cheeks heating. “Hey.”

“How are you?” he asks in a whisper as he sits back in his chair, pulling his laptop out of his bag. He puts it on the table in front of him, and then glances at you as you remain silent.

It’s like you snap out of a trance. You blink a few times, chuckling lightly. “I’m as good as one can be in a sociopolitics class.”

He laughs in understanding, nodding his head. Wooyoung says something on his other side, and San turns towards his friend, allowing you to focus on what the professor is saying at the front of the auditorium. You’re on the third slide of the Powerpoint when San gently nudges you, and you throw him an inquisitive look.

“Do you think you could send me the Powerpoint? It doesn’t work when I try to convert the PDF.” It’s said with a small pout to his lips, and your little, treacherous eyes drop to his mouth.

You remember the taste of him, the way his lips moved against yours like they knew the map of your mouth already, and you glance away.

“Yes, sure.”

You quickly send it to him, and the professor is already two slides further into the Powerpoint, so you merely nod in acknowledgment as San thanks you, pursing your lips. It’s always like this - the professor for this class makes his Powerpoint far too long, and he always sprints through them every time, making it hard for everyone to follow.

At least his exams have the reputation to be easy.

San leaves you alone for the rest of the first half of the class, also focusing on what’s happening on the projector screen. You hear his fingers pressing the keys of his laptop quickly as he takes notes, and you can’t help but glance at his computer.

His notes are neat, well done, much clearer than yours, though you can always find your way through your own mess. It somewhat surprises you, which you reckon is weird.

You’ve seen his apartment - except for his unmade bed, San’s living space was practically spotless.

When the professor finally lets you go on break, you stretch, trying to ignore the weight of San’s gaze on your features. You miserably fail at it - the second he nudges you again, you turn to look at him.

He’s pulled the hood of his sweater on his head, and it messed up with his hair in a way that makes you want to reach forward and clear his eyes from the strands. You resist with everything you have in you, only offering him a small smile.

“Woo and I are going to get a snack at the cafeteria,” he tells you. “Do you want to come with us?”

Some part of you - the rational, sane part of you - tells you that you shouldn’t, that you should stay right where you are, yet a much stronger part of you ignites at the thought that he wants you to accompany them.

So you smile, nodding your head. “Yeah, I could use a snack too.”

He smiles in what almost seems like relief, and a second later, the three of you are walking down the stairs towards the door, your wallets in hands. Wooyoung turns towards you once you’re in the hallway, offering you a grin.

“I’m Jung Wooyoung,” he says, offering you his hand to shake. 

As if you didn’t already know. You offer him your name in return, and he nods. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about you.”

San curses, punching his friend in the shoulder, and Wooyoung just laughs loudly, dodging away. San persists, and they keep at it as you walk towards the coffee shop nearby, which luckily enough is on the same floor as the auditorium your class takes place in. 

“Ignore this idiot,” San eventually says as he looks towards you, and you can’t help but notice the way his cheeks are reddened.

It’s cute, and that more than anything releases the tension you’ve felt since he sat next to you earlier. You don’t know why - there’s just something natural about being friendly with San.

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t even hear him,” you tease, smiling mischievously.

“Yah!” Wooyoung lets out loudly, and you and San burst out laughing in time.

“I told you she was fun to hang out with,” San says and, to your surprise, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side in a half hug that lasts just a few seconds.

That lasts long enough to make you crave his touch when he lets go, though.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘cause insulting me is fun,” Wooyoung says, glaring at San.

You chuckle. “My bad, I won’t do it again.”

“Nah,” Wooyoung quickly says, raising a hand as if to stop you. “You’re all good. Friends of San are my friends too.”

You think it’s cute, and you offer him a smile. “Then I guess we’re friends, Jung Wooyoung.”

The conversation is easy after, and you end up getting a raspberry and yogourt muffin that you eat outside of the auditorium while San sips on a coffee and Wooyoung eats an oatmeal cookie. Even while you eat, you still talk, joking around while other students from your class walk in and out. You nod and smile at Nayeon, the girl you sometimes sit with, when she passes next to you, and she returns it, though a second later, she’s looking away as her friend Felix tells her something.

You like this. The simplicity of those moments between classes, when you don’t have to pretend you know anything about subjects you’re not quite sure you’ll need in your future. The student life, in all its beauty, holds moments like this in its palm, and you bask in them.

They’re much easier than the classes and the exams, after all.

“Are you going to the wine and cheese next week?” Wooyoung asks, dragging you out of your reverie.

San’s gaze on your profile is heavy as you blink once, and then nod. “Yeah, I am. Are you guys going?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” San says in a solemn tone that makes you chuckle. “It’s one of the best events of the semester.”

You agree. You’ve gone the last two years too, and it’s easily the event you preferred of the whole year, if only because it’s open bar - even for alcohol-free drinks - and the music is always good.

You also wouldn’t ever say no to an opportunity to dress up, and the wine and cheese is always one of those, if not the best of them.

“Do you have a plus one?” Wooyoung asks you, and you can’t help but notice the way he pointedly looks at San, as if to gauge his friend’s reaction.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I’m going with my best friend.” You tell them Sydney’s name like a question, trying to see if they know her.

Wooyoung narrows his gaze pensively before shrugging. “Never heard of her.”

“She’s the best!” you let out, a smile curving your lips upwards. “I’m sure you guys will like her.” You meet San’s gaze for half a heartbeat, and then you say, “What about you guys? Any dates?”

San winces. “Nah. But aren’t you going with…” he adds, looking at Wooyoung.

“You’ve seen her five times and you’re telling me you still don’t know her name?” Wooyoung says in fake offense. “Are you dumb?”

“Yah, I’m not the one who spends my evenings with my tongue down her throat, why would I know?”

Your gaze widens slightly at San’s choice of words, but Wooyoung is quick to reply before you can say anything.

“Kassie,” he says, still glaring at his best friend. “You know, the sister of the girl you f-”

San pushes his friend, and Wooyoung dissolves into a fit of giggles that you can’t help but reciprocate, mostly because the thought of San fucking someone else feels strange considering what happened between the two of you two days ago.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” San grits through his teeth. 

You bite into your muffin as silence emerges, and San’s eyes glide to you. He takes a sip of his coffee before handing it to you.

You look at it, eyebrows creased, and then meet his gaze. “What?”

“Do you want some?” he offers.

There’s something eager about the way he’s looking at you, like he wants you to have some of his coffee. And even though your cheeks dust with pink, you still grab the warm drink.

“Thank you,” you say, and then you take a sip, giving the paper cup back to him a second later.

Wooyoung chuckles. “What’s up with you guys?”

“You ever learned to shut up?” San asks, frowning at his friend.

Wooyoung snorts. “You ever learned not to be cringe?”

And just like that the two friends start to bicker again. You watch with a soft smile, eating the rest of your muffin as they go on and on, insulting each other like only the closest friends can do. You know they mean it all in good fun when San grumbles that Wooyoung is lucky he loves him, and Wooyoung just smiles widely, nodding his head.

Shortly after, you walk back into the auditorium, settling down in your back seats to listen to the rest of class. San keeps on taking good notes, though you notice him slowing down in the last half hour, until he falls asleep next to you.

Wooyoung stiles a laugh at the sight, and he takes a picture of San from his angle. He shows it to you after, and you only then realize that your face is visible, and that you look far too endeared by San.

Is that what you look like whenever you look at him?

It’s no wonder you spend the rest of the class feeling awkward, unable to truly focus. San wakes up when Wooyoung nudges him at the end, while the auditorium fills with the sound of people packing their bags, and San just blinks a couple of times, looking far too confused.

His gaze trails to you, and he offers you a sleepy smile. All you can see are the red lines on his cheek from lying in his face on his arm and when you chuckle, San frowns.

“What?” he lets out.

“Had a good nap?”

His expression smoothes out, and he nods once. “Hell yeah.”

It makes you laugh, and you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your lips before his own mouth curves upwards. He’s cute like this, and it hits you then.

You’re in deep shit when it comes to Choi San.

*****

The coffee shop is crowded at this time of the evening, college students scattered at the many round tables, in front of laptops and open notebooks and half empty cups of coffee and latté and hot chocolate. Gentle indie music plays in the background, though the low buzz of conversation almost makes it impossible to hear.

You’re pretty sure The Night We Met by Lord Huron is playing, but it’s hard to tell.

Sydney sits across from you, reading a book for one of her anthropology classes, yet you can tell she’s been distracted. She keeps shooting looks at you, her gaze darting away the second your attention shifts to her. Something’s been on her mind, but you’ve never been one to push her - she’ll talk to you when she’s ready.

You focus on the screen of your laptop, blinking as you try to bring it back in focus. You’re studying for a quiz you have on Thursday, but you, too, have been distracted. Indeed, Choi San keeps invading your thoughts, especially as he’s texted twice since you got here.

The first time was to send you a picture of Byeol that you heart-reacted, and then to ask if you were still on for tomorrow evening. You’d said yes at the second question, adding that you’d rather meet at the library this time around, and San had replied he’d reserve a study room for the two of you, adding a smiling emoji at the end.

That smiling emoji reminded you of the smaller, softer smile that had adorned his lips earlier today when he’d woken from his nap in class, and you’d immediately put your phone aside, trying to forget that, though he might be acting all cute, you were choking on his dick just two days ago.

The man that he’s been since then is so different from the one you hung out with on Sunday that you feel it might be someone else entirely. But you know that isn’t true - San is still himself, yet the teasing has taken a gentler side to it, like he realized it’ll push you away if it’s too much.

Or maybe what opened his eyes was your request to not overcomplicate things and just stay friends and partners on your project.

“What are you thinking about?” Sydney asks in front of you, and your gaze widens.

“Huh?”

She chuckles, and then repeats the question.

“What do you mean, what am I thinking of?” you shoot back. “You’re the one that keeps looking at me like you have something to tell me.”

Sydney flushes red, her gaze dropping to the open book in front of her again. “I don’t!”

You hear it for the lie that it is. “Please, I know you better than that. What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing!” she insists, but the redness deepening on her cheeks betrays her.

“Right,” you sarcastically let out, tilting your head to the side as she sighs in defeat.

“Please don’t hate me.”

You snort. “I could never. Spill the tea, bitch.”

Sydney worries at her bottom lip, then lets out a small, nervous laugh. She meets your gaze for half a heartbeat, and then looks at her book as if she’ll find words to speak on the pages. It seems she does, or the book gives her courage, because she finally meets your gaze again.

“Your brother confessed to me.”

You were not expecting that. In all the things Sydney could have told you right now, her saying that Yunho confessed to her was the last thing you’d expected. Hell, it would have made more sense to you if she’d said zombies had been seen somewhere in the countryside.

“He confessed?” you repeat, if only to make sure you heard right.

“Yeah,” she sheepishly said. “On Sunday night. We drank and…” she trails off, wincing like she’s about to die from awkwardness. “And we kissed, and he said he’s in love with me.”

You laugh. It’s the only thing you can do, mostly because you can’t believe Yunho finally grew the balls to confess to her. 

“Finally,” you let out.

Sydney seems taken aback for a few seconds. “Finally?”

“Girl.” You laugh, slightly shaking your head. “He’s been in love with you since like middle school. Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

“What do you mean since middle school?”

You shrug, wiggling your eyebrows. “You kissed my brother.”

“You are so annoying,” she grumbles. “I left after.”

That you were expecting even less, because you know she loves him too.

But sometimes people are idiots, aren’t they? And you think Sydney might be the most oblivious idiot you know.

“You did what?” you say, your last word a little too loud for the low buzz of conversation in the coffee shop.

Gazes turn to you, and you look down, as if to pretend you’re not the one that spoke.

“Shut up,” Sydney says through gritted teeth, and she waits a few seconds for people to look away before she adds, “Yeah, I left.”

“Why?” you ask, and you think about Yunho.

You think about his dead gaze yesterday evening, and how he’d barely touched the noodles you made when he usually scarfs down two bowls in record time. You’d blamed it on the memorial on Sunday, but you realize now that there might have been more to it than you’d initially thought.

“Because,” she starts, and then her mouth opens and closes a few times. “I don’t know. Because it was weird after the memorial. It felt wrong, no?”

“Syd…” 

“And I don’t like him like that,” she adds.

She doesn’t fully meet your gaze, and you see it for the lie that it is, even though she might not realize it yet.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” she concludes.

You take a deep breath, your initial joy at learning about Yunho’s confession fading away as you take in Sydney’s defeated expression.

“I don’t think Yunho would ruin your friendship,” you say, threading your words carefully. “Have you talked since then?”

“No,” she admits. “I don’t think I want to talk to him right now.”

You don’t know what to say. All you know is that Sydney looks uncomfortable, far more than you’ve ever seen her be, and it breaks something in your chest.

“Babe, you know it’s okay, right?” you say. “I don’t care if you and my brother kissed, or if he confessed he’s in love with you. You’re still my best friend.”

“I’m just…” She purses her lips, sighing deeply. “I’ve known him my whole life. This feels like it came out of a box, out of nowhere. Like a jack-in-the-box.” She meets your gaze, blinking once and then looking away again. “And now you’re saying he’s liked me since middle school? Were we even friends, or has he just been waiting in hopes that I would date him one day?”

“Syd,” you say, your tone scolding. “That’s not Yunho, and you know it as much as I do. Besides, he dated that girl in high school. So no, I don’t think he’s been waiting for you.”

You’re a better liar than Sydney, because she believes you, her features visibly relaxing with your words. “You think?”

You nod, and you’d feel bad for lying to her if you weren’t starting to plan how to get the two of them together anyway. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Yunho cares for you, that’s true, but if you just want to be friends, I know he’ll understand, and he’ll move on. He’s a grown man.”

Sydney sighs again, like the weight of the world is on her lungs, crushing the air out slowly but surely. “Right. He is.”

There’s a silence where the music seems to be a little louder, and you catch hints of a Harry Styles’ song before Sydney grabs her hot chocolate cup, taking a long sip from it. 

“Ew,” she lets out.

You chuckle. “What?”

“It’s cold.”

You’re not surprised - you’ve been here for almost an hour and a half, and she’s always been a slow drinker. At least when it comes to hot chocolate. You’re the opposite - you finished your own cup five minutes after getting it.

You don’t really reply to that, just laughing as she picks up her book. You spy the red title - Sapiens - but then she already puts it back down again.

“Wait,” she says.

You cock an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“You didn’t tell me what’s on your mind, though?”

You make a non-committal sound, shrugging your shoulders. “Nothing, really.”

“I’m not buying that,” she scolds. “If I had to spill the beans, so do you.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“You went home pretty late on Sunday,” she says.

She knows, because you texted her when you left San’s apartment, asking if she was still over. Looking back, you should have realized that her one-word answer was probably a sign that something had happened, but you’d still been too high on what had happened with San that it had gone right over your head.

“I did,” you carefully reply.

“Why?”

You snort. “Because I had a project to do?”

“You told me you haven’t finished,” she points out. “And you were there for hours. So, what happened?”

You shrug once more. “Nothing, really.”

“So you’re going to tell me that he hasn’t been texting you tonight?”

You widen your gaze. “What the fuck?”

Sydney grins victoriously, her eyes sparkling with pride at her own observance. “You left your phone here when you went to the bathroom. He double-texted you, and I thought that was a little suspicious.”

Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek. “You’re telling me you’re stalking my phone?”

She closes her eyes, smiling innocently. “Nah. Just noticed because it was right there.”

She looks like the angel emoji right now, and you just roll your eyes again, chuckling.

“Well,” you let out, and then you hum, trying to find the best way to summarize what happened. You settle on the truth in its most simple form, and you say, “I sucked his dick.”

You think, if Sydney’s jaw could literally fall to the floor then, it would. “Bitch, I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

That makes you laugh, and you lean closer to her, hiding behind your laptop even though you’re not even remotely embarrassed about it, even if maybe you should be.

“You heard me right.”

“Can you please tell me how ‘we’re doing a project together’ translated to ‘I’m going to suck his dick’ because you’ve got me a little lost here.”

You snort, and the sound attracts the attention of nearby tables again, which only makes you dodge behind your laptop once more. “Could you please be louder?” you tease Sydney. “I’m pretty sure the table next to us is interested in the story.”

You both start laughing, and Sydney apologizes once the laughter subsides, pink clinging to her cheeks.

“Nah, you’re good,” you reassure her. “It’s just… I told him it was my birthday?”

Sydney nods, though she doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. 

“And he felt bad about me going to a memorial and then doing that project on my birthday, so he baked me a cake.”

“That’s… sweet,” Sydney says, pursing her lips. “But how did that lead to you sucking his dick?”

You wince, your cheeks burning. “Honestly I don’t know.” You chuckle, slightly shaking your head. “I just felt like it.”

“You know what?” 

You cock an eyebrow, waiting for Sydney to continue.

“Hell yeah, girl, that’s some queen behaviour.”

You burst out laughing, this time not caring about the multiple gazes that slide to you. Sydney joins in on the laughter, and it does ease the tension you’ve felt since you arrived here earlier. Though, you reckon the tension has been lingering since even before then, when San sat with you for your class. 

The tension does momentarily come back later that night when you’re on your phone, scrolling on Instagram reels in bed, and San sends you another picture of Byeol. He’s quick to send a text too, and you inadvertently click on the text message, a smile spreading on your lips at the sight of the picture.

[11:37 pm] San: i think she misses u

You click on the picture and, though you try to focus on Byeol’s sleepy form, San’s face right next to the cat is distracting, as are the dimples on his cheeks. His smile is small, but it lights up his whole face, and you catch yourself looking at the picture for a little longer than necessary.

You snap out of it soon enough, blinking once before replying.

[11:39 pm] You: ofc she does i’m the best

He doesn’t reply for a moment, so you switch back to Instagram, though you find yourself worrying at your bottom lip. To your relief, his answer comes a few minutes later: he just sent the emoji looking up in annoyance, and you chuckle. The chuckle dies in your throat as he texts again, and blood rushes to your cheek.

[11:45 pm] San: u should come over again sometime [11:46 pm] You: yeah? [11:46 pm] San: definitely

You smile. You can’t help it - if you could see yourself, you’d probably laugh at how lovesick you look. Despite the fact that you don’t know a lot about San, there’s just something about him that you can’t put your finger on. Maybe it’s his willingness to bake you a cake last weekend, and the way he’d cheered you up even though he barely knows you.

No matter what it is, you can’t help but reply to his text with eyes sparkling, your heart fluttering in your chest.

[11:47 pm] You: then maybe we can hang out some time this weekend?

His reply takes a moment to come, and you wait expectantly, still worrying at that dry skin on your lower lip. 

[11:51 pm] San: i’m visiting my mom this weekend:(

Your heart sinks in your chest, disappointment taking over you. You try to ignore it, to push it to the back of your mind, but it lingers, dimming your mood. 

[11:51 pm] San: but i’ll see you tomorrow!! [11:52 pm] San: u can come to mine instead of the library if u want

You consider it, if only for a minute. But you want to be able to work on the project, and you reckon you likely wouldn’t be able to focus if you were to go to his place. 

[11:53 pm] You: nah, we gotta focus haha [11:53 pm] You: i can always come over some other time [11:53 pm] San: yes, ofc! [11:54 pm] San: after the wine and cheese next week?

And just like that your heart starts beating faster again, the hope coming back in full force. It sweeps you up your feet like a soft spring breeze lifts the fallen flower petals from the ground. Your lips break into a smile again, that same, lovesick smile you’d laugh at if you’d see it on someone else’s face, and you answer:

[11:55 pm] You: we’ll see🤭

And though San replies with an annoyed emoji again, your smile lingers until you fall asleep, dreaming of a dimpled smile and of a gentle laugh.

Wednesday, September 25th

The library is a haven of peace on campus, silent despite the amount of people sitting around at the many tables. You do hear faint chatter coming from some of the study rooms, but it’s mostly just a distant sound that you could almost confuse with that of the AC.

Today has been a sweltering hell, so the air con is welcomed after your walk outside, though you’d think it’s winter with how cold it is inside. It’s okay - your study room is likely going to be warmer, and you don’t think you’ll be here for too long anyway.

You pass by a table of people you know from your class, and Nayeon waves your way. You wave back, though you don’t stop as you’re already five minutes late to your meeting with San. She doesn’t mind - she’s already diving back into the open book in front of her, tapping her pen on her lips as she focuses.

You look away, finding your destination instead. San is sitting in front of his open laptop, fingers dancing on the keys, and he looks fully immersed in what he’s doing. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice you until you’re opening the door, and he startles at the sound, his eyes going a little wide.

But only for a second. Indeed, the moment San recognizes you, his features soften, his lips curving upwards.

“Hey,” he greets you, his eyes taking you in. “Why’d you dress so well?”

You blush. You can’t help it - did you go overboard?

“Ah, I just felt like it?” you say, and you’re thankful you managed not to stutter on your words like your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Had I known I would have put something else than this on,” he says, glancing down at himself.

He’s only dressed in a simple black t-shirt with matching jeans. It’s boyish, much more simple than the pale brown dress pants and tight fitted crop top you chose. Or maybe what makes you look so overdressed is the makeup you put on - a simple look, but you feel more confident with the makeup on, like you could take over the world if you needed to.

“Nah, you’re good,” you tell him as you move to the empty side of the table, pulling a chair away from it so that you can put your bag down.

You then sit in front of San, rummaging through your bag to get your laptop, a pen and a notebook. San watches you the whole time, one dimple gracing his cheek, and you feel your blush deepening even though you try not to pay attention to him.

“You’re cute,” he says.

He looks surprised he said the words aloud, even more so as you look at him like a deer in headlight. 

“Oh, thanks,” you answer.

He purses his lips, nodding once before looking down at his laptop. “I’ve… worked on the project a little more,” he tells you. “I hope you don’t mind? I thought I’d try to start without you so that we can leave earlier.”

You narrow your gaze. “You want to get rid of me already?”

He laughs, slightly shaking his head. “No, I thought we could go get ice cream since it’s been so hot today.” 

Your chest fills with warmth again, like it’s been doing whenever you thought about him since last night. You don’t know if it’s the conversation with Sydney that triggered it, or maybe the texts you exchanged with him last night, but it’s like something has changed. Or maybe you’re just weakened by the dimples in his cheeks.

Though you sucked his dick last Sunday, you barely even think of it right now. No, all you focus on is the easy banter, the soft smiles and shared laughter. You work well with San, a lot better than you ever expected you would, and you manage to finish most of the project in under an hour. 

You like this. Projects like the one you have to do with San are usually always a hassle, but with him you feel confident, and you think it’s a relief that you don’t have to do most of the work this time around. 

It’s a lot better than last semester, when you’d ended up redoing your partner’s part because it didn’t make any sense. You’d managed to get a decent grade still, but it did make you anxious about doing this project with San, though now you know that you have nothing to worry about.

“Shouldn’t we finish, since we’re here?” you ask.

He pouts. “You’ve been shivering since we got here. Let’s just go enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“I’m okay!” you lie, because you’ve indeed been getting gradually colder as you sat here with him. The study room isn’t as warm as you thought it’d be, and shivers have been slowly taking over you in a futile attempt to warm you up.

“Visibly,” San deadpans.

You look down at your arms. You’re covered with goosebumps, and you immediately hide your arms under the table, rubbing at the skin. “I swear I’m okay,” you insist. “We’re almost done. If we finish this now, we won’t have to work on it again.”

He narrows his gaze. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

His eyes sparkle with mischief, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “I thought you said you could come hang out at mine soon.”

You almost choke on your saliva as you swallow. “And?”

“If we finish now, you won’t want to come over.”

You cock an eyebrow, a smile tickling at the corners of your lips. “What makes you think that I would need that excuse to want to hang out with you?”

The words are bold, but you feel bold sitting there in front of him. It slightly takes you by surprise, but then again the banter is easy with him, always.

“So if we finish now, you’re still down to come over next Monday?” he asks.

You don’t remember planning to go to his on Monday evening. Yet you feel excitement rushing through your blood at the perspective, and you furrow your brows as if in deep thoughts.

“Do I get box cake again?”

He chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “Nah, I’m trying to eat well. I can cook you something healthy, though.”

“With spice, I hope. None of that boring chicken.”

“I cook well, I’ll have you know!” he lets out, faking offense. The smile on his lips betrays him though, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Of course, of course.” You laugh as he rolls his eyes, and then you say, “Sure, I’ll come over on Monday. But we can finish the project tonight, and then we won’t have to worry about that on Monday.”

San literally beams at your suggestion, his grin wide as he opens his laptop again. “We’re still getting ice cream tonight, though.”

You’re endeared. So endeared by the man sitting in front of you, and you find yourself unable to say no. But you’re distracted now, and San seems like he is too. Especially as you both don’t add anything to the google doc you’re working on, just talking about what you could do for a conclusion. 

San eventually sighs in frustration, slightly shaking his head. You cock an eyebrow in question, and then he says, “Honestly, this is not working. I’m starving.”

You snort. “Is that why you can’t focus?”

“As if you’re any better,” he grumbles.

You laugh, and then shrug innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think I don’t notice you looking at me instead of trying to actually write anything.”

Your mouth falls open. “I’m not looking at you.”

“Oh, you so are. But I can’t blame you, I like to look at you too.”

There’s a silence as you just watch him with an amused smile, and then you answer, “That was cringe.”

“Right, no compliments,” he says as if he’s talking to himself. “Can’t I just think you’re pretty?”

“Is that why you fucked my mouth last Sunday?”

His eyes darken at the sudden reminiscing to what happened a few days ago. “Maybe.”

“So I’m just a pretty object to you, then.”

“When did I say that?” he asks, almost sounding offended.

“Like about right now,” you tease. “But it’s okay, maybe I only sucked your dick because you looked pretty.”

“Looked?”

You sit back in your chair, your laptop entirely forgotten. “Yeah.”

He narrows his gaze in suspicion, and then he lets out a laugh. “I was not expecting the conversation to go there,” he admits.

You chuckle, shrugging your shoulders. “Honestly, I can’t focus either. And no, it’s not because I’m looking at you.”

Your stomach, right on cue, grumbles loudly, and San snorts. “You know what, let’s go get something to eat. We’ll finish this next Monday.”

Though you would have liked to finish today, you have to admit that it’s just not working anymore, even though it flowed easily earlier. Maybe it’s because you planned to hang out with San again, and you can’t help but see it as a date.

Because what is it, if not a date? Though you’re not sure if San is the type of guy to date in general. According to the stories you’ve heard about him, you think he’s more the kind of guy to fuck around, not really caring about the consequences.

Which is exactly the kind of person you also are, as you don’t really date either. But then again, there’s something about San…

You stop the train of thoughts before it goes any further, putting away your stuff in your bag as San also gets ready to go. A moment later you’re leaving the study room, San beside you, and you make your way out of the library, passing next to Nayeon again.

She raises her head as you pass, and San slows down to greet her. You weren’t aware that they were friends, and you stand to the side as they whisper back and forth for a minute, talking about nothing that seems too interesting.

“Well, I’ll let you study, then,” San eventually says, and she nods, smiling softly.

“Thanks, I was almost done.”

He doesn’t really answer anything, especially not as the librarian is walking in your direction. He just waves to Nayeon, and then you’re walking away again.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Nayeon,” you say once you’re out of the library.

San throws you a look. “We went to high school together, actually,” he admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“I’ve literally never seen you talk to her before.”

“Yeah, we don’t talk a lot,” he says. “She…”

You wait for him to finish his sentence, but he remains silent.

“She what?”

He chuckles, and it sounds a little awkward. “We dated for a couple of months at the end of high school, but we broke up before prom,” he admits. “We remained friends but… not too close, you know?”

“Fair enough,” you let out, and then you walk in silence for a little while, though it’s not awkward.

It’s the kind of comfortable silence you like to revel in, the kind that you’re usually only able to share with Sydney. It’s strange to share it with San, but then again you like it.

You really like the easy friendship that’s been blossoming between the two of you. Perhaps that’s why you decided to dress up today, to do your hair and some light makeup. 

“What about you?” San asks after a moment.

Confused, you throw a look at him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any ex? Any relationship from high school, or maybe college?” he adds, and your heart stops in your chest.

You do. But it’s not something you like to think about - your relationship with your ex was toxic as can be, and you’ve been pretending that it hasn’t happened for years now.

“Not really,” you choose to say.

San chuckles. “What do you mean, not really?”

“I’ve dated some guys before.” You shrug, ignoring his heavy gaze on your profile. “But nothing too serious.”

He hums, digging his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because it didn’t work, or because it’s not your thing?”

Both. You’d say it’s both, because things with your ex and the others never did work, but also because, after your ex, you’d never really felt like dating at all. 

“I guess I’ve just never met anyone that felt like we could work?” you say like a question. “Why do you want to know?”

You sound defensive. You didn’t even mean to, but San notices, and he glances towards you with a snort.

“Just making conversation.”

The silence turns awkward now, and you mentally curse yourself for it. You worry at your bottom lip, thanking San as he opens the door for you once you reach the exit of the building in which the library is.

“What a gentleman,” you tease him, if only so that the awkwardness disappears.

It thankfully works and San grins as he lets you pass. “What makes you think I’m not just trying to get a look at your ass?”

Your gaze widens, your mouth falling open, and you turn to look at him. “You did not just say that.”

He smirks, eyes sparkling as he shrugs. “I kind of did.”

You move closer, playfully punching him in the shoulder, and he just laughs. The sound wraps around you, quickens your heartbeat, and you find yourself looking at him for a moment, everything fading around you.

He rubs at the spot you punched, tilting his head to the side. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

It breaks the enchanting moment, though it turns it into that easy camaraderie you share with him. It’s more comfortable, less vulnerable, and you narrow your gaze at him.

“I’m not mad.”

To make a show of it, you fold your arms on your chest, and San just chuckles again, before pulling on your wrist. The feeling of his fingers on your skin is electrifying, especially as he leans closer, his breath ghosting on the side of your face.

“Clearly not.”

He pulls you even closer, and you lay a hand flat on his chest as you stumble forward in surprise. You look up, startled, but San is looking at something behind you.

You glance that way, only to see that he actually pulled you out of the way of someone on a skateboard, and your cheeks burn as you step back, your gaze dropping to the ground much like his hand drops from your wrist.

“Whatever,” you mumble.

San laughs again. “Yeah, you’re cute.”

The blush on your cheeks deepens. “M’kay.”

Though the word may have been curt, you can’t hide the smile on your lips, and you know San sees it. Indeed, his own grin softens into a smaller smile, and you have to turn away from him to calm the flutters in your chest.

Why is your heart acting up so much around him? Hell, you’ve only known him for a few days and yet…

There really is something about Choi San that you can’t quite get your finger on.

Outside, the sun has touched the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, yet the warmth from the day lingers, making for an evening reminiscent of summer. The breeze is gentle, barely even lifting the occasional fallen leaves that have started littering the ground. The ambience is gentle, and it’s no wonder the conversation with San becomes more serious as you make your way out of campus.

He asks you about what led you to political science, and you tell him that you’re following in your parents' footsteps, trying to become a lawyer. He admits he’s in it to become a lawyer too, though his reasons are different than yours.

“I really just want to help people,” he says as you walk down the path that leads out of campus and to the boulevard where most of the restaurants near college can be found. “And I wasn’t really good at science, so I decided to try and pursue law school instead.”

“Honestly, same,” you let out. “Why was science so hard?”

He huffs a breath of laughter, shrugging his shoulders. “Beats me. And don’t get me started on maths.”

“Maths suck.”

He nods in agreement, glancing your way for a few seconds before facing the way you’re going again. “Thank you for agreeing to get something to eat,” he says. “I really was starving in there.”

You smile. His profile is beautiful as you glance his way, sculpted in marble like those Greek statues you’d used to admire when you were younger and obsessed with Greek mythology. “Of course. I really am hungry too.”

“Do you want to eat anything in particular?” he says as you reach the street. “There’s a good ramen place this way, but if you want something else, I’m totally down for it.”

“What about dumplings?” you suggest. “I haven’t had some in a while.”

His gaze widens at your suggestion, his eyes sparkling in the streetlight that’s turned on now that the sun has sunk beneath the horizon. “Yes, definitely dumplings.”

So you head to the restaurant in question, surprised to find it pretty busy for a Wednesday evening. They still manage to squeeze you in at the back of the restaurant, and you settle down on the small booth against the wall while San grabs the chair in front of you. The waitress appears with glasses of water a few seconds later, pointing at the QR code on one end of the table to tell you that you can access the menu that way. San immediately points his phone at it, while you just throw a look at the couple that obviously looks like they’re on their first date next to you.

You feel the awkwardness radiating off them even from where you’re sitting. Especially as the girl tries to make conversation, and the guy only answers with one-worded sentences, never returning the questions to her.

“Yikes,” you whisper. 

San raises his head. He’d been looking at the menu on his phone, and he cocks an eyebrow in question. Trying to be subtle, you tilt your head towards the couple, and San glances their way.

He winces, meeting your gaze again, and then he leans closer to make sure they can’t hear you. “Do you think they need help?”

You snort. “Help?”

“We can try to make them feel less awkward. Maybe order them some shots.”

You roll your eyes, your lips curving upwards. “Order shots at a dumpling restaurant. Do they even have alcohol?”

San nods. “Damn right they do,” he replies. “They have bottles of flavoured soju.”

“So what, you want to get one and share it with them?”

San narrows his gaze as if he’s realizing something, and then he says, “Wait, no, you don’t drink, right?”

He remembers. Your chest fills with warmth, and you just hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking down at the table. “No, I don’t.”

“Well never mind, then,” he says. “I’ll stick to water with you.”

“I mean,” you quickly say. “You can get something to drink if you feel like it.”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care, and then goes back to looking at the menu. “Nah, it’s all good. I’m going to have a drink with some friends tomorrow night anyway.”

You purse your lips, nodding before you also scan the QR code to see the menu. You both go through it for a moment of silence only interrupted by the awkward couple next to you and the faint K-pop playing in the background. Soon enough, you settle on pork and green onion dumplings along with a couple of side dishes, and then San waves at the waitress to give her your order.

“Do you come here often?” San asks after she leaves. 

You take a sip of your glass of water. “I came here a bunch last year,” you admit. “But it’s my first time this semester.”

“Glad I get to come with you, then.”

And you’re glad too - spending time with him like this, outside of college, is fun, and you find yourself sharing laughter with him as you eat, and then as you go back to the world outside, the evening feeling young.

Or maybe it feels infinite, like maybe you don’t have a class tomorrow morning. Like maybe you were meant to walk around town with Choi San instead of going back home tonight, so when he suggests stopping at an ice cream shop before walking you home, you immediately accept.

You’re in line, standing next to him, when San leans in your line of vision, catching your gaze. “Which one do you want?”

“Just vanilla,” you say. “But dipped in chocolate.” You look at the menu behind the counter, narrowing your gaze. “Probably dulce de leche.” You glance at him, your gaze catching in the dimple on his cheek. “You?”

“The same,” he says. He moves towards the counter, and you grab his wrist, stopping him.

“I got it,” you tell him as he looks at you over his shoulder. “You got dinner, let me get dessert.”

Indeed, San ended up paying for the dumplings, claiming that it was his fault if you’d gone to the restaurant. You’d argued that you could split, but he was adamant, and you’d let it go, especially as the awkward couple next to you were looking at you.

San nods, before stepping aside, motioning towards the counter and the girl standing behind it, waiting for your order. “By all means.”

It makes you laugh, and you shake your head at him as you do step forward, and then you give the girl your order, paying quickly before joining San where he’s waiting by the wall.

“Thank you,” he says as you stop next to him.

“Don’t mention it.”

You watch as a teenager orders, and then your gaze slides behind the counter, where a guy is currently making what you assume is your ice cream. You get the confirmation that it is as he moves towards you after, handing it to you over the counter.

“Here,” you tell San after you’ve grabbed the ice cream. “Take this one, I’ll take the other one.”

He nods, smiling wide, and he takes the ice cream cone you’re offering him, immediately licking at it. His eyes widen appreciatively. “Shit, that’s good.”

You chuckle, and then you grab your own ice cream. The first lick makes your taste buds ignite with joy, and you look at San.

“Fuck, you’re right.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and you echo with a giggle of your own as you head outside of the ice cream shop. Though the evening is colder now - perhaps because you’re eating ice cream - San’s presence by your side keeps you warm, and you walk with him, slowly heading towards your apartment.

“Tonight was fun,” you say in between two licks. 

San glances at you, chocolate staining his upper lip. It attracts your gaze, and you remember how you’d kissed last Sunday. Your blood heats up in your veins, a reminder of exactly what transpired that night, and you glance away.

“Yeah, it really was,” he agrees. “You’re fun to hang out with.”

You blush at the compliment, hiding it with a bite of ice cream. Though your teeth momentarily hurt, it helps with ignoring the vulnerability that San’s words raise in you, and it helps you to focus until your heart resumes its normal rhythm.

“So next Monday, you’re coming to mine?” San asks after a moment.

He’s done with his ice cream now, and he pulls a napkin from his pocket to wipe his mouth clean. 

“That’s the plan,” you say. “Though, now that I think of it…” 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, going to your conversation with Sydney as San patiently waits for you to continue. 

“Shit, yeah.”

“What?” he lets out.

“I have something with my best friend on Monday,” you admit. “I totally forgot.”

He’s disappointed. You immediately see it - his features slightly fall, his eyes losing some of their sparkle, and you hate it.

You don’t want to be the cause behind Choi San’s disappointment.

“But you could come,” you suggest. “We’re going to the college movie night.”

A crease appears between his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“They project an old movie on the last Monday of each month,” you explain. “I went with Syd a couple of times last year, and we missed the one in August. So she’s really looking forward to this one.”

“An old movie?” San repeats. “Not sure if that’s my vibe.”

“But no, wait, you really should come!” San raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips slowly stretching as he smiles, waiting for you to continue. “My brother will be there.”

Yunho isn’t supposed to, but your brain is hatching a plan, one you think San might want to help with. 

“You know my brother, right?” you add.

He seems unsure, which he confirms as he says, “Your brother?”

“Jeong Yunho? He said you guys know each other.”

“Oh shit.” San’s gaze widens, and he lets out a small laugh. “He’s your brother? I didn’t know.”

You’re not surprised - though you spoke about your brother to San last Sunday, you never really mentioned his name.

“Yeah.” You lick at your ice cream as you ponder what to say next.

Or rather how to say it.

“He’s in love with my best friend,” you finally choose to say.

“What?” San lets out. He chuckles, and then adds, “Sydney, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. What if…” you trail off, because you really think this could work.

It has to. 

“What if?” San presses.

“What if I get him to come to the movies and you help me get them together?”

San snorts. “And how would we do that?”

“I don’t know, we’ll go with the flow,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You in?”

Maybe it’s the atmosphere this evening is home to.  Maybe it’s the way you throw a look at him, pleading with your gaze. Because San folds, a dimple appearing in his cheeks as he smiles.

“Sure, I’ll come with you,” he says. “But you have to come over after.”

You frown. “Why?”

“Gotta finish the project.”

He’s got a point. “Fuck.”

He laughs, gently nudging you with his elbow. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. And we don’t have an early class on Tuesday, so you can even sleep over if you want.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

San pouts, and you almost want to take the words back just so that you can see his smile again.

“I’ll hit the couch, don’t worry,” he reassures you, his voice slightly whiny. “And that way, you can tell Yunho to walk your best friend home.” He flashes a quick wink. “That’ll get them together, no?”

You reckon it’s a good idea. But you’re not sure about sleeping over - though that can be a problem for Monday, can’t it?

“Alright, we got a plan,” you agree. “It better work.”

And you really hope it does. 

Silence rises between the two of you as you finish eating your ice cream, every step you take taking you closer to home. San keeps throwing glances your way that you try your best to ignore, though you can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks. Up in the sky, the moon has risen, shining endlessly amongst the occasional clouds. The breeze blows stronger now, and you can’t help your shiver as you turn in the street that’ll lead you home.

“You cold?” San asks.

You glance at him, your gaze almost immediately dropping to the ground as you find him already looking. “I think it’s the ice cream,” you say. “But we’re almost there, I’ll survive.”

San nods, and then he steps a tad closer, just enough for his arm to brush yours. “I’d offer you my shirt but I’d rather not be shirtless in the middle of the street.”

All your brain can conjure up is the image of him in that tight athletic t-shirt he was wearing on Sunday - it’d done little to hide the muscles underneath. The thought of him taking off his shirt now, revealing the skin you’d wanted to see yet hadn’t…

It’s indecent.

“Yeah, no,” you say, laughing lightly. “Keep the shirt on.”

“Will do.” 

And so he does, but the image in your mind is enough to warm you up. It clings to your thoughts as you finish the trek to your apartment, and you stop outside, turning to face San.

His hands are still in his pockets, and he offers you a smile before glancing to the side. “This your place?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

His attention returns to you, and you find yourself getting lost in his eyes, in the way they reflect the light of the streetlights. It makes it look like he has a gentle fire in his gaze, one that is rendered soft by the dimples gracing his cheeks. Behind him, over you, shines the moon, and another strong gust of wind shakes his hair in front of his eyes, sending yours flying around your head.

You tuck your hair behind your ears while San cards a hand through his. His smile widens, and he lets out a small chuckle that wraps around your heart, making it far too warm.

“Well then,” he lets out. He shifts on his feet, slightly rocking back and forth like he’s feeling awkward standing there. It’s cute, endearing, and that, too, warms your chest. “Have a good rest of your evening, Y/n.”

You both don’t move. You don’t even answer, you just stand there, your gaze dropping to his lips. They glisten when he wets them, and you’re keenly aware that you’re staring, yet you can’t help yourself.

“I should…” he trails off, motioning to the side.

You nod, gulping. “Yeah, you should.”

He winces. “Damn, you want to get rid of me this fast?”

“No!” you immediately say, gaze widening. “That is not what I meant.”

He bursts out laughing at your expense as your cheeks burn. And then he says, “You know what?”

You cock an eyebrow, your heartbeat quickening as he takes a step towards you. “What?”

He raises a hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear after it’s escaped from another gust of wind. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all evening.”

Your throat dries, and your mouth falls open. But you’re rendered speechless, and all you can do is look at him as he moves even closer. You’re engulfed with his warmth and the faint scent of his cologne - you’d noticed it before, yet now it’s all you can smell as he leans closer.

“Can I?” he asks.

You wonder if he can hear the wild beats of your heart in your chest. If he can tell that you’ve wanted this too despite trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t.

“San…” you trail off.

He takes a deep breath, inching a little closer. But he stops, still waiting for your consent.

“I’m not sure if we should…” You gulp. “We’re partners in that project and…”

He moves imperceptibly closer. “And?”

“What if it fucks things up?”

You see the battle in his gaze as he looks from one of your eyes to the other repeatedly, searching for the words he wanted to hear. You think he might find them - you really want to kiss him too, and you feel yourself leaning closer. But then he steps away from you, and cold seeps in your veins.

“Right.” He looks towards a car as it passes in the street. “Shit. My bad.”

“No.” You take a step closer to him, reaching for his hand by instinct. You gently squeeze it, and his gaze returns to yours. “Don’t apologize. I just think we should be… responsible?”

He nods, and his thumb rubs at the side of your hand. It scatters butterflies in your chest, paints your mind in pastel colours and for a moment, you think he’ll say fuck it and kiss you. You want him to, but he just lets go of you.

It hurts, but it’s less vulnerable that way. Much safer, especially considering that you’ll be his partner for the whole semester anyway.

What would happen if things were to go south before you finished the project? You’d rather not know.

“I agree,” he says with a nod. “You’re still coming over on Monday though, right?”

Your lips stretch softly. You don’t know how many times he’ll need you to confirm it, and you think the insecurity is endearing, if only because you’d never thought Choi San would be insecure, especially not with you, and not after what happened last Sunday.

“Yes, of course.”

That brings the dimples back to his cheeks, and you think it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. “Alright, then. See you in class tomorrow, Y/n.”

You wish him good night, and though the atmosphere is still filled with tension, you turn around, walking down the short path that leads to the door. You turn when you reach it, if only so that you can wave at him.

He’s looking at you, and you’d describe his gaze as longing if you didn’t know any better. So you turn back around to ignore the way your heart lances in your chest, and then you go in, leaving Choi San standing there on the sidewalk.

You climb the stairs to your floor, everything in you wanting to turn around and find him. But you don’t - you make it all the way to your door, unlocking with your lungs feeling like they’re straining to get air in. It’s a strange feeling, one that possibly can be explained by the dimples on San’s cheeks, or by the way his piercing yet soft gaze was regarding you just a moment ago. 

It luckily doesn’t linger as you finally walk in, catching sight of Yunho lying on the couch, just staring up at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” you ask as you close the door, dropping your bag on the floor. You kick off your shoes, your sock-clad feet padding towards him.

Yunho sighs dramatically. “I feel like shit.”

Choi San disappears from your thoughts at your brother’s words, and you quickly finish crossing the distance to the couch, pushing his legs off so that you can sit. “What’s wrong?”

You could beat yourself mentally for the question - he did lose one of his childhood friends recently, and was rejected by Sydney - but it seems that it was needed.

Indeed, your brother is not one to usually open up, so you’re relieved when he says, “Life is just… weird.”

“Yeah?” you let out, not wanting to prod, knowing that he’ll talk to you if he wants to.

He sighs, a heavy sigh that makes you want to pat his head the same way he’d use to comfort you when you were younger and hurt yourself.

“Can I admit something?” he asks. He looks at you, and you nod in confirmation. “I’m kinda in love with…” He laughs, though it’s a bitter sound, one that seems to pain him. “With Syd. Sorry.”

You offer him a gentle smile. “Yun, I know. Everyone and their mother knows.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s obvious.” You chuckle as his cheeks dust with pink, and his gaze trails away from you to return to the ceiling. “And you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m not…” he trails off. “I wasn’t asking for permission.” He shifts, sitting up with his back against the couch. He sighs again, and his shoulders slump forward with heaviness. “What I’m trying to say is, I wouldn’t let you get between me and her if she wanted me.”

You know what’s going to come next - Sydney told you the outcome after all. But you still wait for Yunho to speak, to confide in you himself. It takes him a moment of collecting his thoughts, of looking at his hands in his lap as he spins a ring around one of his fingers. 

“She rejected me,” he confesses.

“I…” you let out. You take a deep breath to gather courage, and then finish, “I know. She told me.”

Yunho glances at you, and the glistening silver on his waterline breaks your heart. “It was already bad after what happened to Nick…”

“Yun, don’t cry,” you say in horror as a tear slips on his cheek.

He laughs again, wiping the tear away with the back of his hand. “I’ve been a fucking mess.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I think Syd was just taken aback.”

He wets his lip, his tongue pushing in his cheek. “We haven’t really talked since then.”

“Just give her space,” you tell your brother. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Yunho frowns, glancing at you. “What do you mean?”

You look away, your eyes falling on the unlit screen of the TV. You can see the vague reflections of you and Yunho in there, and you focus on that as you say, “I think she might not realize it yet, but she feels the same.”

“Don’t,” Yunho whispers.

You cock an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t give me hope.” He slightly shakes his head, sighing again. “I’d rather just move on than get my hopes up.”

“Listen.” You wait for him to look your way before you continue. “I can’t say I know for sure that she feels the same, obviously. But I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and how disappointed she is whenever she comes over and you’re not around. She always asks about you, and I just really think she doesn’t realize it.”

Yunho remains silent, but his eyes pool with tears again as he gulps.

“And I’m not necessarily saying that she will realize it either.” She might be your best friend, but you can’t claim to know exactly what she might do. “I really hope so for the two of you, but for now I think she just needs space. You took her by surprise.”

“I think…” He pauses, looking for words. “She seemed weirded out because it was after Nick’s memorial.”

You’re not surprised that Yunho noticed - he’s always been attuned to her, even before he knew he had feelings for her. Or at least you’ve always assumed - even when you were kids, he always cared for her, making sure she was happy and smiling.

“Which would be understandable,” you say. “I love you, Yun, but that was a weird moment to confess your love to someone.”

He frowns, grinding his teeth. “You really have a way to cheer someone up, you know?”

You smile sheepishly. “I mean… I’m just saying the truth.”

Yunho doesn’t reply right away, just running a hand through his hair, leaving it dishevelled. Right when you think he might not say anything at all, he says, “So you think I should just give her space?”

You nod. “Yes.” You purse your lips, and then add, “We’re going to the movies next Monday. Come with us.”

“Are you sure she’d want me to be there?”

You shrug. “Yeah. You’re friends, too. And it’s not like I’ll give her a choice.”

“That doesn’t sound like giving her space.”

He’s right, and you see your plan to get them together start to collapse on itself. “I’ll make sure she’s okay with it before,” you say as reassuringly as you possibly can. 

He meets your gaze, and you’re relieved that he’s blinked the tears away now. “Don’t force her, though. If she needs more space than that, I can wait.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell her you went on a date, that should do the trick.”

“Fuck off!” His eyes are round, and he shakes his head. “Do you have to be crazy?”

You nod innocently. “Yes.”

“That has no chance of working.”

But you know your best friend. If there’s a thing that might make her aware of her feelings, it’s jealousy.

“Just let me do my thing,” you tell Yunho.

“If it goes bad…” he trails off, shakes his head once. “If it goes bad I’ll kill you.”

You think you’d deserve it.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

soooo do we like our baby simps? please tell me what you think of this chapter!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[moonleeai]

Blurred Boundaries

Written for @bangtanwritershq Writing Event: ‘Netflix And Chill’

{Based off Netflix Original "You" Featuring Yoongi} Pairing: Bookseller!Yoongi x Aspiring Writerl!Reader x Boyfriend!Jin Genre: Thriller 🔞Rating: MA WC: 11,694

⚠️Warnings: Obsession, stalking, manipulation, implied violence, smut, unsolicited touch, abduction, drugged, exhibitionism 

Summary: You know something is off about him, but you can't quite put your finger on it. Yoongi seems perfect at first - attentive, intelligent, and always in the right place at the right time—a bookstore manager who understands your writing dreams and who appears to anticipate your every need. What begins as a supportive relationship gradually reveals a deeply obsessive nature and intense fixation. 

Notes: Thank you @downbad4yoongi , @mrsparkjimin18 , @anyamaris, and @pars-ley for beta reading! 

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The bell above the bookstore door chimes, and I look up from restocking the poetry section. Who do we have here? She walks in, rain-soaked and beautiful, her eyes scanning the shelves with a hunger I immediately recognize– she has to be a writer. My eyes trail her as she runs her fingers along the spines of well-worn collections.

I observe her silently, my mind already cataloging every minute detail. The delicate way she bites her lip when she finds a title that intrigues her. How she tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear. The slight furrow of her brow as she skims the back cover of a lesser-known poet's work.

Before I consciously realize it, I'm moving toward her, a carefully selected book in hand. Something about her calls to me—not just attraction but something more profound: a sense of connection, of destiny.

"You might like this one," I say softly, offering her a book. Our eyes meet, and in that precise moment, I know my life will never be the same. I will protect her. Understand her. Possess her.

As she discusses the importance of imagery and rhyme schemes in poetry, I am drawn to the curve of her mouth. The way her lips move as she talks is mesmerizing, and I find myself tracing their shape with my eyes. They are full and soft, with just a touch of natural pink color. I nod along, pretending to be engaged in her words, but secretly, I am lost in the beauty of her features.

My mind is several steps ahead, buzzing with excitement. I take mental notes furiously, determined to learn everything I can about her. I will become the perfect companion, the one person who truly understands her. 

This is more than attraction. This will be my life’s purpose.

Yoongi's fingers flew across the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the screen with an intensity that bordered on mania. The soft glow illuminated his face in the darkened room, casting shadows that seemed to dance with each new discovery about you.

Instagram was his first stop. Your profile was a treasure trove of information, and each post was carefully analyzed. A photo at Polar Night Cafe became a mental note that must be your favorite coffee spot. A selfie with a worn copy of Sylvia Plath revealed your literary heroes. Pictures with friends– and a boyfriend– provided names, faces to memorize, and potential obstacles to remove.

Twitter offered glimpses into your mind. Late-night tweets about writer's block and self-doubt. He could be your support, your rock. Retweets of writing competitions. He'd ensure your success, whatever it took. Interactions with other writers. Potential rivals to watch closely. 

LinkedIn painted a tableau of your professional aspirations: A part-time editorial internship at a small publishing house. He could pull strings and open doors. Endorsements praising your creativity. He'd nurture that spark, fan it into a flame.

With each click, each scroll, Yoongi's obsession deepened. He wasn't just learning about you; he was crafting a version of himself perfectly tailored to your needs, your desires. He would become your everything.

Hours passed unnoticed. By the time dawn broke, Yoongi had constructed a comprehensive map of your life. Your routines, dreams, fears – all of it now etched into his mind.

He leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. This was just the beginning. ______________________________________________________

You push open the bookstore door, seeking refuge from the sudden downpour. The scent of old books and coffee envelops you as you take off your drenched raincoat and hang it on the coat rack conveniently by the entrance. As you step further into the store, your eyes are immediately drawn to the poetry section. It's your sanctuary, a place where words dance on pages and emotions find their voice.

You feel a presence nearby as you run your fingers along the spines of familiar collections. Looking up, you meet the gaze of a man - the bookstore manager, you assume. His soul-searching gaze is unsettling - an intensity, a recognition that seems out of place for a stranger.

"You might like this one," he says softly, offering you a book. His voice is low and melodic. You find yourself drawn in despite your usual wariness of overeager salespeople. You take the book, your fingers brushing against his for a moment. The poet is one you've admired but never mentioned to anyone. 

"I'm Yoongi," he introduces himself with a small smile. "You're a writer, aren't you? I can always tell."

You nod, surprised by his observation. You move to the register to check out, and the conversation flows easily. While talking about poetry and your writing dreams, you can't help but sense that Yoongi connects with you in a way that few others do. It's both comforting and slightly unnerving.

Your phone vibrates with a notification. “Ah. My rides here.” You gather your belongings next to the register and reach out with your hand. “Nice talking with you, Yoongi.” You let go of his hand and walk backward toward the door, “See you around.”

You get into the car's passenger seat, “Hey babes,” you lean over to kiss Jin on the cheek. 

“Yah! What always takes you so long in bookstores? I’ve been waiting forever.”

You giggle as he pulls away. “Sorry, sorry! I got wrapped up in conversation.”

The car slows to a stop at a red light, and Jin throws his head back on the headrest. He turns and smirks, “You're lucky you’re cute, and I’d wait an eternity for you.” ______________________________________________________

The following day, you find yourself slipping through the doorway of Polar Night Cafe, craving your usual afternoon caffeine fix. The rich scent of freshly ground beans immediately embraces you, filling your nostrils and awakening your senses. 

"Hi, I'd like a medium hazelnut latte with soy milk, please." The barista nods, acknowledging your order.

Your eyes scan the cozy interior, quickly settling on a familiar figure in the corner. 

Yoongi sits with his laptop open, his fingers moving at lightning speed across the keyboard. As he catches sight of you, a smile spreads across his face, conveying both surprise and delight at seeing you here.

He calls out your name, waving you over. You freeze in place but still manage to raise your hand, your fingers unconsciously curling into your palm as an uneasy feeling slides through you. You don’t remember telling him your name, but it would’ve been easy for him to see it on your credit card at the bookstore. You also can’t recall ever seeing him here before, and you’ve been coming for months.

The barista calls your name, and you grab your latte before walking toward Yoongi.

"What a coincidence,” he says, “I was just working on some poetry recommendations for the store."

You hesitate for a moment before joining him. As you sip your latte, you begin to realize his suggestions for books to read are a perfectly curated list that aligns seamlessly with your tastes. How effortless it seems for him to understand your literary preferences is almost uncanny. You find yourself drawn in by his insight but also a bit unnerved. ______________________________________________________

Days later, you're at a local writing workshop. As you scan for an empty seat, your peripheral vision catches a familiar silhouette - Yoongi, seated in the shadowed back row. When your eyes meet, his gaze is too steady, too intentional. He slides his hand across the adjacent chair, a gesture that's more an eerie summons than a warm welcome. The movement is slow and calculated. A smile spreads across his face - not quite reaching his eyes.

You hesitate, your body tensing as you consider the only empty chair beside Yoongi. The workshop room suddenly feels smaller, almost claustrophobic. With a mixture of reluctance and an inexplicable sense of being trapped, you slide into the seat.

Your movements are stiff and deliberate - each motion communicating discomfort. You position yourself at the edge of the chair, creating the maximum possible distance between yourself and Yoongi, with your body angled slightly away. 

Throughout the session, you feel his gaze on you. When it's time to share your work with the person beside you, Yoongi’s feedback is insightful, as if he's intimately familiar with your writing style. A shiver runs down your spine - flattery and unease battling for dominance in your mind.

“We should exchange numbers… have more discussions like this,” Yoongi says.

 You hesitate– unable to think of any good reason not to. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Yoongi taps his phone to yours, and you watch the screens light up, exchanging information. You watch his smile reach his eyes as he pulls on his beanie, his long hair falling in soft strands that frame his face. 

As you leave the workshop, a knot forms in your stomach the feeling of being watched overwhelms you.

Your phone buzzes. "Great seeing you today. Your writing is captivating. Can't wait to read more."

Your thumb hovers over the block button. But something stops you. Curiosity? Fear? Or perhaps a twisted sense of intrigue?

Days pass, and Yoongi's texts become a constant presence. They're always perfectly timed, as if he knows your schedule. Comments about your day, your writing, and the workshops you’ve signed up for. It's worrisome how much he seems to know. ______________________________________________________

The following week, you're browsing a small bookshop across town, searching for inspiration. You turn a corner and nearly bump into someone. It's Yoongi, of course. He steadies you with a hand on your arm, his touch lingering a moment too long.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he jokes, but an intensity in his eyes makes you wonder if these encounters are truly accidental.

While standing in the same aisle as Yoongi, something nags at your gut. You watch him, suspicion churning in your mind as he carefully flips pages while making small talk– he's always so composed, yet his posture betrays a quiet tension. He runs a hand through his long, shoulder-length hair and asks about your latest novel, offering genuine encouragement and thoughtful critiques. As you listen, it hits you - he always seems to know exactly what to say, almost like he can read your mind.

He somehow knows your favorite authors and quotes them effortlessly. You find yourself second-guessing every word you say, unsure if these are naturally occurring thoughts or leading you to what he wants you to say. As he offers endless support for your writing career, there’s still that gnawing feeling that something about him is off, but you brush it aside as you bask in his attention toward your writing.

As you leave the shop, a nagging thought takes root. How is it that Yoongi keeps popping up wherever you are? The comfort of his presence is slowly giving way to a creeping sense of dismay.

As you walk home, the streetlights cast long shadows, and the evening air is crisp and quiet. Something feels different tonight - a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like invisible eyes tracking your every movement.

You glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Just empty sidewalks and parked cars. But the feeling persists.

Unconsciously, your pace quickens. You scan the reflections in store windows with your keys clutched between your fingers. For a moment, you think you glimpse a familiar silhouette - dark hair, lean frame. Yoongi? No, impossible. Just your imagination.

When you reach your ground-floor apartment, you pause before entering. The hallway seems too quiet, too still. You check your phone - no messages, no missed calls. Yet the unease remains.

Inside your apartment, you move to the window, kneel on the pillowy window seat, and pull the curtains slightly apart. The street below looks ordinary. Except... is that a person standing in the shadow of the streetlight? Somewhere between one breath and the next, you sense you are being watched. You squint but can't be sure. You shake your head and step away from the window. 

A notification pings from your open laptop sitting on your desk - a writing forum you frequent—a new message. From a username you don't recognize, but the writing style feels eerily familiar.

Your cursor hovers over the notification, a chill creeping up your spine as you click to open it. 

Subject: Your Poetry Speaks To My Soul I read your latest love poem. Interesting how you capture vulnerability - how some men are just... replaceable. Your current boyfriend? He's barely a footnote in the narrative of your potential. I noticed how you describe longing. The spaces between words. The unspoken desires. Your writing suggests you're meant for something more intense—someone who truly understands you. Your current relationship feels like a draft waiting to be edited and refined. Rewritten. Keep writing. I'm always reading. - An Admirer

Your heart rate quickens as you scroll, each word feeling like an invasion. You slam the laptop shut, your fingers tremble, and suddenly feel exposed. You glance at your window, curtains drawn, but for the first time, you wonder if they're truly enough to keep prying eyes out. The familiar comfort of your space now feels tainted, as if unseen eyes are boring into you from every shadow.

You frantically reach for your phone, heart racing with desperation as you search your recent contacts and find Jin’s number. In half a ring, he answers. "Hey," you gasp into the phone, barely able to get the words out. "Are you coming over tonight?”

“Yeah, in a few hou–”

“No! Please, I need you here now." Your voice trembles with urgency and a sense of desperation.

“Everything okay?” Jin asks with concern.

“No. I mean, yes, but… I think someone is stalking me.”

“What? Why do you think that?”

“Please, just hurry.”

“Already on my way, love.”

Jin listens intently as you pace the floor, recounting the recent coincidental yet unsettling events. Then, you show him the message. His brow furrows with concern as he leans over the computer desk, reading the message. 

His voice remains steady and reassuring, "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere." Jin softly pulls you into a gentle embrace. "You're safe with me."

He takes your hand, his touch grounding you in the present moment. "We should document it and get the police involved if you want. Either now or if you get another message.”

He guides you to the couch, sitting close. "And I'll stay with you as long as you need." Jin's presence and words wash over you like a soothing balm, providing a sense of safety and comfort in the face of uncertainty. 

As Jin continues speaking, his words gradually fade into background noise. His hand rubs your wrist and slowly moves to cup your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin sends subtle electricity through your body - a stark contrast to the cold fear from earlier.

Your breathing synchronizes, slowing down. His eyes, deep and intense, lock with yours. There's a moment of absolute stillness where you both seem to breathe the same air. Then he leans in. The kiss is soft, almost tentative. But it quickly transforms - becoming more intense, more urgent. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. 

This isn't just a kiss; it's a statement of protection, of claiming, of total reassurance.

You feel the tension from the anonymous message melt away, replaced by Jin's overwhelming passion. His lips move with a controlled intensity, making you feel safe and breathless. Each kiss feels like he's erasing your fear, replacing anxiety with a pure, visceral connection.

As he leans back, his chest rises and falls in sync with your own, both of you catching your breath after the intensity of the kiss. The air around you feels electric and charged with raw emotion.

He stands and strides toward the window. He pulls back the curtains, allowing moonlight to seep through the window like liquid silver and casting phantom-pale shadows across the window seat's plush cushion. Edges blur where the fabric meets darkness, creating a canvas of soft charcoal and muted grays.

“What are you doing?”

Jin peers outside, searching. “Just looking.” He turns and stretches out a hand, asking you to come to him. 

Outside, the night breathes - a silent, velvet expanse punctuated by distant pinpricks of starlight. Tree branches are ink-black silhouettes, their edges razor-sharp against the dark sky. Each branch moves with imperceptible slowness, a whispered dance too subtle for immediate perception. 

Your bodies are only inches apart. Tension fills the air around you, building with each passing second until it finally breaks. Your lips come back together with a fervent urgency. 

"Let's give ‘em a show," he whispers daringly, his words laced with a hint of mischief and excitement. You giggle, hesitant, but give in to the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

You gently push Jin onto the window seat and straddle his lap. The room fills with intense heat as your bodies move together in a rhythm that feels like pure ecstasy, perfectly synchronized as if they were made for each other. ______________________________________________________

I stand motionless in the shadows across the street, my eyes fixed on the illuminated window above. The moonlight that bathes the scene in ethereal silver seems to mock me, highlighting every detail I wish I could unsee. My fists clench at my sides, my knuckles pale with barely contained fury. Each movement within the window sends a fresh wave of rage coursing through me. The gentle caress, the passionate embrace - every gesture is a dagger twisting in my gut. With each piece of clothing that falls away, my breath comes in short, ragged pants. My eyes burn with a mixture of jealousy and obsession. The intimacy I witness isn't just a betrayal; it's a challenge to my perceived ownership, my twisted sense of entitlement. My nose wrinkles, my eyebrows knit tightly together, and my mouth curls downward in a disapproving frown. The passion I see ignites not desire but a cold, calculating anger that crystallizes into resolve. This display isn't just a show - it's a declaration of war. My mind races with dark possibilities. My eyes never leave the window, drinking in every detail, fueling my obsession and determination to possess what I believe should be mine.

__________________________________________________

A few days have passed since that night when Jin provided you with the comfort you desperately needed, but since then, Jin has become hard to reach, citing an unforeseen family emergency. He rarely mentions his family, and you can't recall any significant details he's shared about them.  But you've only been dating for less than a year.

His absence hangs in the air, a shadow that stubbornly clings to your consciousness. The abruptness of his departure leaves you staring at unanswered calls and a screen full of unread messages, each serving as a silent taunt of the widening gap between you. Confusion, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger, churns within you, a tangled storm of emotions. You find yourself torn between wanting to understand his sudden retreat and feeling betrayed by his uncharacteristic silence.

As the days stretch into weeks, your mind replays every moment with Jin, searching for clues you might have missed. The warmth of his smile, the gentle touch of his hand - was it all a farce? You try to distract yourself, but everywhere you look, reminders of him linger like stubborn ghosts.

A month later, you're waiting anxiously at the Polar Night Cafe. You spent the last thirty minutes writing in your notebook, but now your fingers are drumming an erratic rhythm on the table. As the clock ticks closer to the time Jin gave you, you fidget with the silverware on the table, trying to calm your nerves. 

Jin appears in the doorway, his usual polished appearance replaced by rumpled clothes and dark circles under his eyes. He approaches with trembling hands. He stands over you, not even bothering to take a seat.

"We need to talk," Jin says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't do this anymore. We're done."

Before you can respond, he's gone, leaving you stunned and confused. Unsatisfied, you jump up and run through the door, almost knocking someone over. You frantically look both ways down the sidewalk, but he’s nowhere to be seen. __________________________________________________

Jin's shoes scrape against the grimy pavement like nails on a chalkboard as he strides toward the ominous silhouette lurking in the alley. Sweat pours down his forehead in droplets, and his heart thunders in his chest like a war drum. "I did what you asked," he says, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the tremor threatening to break it. "Now promise me you'll leave my family alone."

"Once you're out of this city for good, you have my word," Yoongi's lips twist into a sinister, self-satisfied grin. Jin nods, turning to leave, his shoulders momentarily sagging with relief, yet a gnawing dread remains coiled in the pit of his stomach.

As Jin strides away, vivid flashes of Yoongi's menacing presence in unexpected places – lurking outside Jin's workplace, loitering near his parents' home – replay in his mind with a relentless, haunting intensity. These encounters had been chilling reminders of the ruthless control Yoongi exerted over him.

He vividly recalls the first time Yoongi confronted him, threatening to shatter his family if he didn't end things with you. The memory of photos taken inside his parent’s home, his brother’s place where his nephew played innocently in the yard, had been a suffocating weight, forcing Jin to lie to you and cruelly push you away.

As Jin fades into the night, he clings to the desperate hope that this final act will sever Yoongi's relentless grip. Yet, deep down, he knows the harrowing memories of this ordeal will linger, a dark shadow looming over his life, refusing to ever fully let go. __________________________________________________

Back at your apartment, you place your keys on the entryway table and notice something is missing. You pick the keys up again, searching for the mini book keychain Jin gifted you. You pat your pockets, hoping the keychain simply slipped off inside your coat. Nothing. Saddened, you finish setting your belongings on the table. 

You open your bag to grab your notebook, only to find it’s not there either. Panic rises in your throat. The notebook contains handwritten notes, little inside jokes, and memories you two shared throughout your relationship. 

Losing it feels like the nail in the coffin.

Your mind races, trying to retrace your steps. The last time you remember having the notebook was at the cafe. With a surge of hope, you grab your keys and rush to the door.

You swing the door open and gasp as you nearly run into the figure standing in front of you.

“Yoo–Yoongi? Wh–what are y– How do y–”

“Sorry! I looked up your address at the shop since you weren’t answering.”

You’d been dodging him on purpose. The sight of him standing there, concern etched across his features, sends a jolt through your system. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, a mix of surprise and guilt coursing through your veins. The lost notebook is momentarily forgotten, and you struggle to find words, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Yoongi's presence fills the doorway. His familiar scent wafts towards you—a blend of sandalwood and pages of old books. It's both comforting and peculiar, stirring up emotions you've been trying to suppress. Your fingers tighten around the keys in your hand, the metal biting into your palm, grounding you.

"I... I've been busy," you manage to stammer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. Your eyes dart away from his searching gaze, unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny. The hallway suddenly feels too small, too confining, as if the walls are closing around you both.

Yoongi digs into a satchel hanging on his shoulder, “ Oh, um, I was at the cafe and saw a notebook on one of the tables that looked just like yours." 

Your eyes widen in disbelief as Yoongi produces the familiar notebook from his satchel. A wave of relief washes over you, quickly followed by a surge of conflicting emotions.

You grab the book and clutch it to your chest. The weight of its contents – all those memories of Jin – suddenly feels heavier. You're acutely aware of Yoongi's presence and his kindness in bringing you this piece of you.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice thick with emotion. "This... it means a lot to me."

"I'm glad I could help. I know how important a journal can be to a writer."

There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. You realize you're still standing in the doorway, Yoongi just outside. 

“Well, I should probably call it a night…do some writing.”

Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair, “Maybe I could help?” 

“Hmm, maybe another time? I–”

“I’d love to help. I mean, I did come all this way with something important to you,” his smile makes him feel more friendly, but his words…

“Oh, um, sure. I guess for a little while.” 

As Yoongi steps inside, the air seems to thicken with tension. You clutch the notebook tighter as if it could shield you from the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Yoongi's eyes dart around your apartment, taking in the details before settling back on you.

"Nice place," he comments, his voice low and smooth. "Cozy."

You nod, unsure of what to say. The silence stretches between you, filled only by the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. Yoongi takes a step closer, and you instinctively take a step back.

"So," he begins, his gaze intense, "what kind of writing were you planning on doing?"

Your mind races, trying to come up with a plausible answer. "Just... just some personal stuff. Nothing special."

Yoongi's eyes narrow slightly, something unreadable passing across his face. "Personal stuff, huh?" He takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming in the small entryway. "You know, I couldn't help but notice some of the things written in that notebook when I found it."

Your breath hitches, panic surging at the thought of Yoongi reading the intimate details of your relationship with Jin. You clutch the notebook even tighter, your knuckles turning white.

"You... you read it?" you whisper, barely audible.

Yoongi shows an unsettling grin. "Just a glimpse. Enough to make me curious." He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the cover of the notebook. You flinch, but don't pull away. "Who's Jin?"

The sound of Jin's name rolling off Yoongi's tongue sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow hard, your throat tightening as dryness creeps in.

"He's... he was...my boyfriend, but he broke up with me," you stammer, still not over the events leading to his disappearance from your life.

Yoongi's eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and searching. "Was?" he prompts gently, but there's an undercurrent of something else in his voice. Curiosity? Jealousy?

The words hang heavy in the air between you. Yoongi's expression softens, a mix of surprise and sympathy crossing his features. But there's something else there, a glimmer of... cockiness?

The tension in the room shifts, becoming more complex. Yoongi takes a small step back, giving you some space. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "That must be hard."

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. The notebook, filled with memories and unresolved emotions, becomes heavier in your hands.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Yoongi asks, his voice gentle but probing.

You look up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes. It's a moment of vulnerability, and you realize you're at a crossroads. Do you open up to Yoongi about your past with Jin and your current emotional state? Or do you maintain the walls you've built?

"It's... complicated," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Yoongi nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "You know, it's okay to lean on friends sometimes," he says, his tone warm. "You don't have to go through everything alone."

His words strike a chord within you, and you feel a mix of gratitude and apprehension. 

The tension between you grows thick. Yoongi's eyes never leave yours, an intensity simmering beneath his calm exterior.

"I can make some tea," you say, breaking the tension. Your hands tremble slightly as you move toward the kitchen, setting the notebook on the dining table.

Yoongi doesn't respond immediately. When you glance back, he's studying the notebook, his fingers tracing its edges with an almost possessive carefulness. 

"Sure," he says finally, his voice smooth. "Tea sounds good." __________________________________________________

Months blur together as you grapple with the sudden breakup. One person, though, appears consistently, offering comfort and understanding. He showers you with attention, sending thoughtful gifts and messages filled with praise.

His words linger in your mind: "You deserve so much better." "I've always seen how special you are." 

Yoongi's presence becomes a constant in your life, a soothing balm to the raw wound Jin left behind. His attentiveness is a stark contrast to Jin's abrupt departure, and you find yourself drawn to his unwavering support.

His gifts become more extravagant, his compliments more effusive. He insists on always knowing your whereabouts, citing concern for your safety. When you mention spending time with others, his mood shifts abruptly.

The whirlwind attention that once felt exhilarating now leaves you feeling trapped and confused as your world shrinks to revolve mainly around Yoongi. You try to shake off the nagging doubts, focusing instead on his attentiveness. But the unease lingers, a constant whisper in the back of your mind.

As your worry grows, Yoongi seems to sense your hesitation. His approach shifts subtly, becoming less suffocating and more alluring. One evening, he surprises you with a candlelit dinner at his place.

"I know I can be intense," Yoongi admits, his vulnerability disarming. "I just want to make you happy."

His gaze locks onto yours, and you can't help but feel your walls start to crumble. 

Suddenly, Yoongi's hand brushes against yours, igniting a surge of electricity through your body.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me," he whispers, pulling you close.

His kiss is electric, evoking a passion you didn't know you possessed. Your doubts fade as desire takes over. Clothing falls away as you lose yourself in Yoongi's touch, his intensity now thrilling rather than frightening.

Yoongi's attentiveness translates into an uncanny ability to anticipate your every desire. Each touch, each kiss feels perfectly calibrated to drive you wild. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Yoongi whispers as he tugs at your underwear. 

“Wait.” You pull away from his embrace. “I-I’m not ready to–”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Yoongi slides his hand away, lightly resting on your lower back. “I’ve waited this long; I can wait some more.”

You relax into his arms, grateful for his understanding. But as you gaze into Yoongi's dark eyes, you see a flicker of something else - frustration, perhaps even anger, quickly masked behind a gentle smile. 

"Thank you," you murmur, nestling your head in the crook of his neck. 

Yoongi strokes your hair softly. "Anything for you, my love. You're worth waiting for."

There's a magnitude to Yoongi's devotion that thrills and unsettles you. As you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can't shake the feeling that you're being drawn deeper into something you may not fully understand. __________________________________________________

You wake to the scent of coffee and the soft rustling of sheets. Yoongi's warm body is pressed against yours, his arm draped possessively over your waist. As your eyes flutter open, you find him gazing at you with adoration and hunger.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I've never felt this way about anyone before," he confesses, his voice low and intense. "You're mine now, you know that, right?"

Something in his tone makes you pause, a flicker of your earlier hesitance resurfacing. But then Yoongi's lips find yours in a searing kiss, and all thoughts of doubt melt away. You lose yourself in the heat of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hands. 

When you finally break apart, breathless, Yoongi's eyes are dark with desire. "I need you," he growls, rolling on top of you. His weight pins you to the mattress as his lips trail down your neck. 

You gasp as he nips at your collarbone, pleasure with a pinch of pain. "Yoongi," you breathe, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He lifts his head, gaze burning into yours. "Say it," he demands. "Tell me you're mine."

A tiny voice in the back of your mind whispers a warning, but you ignore it. "I'm yours," you whisper.

Yoongi's answering smile is triumphant. "Good girl," he purrs, resuming his passionate ministrations.

“Wait.” He ignores your plea. He pushes his tongue against yours. You try to turn your head away, but he’s moved his hands to keep you in place. “Yoongi, stop,” you mumble as best you can. You push against his chest, trying to create some space between your bodies. "Yoongi, please," you say more firmly.

His eyes flutter with annoyance, but he rolls off you, propping himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong now?" he asks, voice tight with barely contained frustration.

You sit up, pulling the sheet around yourself. "I... this is all too fast. We… it’ hasn’t been that long–"

Yoongi's jaw clenches. "Hasn’t been that long? We’ve been dating for months!”

“Whoa, dating?”

“I thought we were on the same page here. You just said you were mine."

"I–but—"

"But what?" he snaps, sitting up fully now. "Are you playing games with me?"

You shake your head, fear creeping in at his sudden mood shift. "No, of course not. I just need to slow down–a little. I care about you, Yoongi, but this intensity is overwhelming."

His eyes narrow dangerously. "Overwhelming? I thought this was what you wanted." He reaches for you, gripping your wrist tightly. "You can't tease me like this and then back out."

You try to pull away, but his grip is like iron. "Yoongi, you're hurting me."

For a moment, his fingers tighten further. Then, abruptly, he releases you. You scramble backward on the bed, heart pounding.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, visibly trying to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he says, voice low. "I just... I love you so much. The thought of losing you is driving me crazy."

You rub your wrist, eyeing him warily. "What do you mean love?” You’re shocked at everything coming from his mouth.

Yoongi's eyes darken at your question. "What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? Of course I love you. I've loved you since the moment I first saw you."

A chill runs down your spine at the intensity in his voice. You try to keep your tone calm as you respond, "Yoongi, we barely know each other. Love takes time to–"

He shakes his head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. What we have is special, it's different. I’ve never felt this way before."

“Yoongi I–” You need to choose your words carefully. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He grabs your hand and kisses it, “I’ll go get your coffee.” 

You rush into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it with a sense of urgency that blurs the line between seeking solace and desperate escape. You crank the faucet to its maximum, water roaring as you clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to suppress the relentless thundering of your heart. You splash water on your face, feeling it cascade chaotically over the counter, and stare hard at your reflection in the mirror, your face pale and gaunt as fear courses down your spine.

In the mirror, a sudden black shape jutting from the ceiling tile arrests your attention, making your heart skip a beat. The faucet's roar fills your ears. You climb onto the toilet, lift the ceiling tile with trembling hands, and cautiously probe the hidden space above, torn apart by the conflicting forces of curiosity and dread. Your fingers close around some fabric and a solid object, and you pull them down, your mind swirling with possibilities.

Tink. A smaller object clatters onto the ceramic floor, and you freeze, breath caught in your throat. Your eyes dart to the door, bracing for his voice. Carefully stepping down from the toilet, you retrieve the item, nearly losing your footing, caught in a mix of relief and fear. You shut off the faucet, collapsing onto the toilet, your eyes scanning the items with a tumultuous mix of emotions.

There it is—a little book keychain from Jin, thought to be lost forever. A black lingerie bodice you distinctly remember discarding in a fit of heartbreak after Jin left you. And a notebook. Your notebook. The repository of clandestine messages between you and Jin, returned to you by Yoongi. Tears brim, teetering on the edge of release, as a storm of emotions churns violently within you, just as Yoongi's voice pierces the fragile silence from the other side of the door.

"Are you alright in there?" Yoongi's voice is laced with concern, but it sends a chill down your spine.

You quickly shove the items back where you found them, your hands trembling. "Y-yes, I'm fine," you call out, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just feeling a bit dizzy."

"Do you need help?" The doorknob rattles slightly, and you're grateful you locked it.

"No, I'll be out in a minute," you reply, frantically trying to compose yourself.

Your mind races. Why does Yoongi have these things? How long has he been collecting them? The implications are terrifying, but you force yourself to take deep breaths. You need to act normal, to buy time to figure out what to do.

You flush the toilet and run the water again, splashing your face again. In the mirror, you see a pale, wide-eyed version of yourself staring back. You take a deep breath, willing your expression to calm. As you reach for a towel to dry your face, you glance at the ceiling, ensuring nothing looks out of place. You unlock the door and step out, forcing a weak smile.

Yoongi's dark eyes search your face, concern etched in his features. "You look pale. Maybe you should lie down for a bit."

"That's probably a good idea," you murmur, allowing him to guide you to the bed. 

You perch on the edge of the bed, your fingers gripping the rumpled sheets, your heart pounding with indecision. Your thoughts swirl in a chaotic dance, a tangled web of plans that beckon you forward and hesitations that hold you back. 

“Actually, I–I think maybe– I’m just hungry.” You force a smile.

Yoongi nods, reaching out to stroke your cheek. His touch makes you flinch involuntarily, and his eyes narrow slightly.

"Why don't you get dressed, and we can go grab some breakfast?" he suggests, his tone casual but his gaze intense.

You nod, clutching the mug like a lifeline. "That sounds good. I'll just... change real quick."

As you turn to grab your clothes, your mind races.  

You try to keep your movements calm and deliberate as you pull on your clothes, but your hands shake. The items you found in the bathroom ceiling have shattered your world. How long has Yoongi been watching you? How did he get those things? And most disturbingly, how much does he know about your relationship with Jin? Why did he make a copy of your notebook?

You can feel Yoongi's eyes on you as you dress, his gaze burning into your back. You desperately need to find your phone and call for help, but you're afraid of what he might do if he catches you. You need to get out of here, but you have to be smart about it.

"Ready to go?" Yoongi asks, his voice deceptively light.

You turn to face him, plastering on a smile. "Yes, let's go."

As you walk out of the bedroom, Yoongi's hand settles on the small of your back, guiding you. His touch feels possessive, almost threatening now. You fight the urge to pull away, knowing you need to play along until you can find a way out.

As you reach the front door, Yoongi suddenly pauses. "Oh, I almost forgot," he says, reaching into his pocket. "I have something for you."

Your heart races as he pulls out a small velvet box. He opens it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with his name engraved on a pendant. "To show the world you're mine," he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You force yourself to smile back as he fastens it around your neck. The pendant feels like a collar, marking you as his possession. "It's beautiful," you lie.

Yoongi beams, pulling you close for a kiss. You let him kiss you, trying not to recoil at his touch. As his lips press against yours, your mind races, searching for a way out of this nightmare.

When he finally pulls away, you manage a weak smile. "Thank you, Yoongi. It's lovely."

He nods, satisfied, and opens the door. As you step outside, you take a deep breath of fresh air, feeling like you can finally breathe again. But Yoongi's hand is still on your back, a constant reminder of your precarious situation.

As you walk to his car, you scan the street, hoping to see a neighbor or anyone who might help. But the street is deserted this early on a weekend morning. 

Yoongi opens the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman. As you slide in, you notice your phone is missing from your purse. Your stomach drops as you realize he must have taken it while you were in the bathroom. You try to keep your face neutral as panic rises in your chest.

Yoongi gets in the driver's seat and starts the car. As he pulls out of the driveway, you clear your throat. "Um, I think I left my phone inside, I’ll–"

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "You don’t need it; it’ll be there when we get back."

You nod, "Okay, yeah."

As Yoongi drives, you stare out the window, desperately trying to formulate a plan. You need to get away from him, but without your phone, you feel helpless. You consider making a run for it when you stop at a red light, but Yoongi's hand suddenly grips your thigh as if sensing your thoughts.

"Everything okay, beautiful?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

You force a smile. "Yes, just hungry."

He nods, seemingly satisfied, but his hand remains on your leg as he drives—your mind races, trying to think of a way out. Then, you spot a busy cafe up ahead.

"Oh, can we stop there?" you ask, pointing. "I love their pastries."

Yoongi hesitates, then nods. "Sure, why not?"

As he parks, you see your chance. "I'll run in and grab us something," you offer. "What would you like?"

"I'll come with you," he says, reaching for his seatbelt.

"No!" you say too quickly. You soften your tone, trying to cover your panic. "I mean, you don't have to. It'll just take a minute. Why don't you find a good parking spot? The street's pretty crowded."

Yoongi studies you for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Finally, he nods. "Alright. I’ll have a chocolate croissant."

You force a smile. "Of course. I'll be right back."

As you step out of the car, your legs feel shaky. You walk towards the cafe, fighting the urge to run. You can feel Yoongi's eyes on you as you push open the door.

Inside, the cafe is bustling with morning customers. You scan the room frantically, looking for help. Your eyes land on a young woman behind the counter. As you approach, you lean in close.

"Please," you whisper urgently, "I need help. The man I'm with—he's dangerous. Can you call the police?"

The barista's eyes widen in alarm. She gives a slight nod, reaching for her phone under the counter. 

"What can I get started for you?" she asks loudly for the benefit of anyone listening.

You rattle off Yoongi's order, then add, "And I'll have whatever sandwich takes the longest, please."

As she rings you up, you glance nervously towards the door. Through the window, you can see Yoongi's car idling at the curb. He's watching the cafe intently.

"The police are on their way," the barista murmurs as she hands you a receipt. "Just try to stay calm and keep him here if you can."

You nod gratefully, moving to the side to wait for your order. Your heart pounds as you watch the door, praying the police arrive before Yoongi gets suspicious. 

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes. You freeze as Yoongi walks in, his eyes immediately finding you. 

"I thought I'd join you after all," he says, his voice low as he reaches your side. His hand grips your arm tightly. "What's taking so long?"

You force a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just a busy morning. Our order should be up soon."

Yoongi's eyes narrow as he scans the cafe and locks eyes with the barista. You can see the suspicion growing in his gaze. "Let's go," he says abruptly. "We can get breakfast somewhere else."

"But I've already paid," you protest weakly.

His grip on your arm tightens painfully. "I said, let's go," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

You glance desperately at the barista, watching the exchange with wide eyes. She gives you a slight nod, mouthing, "Any minute now."

But Yoongi is already pulling you towards the door. You stumble, trying to slow him down without being too obvious. "Yoongi, please," you plead. "Can't we just wait for our order?"

His eyes flash with anger. "What's going on?" he demands. "Why are you acting so strange?"

Your heart races as you search for an excuse. "I-I'm just not feeling well," you stammer. "I think I need to sit down for a minute."

Yoongi pulls you toward the door. "Miss, your order is ready," the barista calls out, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Yoongi freezes, his grip on your arm loosening slightly. You can see the conflict in his eyes - his desire to leave warring with his need to maintain appearances. 

"Of course," he says smoothly, turning back to the counter. "We wouldn't want to waste good coffee and food, would we?"

As you approach the counter, you notice the barista's hand trembling slightly as she passes over your drinks. Her eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of fear there. You want to reassure her, to tell her everything will be okay, but you know better than to draw Yoongi's attention.

"Lovely weather we're having," the barista says with forced cheerfulness, her eyes darting between you and Yoongi. You appreciate her trying to stall him.

Yoongi's jaw clenches. "Yes, lovely," he replies curtly, cutting off any further conversation. He snatches the drinks from the counter, spilling a bit in his haste.

You feel a chill run down your spine as his eyes narrow, scanning the cafe once more. His paranoia is palpable, and you know he senses something is amiss.

"Let's sit," you suggest quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Just for a minute."

Yoongi hesitates as if he will sit, then shakes his head and guides you out the door. You look back and see the barista talking to other workers. Yoongi’s steps are fast, and before you know it, you're driving away from the cafe, just as blue lights flicker in the car’s side view mirror.

The drive is tense, filled with loaded silence and Yoongi's tight grip on the steering wheel. Noticing you’re getting further from his place and out of the city.

“Yoongi? Where are you going?”

As you wind up narrow mountain roads, isolation settles over you like a heavy blanket.

“I think you just need some time out of the city air, ya know. Somewhere less polluted and more quiet for your creative juices to ignite. You haven’t written in days.”

Your blood runs cold at his words. "I... I don't need to go anywhere," you say, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "Please, can we just go back? My phone."

Yoongi's jaw clenches. "Don't you trust me?" he asks, his tone dangerously soft. "I'm only trying to help you, to take care of you. You know how much I love you."

The word 'love' makes you flinch. This isn't love - it's obsession. You glance out the window, watching as the city fades away, replaced by dense forest. 

You realize with growing dread that if Yoongi takes you somewhere remote, your chances of escape or rescue will plummet.

"Yoongi, please," you try again, fighting to keep your voice steady. "I appreciate the thought, but I really don't feel well. Can we please just go back?"

He smacks the steering wheel, "Why are you fighting this? I'm doing this for us. For our future together."

A chill runs down your spine at his words. "Sorry.”

He reaches over, gripping your hand tightly. "Don't worry, baby. We're almost there. You'll feel better soon."

You swallow hard, fighting back tears. "Where exactly are we going?"

Yoongi's smile is unsettling. "It's a surprise. A special place just for us."

Somehow, you drifted off to sleep, only waking up to the sound of the tires compressing and breaking the snow beneath them. In front of you, a small, secluded cabin nestled in the woods. Yoongi pulls up to it and kills the engine.

"Welcome home," he says, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that chills you to the bone.

You stare at the cabin, your heart pounding. It's surrounded by trees. No neighbors in sight. No one to hear you scream.

"Isn't it perfect?" Yoongi asks, squeezing your hand. "I've been preparing it for weeks. Now we can be alone, just the two of us."

You force a smile, trying to hide your terror. "It's... lovely. But Yoongi, don’t you have work? We can't stay here."

His expression darkens. "Work doesn't matter anymore. I'll take care of everything."

As he gets out of the car, you frantically search for an escape. But he's already at your door, opening it.

"Come on, beautiful. Let me show you around."

With shaking legs, you step out. Yoongi's arm wraps around your waist, guiding you toward the cabin. You notice thick curtains covering all the windows. The front door looks like one solid slab of wood. Yoongi pulls out a key and unlocks it, ushering you inside.

The interior is surprisingly cozy, with plush furniture and warm lighting. But your eyes are drawn to the details that send chills down your spine - no visible phone or computer, the bars on the windows, an open pantry stocked with enough food to last for weeks.

"What do you think?" Yoongi asks, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I've thought of everything we'll need."

You force a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's... very thorough. You've clearly put a lot of thought into this."

Yoongi beams, pulling you closer. "Of course I have. I want everything to be perfect for us."

As he leads you on a tour of the cabin, pointing out all the amenities he's prepared, your mind races. You need to find a way to contact someone, anyone, for help. But there's no phone in sight, and you doubt Yoongi will let you out of his sight long enough to search for one.

"And here's the bedroom," Yoongi says, opening the last door. Your breath catches as you see the large bed dominating the room, covered in rose petals. On the nightstand, you spot a framed photo of yourself - one you don't remember taking.

"When did you take that picture?"

He simply chuckles, and then your eyes are drawn to metal rings bolted to the bedposts. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize their purpose.

You feel your heart rate spike as you stare at those metal rings, your mind conjuring horrifying scenarios. Yoongi follows your gaze and smiles, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"Just a precaution," he says softly, running his hand down your arm. "In case you get any ideas about leaving me."

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yoongi, this is... this is too much. We need to go back. People will be looking for me…for us."

His grip on your arm tightens painfully. "No one will look for you here. I've taken care of everything."

Panic rises in your chest as the full gravity of your situation sinks in. You're trapped here, miles from civilization, with a man who's clearly unhinged.

"Please," you whisper, tears welling in your eyes. "Let me go. This isn't right, Yoongi. You can't keep me here against my will."

His expression darkens, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I'm not keeping you against your will. You want to be here with me. You love me."

"No, I don't," you scream, finding a sudden surge of courage. "This isn't love, Yoongi. It's obsession. You need help."

For a moment, hurt flashes across his face. Then, his features harden into a mask of anger. "You don't mean that," he growls. "You're just confused. You'll see how perfect we are together."

He grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the bed. You struggle against his grip, panic rising. "Stop! Let me go!"

But Yoongi is stronger, easily overpowering you. He pushes you onto the bed, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. With the other, he reaches for one of the metal rings.

"I didn't want to have to do this," he says, his voice eerily calm. "But you leave me no choice. You'll thank me later when you realize that we belong together."

You flail wildly, your limbs jerking in a frantic attempt to escape, but every movement feels futile against the relentless grip holding you in place. Rough cloth coils tightly around your wrists, threading through cold, unforgiving metal rings that clink softly with each struggle.  Tears stream down your face as Yoongi moves to secure your other arm.

"Please," you sob. "Yoongi, this isn't you. Let me go and we can get you help."

He pauses, cupping your face gently. "Shh, it's okay. I know you're scared right now, but you'll see. This is for the best."

Your mind races frantically as he secures your other wrist. You need to keep him talking, buy yourself time to think of a way out of this nightmare.

"How long have you been planning this?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Yoongi smiles, running his fingers through your hair. "For months. Ever since I first saw you. I knew then that you were meant to be mine."

A chill runs down your spine at his words. "But we barely know each other. How can you be so sure?"

His eyes darken. "I know everything about you. Your favorite foods, the songs you listen to when you're sad, how you take your coffee in the morning. I've been watching you.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. "No one's going to find you here. I've covered all our tracks." He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. "It's just you and me now. Forever."

A chill runs down your spine at his words. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing this to be a nightmare you'll wake up from. But the cold metal biting into your wrists is all too real.

Yoongi stands, admiring his handiwork. "There. Now, you can't do anything foolish." His eyes roam over your restrained form, a possessive gleam in them that makes your skin crawl.

“I need you." He leans in closer, his hand caressing your cheek. "And I'll make you see how perfect we are together."

You wrench your face away from his touch, your heart pounding.

His jaw clenches. "You just don't understand yet. But you will." He turns away, heading for the door. "I'll give you some time to think. When I come back, you'll see things differently."

As the door closes behind him, you hear the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

Left alone, you frantically pull at the restraints, but they hold fast. Your wrists ache from the effort as tears of frustration and fear stream down your face. You force yourself to take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

You need to find a way out of this nightmare. But how? You're restrained, locked in a remote cabin with no phone or way to contact help. And Yoongi, the man you thought you knew, has become a terrifying stranger.

You scan the room, searching for anything that might help you escape. Your eyes land on the framed photo on the nightstand. If you could somehow reach it, maybe you could use the glass to cut the cloth.

You strain against the restraints, inching your body towards the edge of the bed. Pain shoots through your shoulders as you stretch, toes just barely grazing the frame.

Just as your toes brush the edge of the frame, you hear footsteps approaching. Quickly, you pull back, trying to appear as if you haven't moved. Your heart pounds as the lock clicks and the door swings open.

Yoongi enters, carrying a cup of water. His eyes roam over you, checking that you're still securely restrained. "I thought you might be thirsty," he says, setting the cup on the nightstand.

You eye the water longingly, suddenly aware of how parched you are. Yoongi notices and smiles. "Would you like some water?" he asks, picking up the glass.

“I would like to be untied.”

He brings the glass of water to your lips, encouraging a few sips.“Will you be good if I do?”

You nod.

Yoongi sets the water down and straddles you, hands resting on the headboard. “You look so beautiful under me. Can you promise not to say no tonight? Can we take our relationship to the next level?”

Your chest rattles with your breath as you stare blankly back at Yoongi. You nod once, and he starts undoing the cuffs.

“Let’s get you changed into something more comfortable.” He pulls out one of his t-shirts from a drawer and motions for you to get changed. You do. You only need to make it to the front door.

In the living room, Yoongi's mood brightens. He pours wine to go with some finger sandwiches, lights a fire, and pulls you close. His lips are more possessive, his hands gripping you tighter than usual. You try to relax into his embrace, but your body remains tense.

As you sip the wine, a bitter taste lingers, and after a few minutes, your vision begins to blur. Is there something in the wine? You force a smile, trying to reassure Yoongi that everything is fine, but your mind is racing. You need to get out of here, and fast.

"I–I need to use the restroom," you say, trying to sound casual despite the panic rising inside.

Yoongi's grip loosens slightly as he nods, his eyes never leaving yours. You take the opportunity to step away, legs feeling heavy and uncoordinated due to the wine.

You make a dash for the door, heart pounding in your chest. Yoongi's voice calls out behind you, but you don't look back. You fumble with the door handle, fingers slipping due to the numbness spreading through your body.

Just as you manage to open the door, Yoongi catches up, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you back. You struggle against him, but your strength is fading. With a final sprint out the door, you stumble into the night, gasping for air, but you are free. You let out a sigh of relief before you feel faint and begin to fall.

Yoongi catches you as you stumble, lifting you effortlessly. "Shh, it's okay. I got you. You're safe with me," he whispers, carrying you back to the bedroom.

Your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Panic rises in your chest as you realize you can't move. Yoongi lays you gently on the bed, his fingers trailing down your cheek.

"You've been pulling away from me," he says softly. "I can't let that happen. Don't you see? We're meant to be together. Forever."

His fingers slide your shirt just above your hips. You try to protest, but your tongue feels thick in your mouth. Only a weak moan escapes your lips.

"Shh, don't fight it," Yoongi soothes. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

His hands roam your body, each touch sparking a flicker of fear that spreads like wildfire through your veins. You want to scream, to push him away, but your body remains paralyzed. Tears of frustration and terror leak from the corners of your eyes as Yoongi's touches become more intimate.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I knew from the moment I saw you that you would be mine."

His words, once thrilling, now send chills down your spine. You struggle to keep your eyes open, fighting against whatever the wine is laced with. Through the haze, you see a glint of metal on the nightstand - a syringe and a small vial.

Yoongi notices your gaze and smiles. "Don't worry, my love. That will help you relax even more. Soon, you'll forget all about wanting to leave me."

You struggle to move, to speak, but your body remains unresponsive. Yoongi's hands resume their exploration of your skin, his touch both familiar and terrifying.

"I've waited so long for this," he breathes. "To have you all to myself, with no distractions. No one to come between us."

As he speaks, his fingers trail down to the waistband of your underwear. With agonizing slowness, he begins to pull at them. You try to summon every ounce of willpower to move, to resist, but your limbs remain leaden.

"Shh," Yoongi soothes. "I know you're scared, but I promise I'll take good care of you. You'll learn to love this – to love me – completely."

Yoongi pulls away and undresses himself, exposing his full erection. 

You shake your head as best you can as tears spill down your face. 

“Don’t worry, I’d never force you…I’ll just show you what you could have.”

Yoongi's eyes darken with desire as he drinks in the sight of you. A chill runs across your exposed skin.

"Perfect," he murmurs. "You're absolutely perfect."

His one hand ghosts over your thigh, and the other grips his dick loosely. Your body begins to respond to his touch. Shame and arousal warring within you as Yoongi's fingers dance closer to your core.

"Soon you’ll beg for it," his voice a harsh rasp. His words repulse you.

His fist circles him, raises, and lowers as arousal drips from his tip. Your slightest movement makes him hiss with desire. “Imagine my dick inside you, making us both feel so good, and you calling my name. Say it. Say my name.” 

Despite the horrifying situation you find yourself in, you obey merely to stay unharmed. "Yoongi..." 

He doesn't miss a beat, interpreting your compliance as encouragement. "That's it, baby. Imagine me making you feel good." His voice was soothing, at odds with the coldness in his eyes. “I can only imagine how good I’d feel inside you, filling you up, sliding in and out.”

Yoongi's hand moves faster on his shaft as he watches you intently. His eyes gleam with satisfaction as his movements become more urgent, his breathing heavy with anticipation. His free hand lands on your thigh and squeezes too hard, eliciting a groan from you.

“Fuck, I want to hear you under me. You're so beautiful like this," Yoongi murmurs. "Completely at my mercy." His ministrations intensify as he works himself closer to release. As his climax approaches, his grip on you tightens, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. 

 You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of Yoongi pleasuring himself. But you can't escape the sounds - his ragged breathing, the slick noises of his hand on his shaft, the occasional grunt or moan. Your skin crawls where he touches you, but you can’t pull away.

"Look at me," Yoongi commands harshly. 

Reluctantly, you open your eyes. His face is flushed, eyes dark with lust as they roam over your body. You feel exposed and vulnerable. 

"That's it," he pants. "Watch me come for you."

His movements become erratic as he nears his peak. With a strangled groan, Yoongi climaxes, spilling onto his hand and stomach. Some lands on your thigh, and you flinch.  

For a moment, the only sound is Yoongi's heavy breathing as he comes down from his high. His eyes remain fixed on you as he shows a satisfied smirk.

"Good girl," he murmurs, reaching out to caress your cheek. You feel the urge to recoil from his touch. "You did so well for me."

Yoongi grabs a tissue from nearby, cleaning himself off with casual nonchalance. Your skin crawls where his release landed on you, but you can't move to wipe it away.

"Now," he says, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you want your reward."

Your heart races as Yoongi shifts closer, his hand sliding up your inner thigh. You want to scream, to fight, to run - but whatever he dosed you with keeps you frozen in place.

Distant sirens wail, a haunting sound that sets your pulse pounding in your ears. Yoongi's gaze darts between the bedroom door and your eyes, his face a mask of urgency and fear. 

“What did you say at that cafe?” he demands. Without waiting for an answer, he bolts from the room, leaving you suspended in a moment that stretches endlessly.

When Yoongi returns, his movements are frantic, his focus solely on the nightstand. Your eyes track his every move, your breaths turning shallow and rapid. “No! Yoongi, please!” you plead, your voice cracking with desperation.

“You did this! All I wanted was forever with you! You messed it up!” he shouts, his voice raw with betrayal as his hands tremble, drawing liquid from the small vial into the syringe. His anger is a palpable force, overshadowed only by the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. He climbs onto the bed beside you, his expression a mix of sorrow and determination. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” His grip is firm yet gentle as he restrains your arm, carefully sliding the needle into your vein. “I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.”

The world blurs around you, a dizzying spiral that pulls you down. You struggle to maintain focus, blinking slowly to anchor yourself. Yoongi leans close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “I love you.”

And then, everything dissolves into darkness.

__________________________________________________

There was a moment when everything began to blur—the boundary between love and obsession, trust and control, reality and the story I weaved for you. I saw it happen, subtle at first, like a smudge on an otherwise pristine page. You didn’t notice it, and that was the beauty of it. You believed in the lines I drew for you, the ones I carefully blurred with every passing day. 

I knew exactly how to write myself into your world: the attentive listener, the quiet presence you leaned on more and more. You didn’t question how I always knew the right words to say or why I seemed to appear just when you needed me most. I was careful, deliberate, and precise. I gave you exactly what you needed, until I became the only thing you needed.

Now, from this grimy motel room, your picture in my hands and a new laptop glowing before me, I wonder if you’re thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you. I replay the CCTV feed; the fluorescent lights of the police station flicker faintly as you’re sitting there, your hands trembling as you hand over the photographs. I know which one you linger on—the one you took when you still believed I was something good.

A slow smile tugs at my lips as I imagine it. You’re unraveling, just as I knew you would.

The detective’s words about serial killers and geographic patterns amuse me. They think they know me, that they’ve pieced together the puzzle. They don’t realize I’m not bound by their definitions. To them, it’s about profiles and patterns. To me, it’s you—you’re my masterpiece.

You still don’t understand, do you? The lines were never blurred for me. They were deliberate strokes, each one like the inked lines of a pen dragged across parchment, shaping a story exactly as I envisioned it. I watched you fall into them, unaware of the fine threads pulling you closer to me. Even now, as you sit in your apartment, double-checking the locks on your doors and windows, I know your fear belongs to me. 

It fuels me. 

Not because I want to harm you—no, that’s not it. I want to possess you, to occupy every corner of your mind and every beat of your heart.

But I won’t come for you. Not yet. I’m patient, after all. The timing has to be perfect. When I do return, it won’t be as the monster you fear but as the man you once trusted. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The way trust can twist and contort, the way love can be reshaped into something unrecognizable.

For now, I’ll wait. I’ll let the fear settle into your bones, let it keep you awake at night. Because when the time comes, when I step back into your life, you won’t know whether to run from me or fall into my arms.

And that is where the real story lies— beauty born from chaos.

[moonleeai]

Be With You | ch 1

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: this one starts with a memorial service, childhood/high school friend of brother died in car accident, mentions of flat earthers and other conspiracies, mentions of alcohol, cursing, a school project, Byeol <3, oc's birthday, san is cute and cocky at the same time, explicit content: grinding, dirty talking, jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, he comes in her mouth, big dick!San, oc is a brat hihi

☆word count: 12.9k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: chapter one is hereeee hope y'all enjoy <3 and the beginning of this one might be a lil hard to some of y'all, don't hesitate to reach out if you need to talk! Last but not least, thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Sunday, September 22nd

You’ve been staring at a light ray for a couple of minutes, the serene ambiance of the church making you feel sleepy.

Or as sleepy as one can get during a memorial service.

Dust plays in the light ray, the stained glass colouring the light and dust in different hues of red, blue and yellow, with some green sprinkled into it. The priest is talking at the altar, relating a passage from the Bible that you don’t care to listen to, and all you can think about is the stupid project you have to do after this.

It’s not that you didn’t care about Nick - he was a friend through high school, but three years have passed since you graduated and last spoke to him. More than that, you’ve never been of the emotional kind, especially not in public. You cried when you got the news, but that was that.

Your brother shifts next to you, and you shoot him a look. He answers with a sad smile, and you pat his thigh, trying to offer him support.

Yunho was always closer to Nick. Maybe because they are both guys, and they were on the same hockey team for years. So, learning about Nick’s car crash hit him like a train, and he’s been a mess since you’ve learned. Luckily enough, your best friend Sydney has been here with you, and if there’s one thing that can cheer Yunho up, you know it’s her.

He’s been in love with her ever since he figured out what love was in middle school, after all. 

Sydney nudges you with an elbow, and you throw her a look next.

“You okay?” she mouths.

You nod but then motion towards Yunho. She leans forward just enough to catch sight of your brother, and a crease appears between Sydney’s eyebrows as she frowns. She then sits back, sighing, and you purse your lips before resuming your attention on the memorial service.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of dust and amens and prayers, and then you’re walking out into the early fall evening, the rich scent of the forest surrounding the church hitting you head on.

Yunho walks with his head down, aimlessly kicking a rock, and you push Sydney towards him, knowing that she’ll be much better than you at cheering him up. She falls into step with him, hooking her arm with his, and Yunho throws her his “lovesick puppy” look that she never interprets.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he says.

“Of course,” Sydney answers back. “He was my friend too.”

You consider chiming in from behind with the same thing, but you let them have their moment, instead pulling your phone out of your purse. You’ve received a couple of text messages, most of them from the guy you’re doing your project with later.

[4:12 pm] San: still on for tonight? [4:39 pm] San: hello? [5:01 pm] San: please let me know [5:02 pm] San: cause if not i’ll plan something else😉

You roll your eyes, swiping up so the conversation opens, and you quickly fire back an answer.

[5:10 pm] You: chill, i was at a memorial service [5:10 pm] You: yes, we’re still on

You’re sitting on the back seat of Sydney’s car by the time San replies, and you sigh audibly as you read.

[5:14 pm] San: lol my condolences [5:15 pm] San: come to my place anytime

“What’s wrong?” Sydney says, and she glances at you in the rearview mirror.

“This dude is annoying,” you say, raising your phone. “And I’m fucking stuck with him for my populism and conspiracy culture class.”

“Not your flat-earthers class.”

You laugh. “Yeah.” You show her your phone. “And San is just this random, classic college fuckboy that the professor assigned as my partner.”

“Choi San?” Yunho lets out.

You frown. “You know him?”

Yunho glances at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, we’ve got friends in common.”

Your frown deepens. “You have friends?”

“Y/n!” Sydney chimes in, and you burst out laughing.

It wins you a smile from Yunho, and that most of all makes it worth it, if only so that he stops looking so devastated.

The rest of the ride is spent in easy conversation, though you all avoid the topic of Nick, the heaviness from the memorial service still lingering in the air. You text San to ask if you could meet at the library, but apparently it’s closed due to a water leakage.

When you get to the apartment, you follow behind Yunho with Sydney as he unlocks the front door, and then you climb up the stairs to the third level. Yunho opens the door, and you kick off your shoes the moment you’re in.

“You guys want to eat something?” you say to no one in particular.

Yunho shrugs, the grief clearly hitting him again, and you look at Sydney, before pointedly looking towards Yunho. Sydney gets the message, and she pulls Yunho to the living room while you head to the kitchen.

Though there are some pizza leftovers in the fridge from last night’s dinner - your birthday dinner, yet you don’t particularly like pizza - you decide to cook some mac’n’cheese for the three of you, seeking a meal you know always cheers Yunho up.

It takes you about fifteen minutes, but then you’re walking out of the kitchen with two bowls wafting steam, and Yunho meets your gaze as you stop in front of him and Sydney where they’re lounging on the couch.

Each on their own side, but you don’t miss the way Yunho is slightly leaning towards her.

“Eat this,” you tell your brother, shoving the bowl in his hands.

You hand the other to Sydney, who thanks you while Yunho just stares at the food. You narrow your gaze, tapping the top of his. “Eat, Yunho. You need the food.”

It’s like he snaps out of a daze, and he nods as he picks up the fork and takes a bite. You wait until he’s eaten a couple of them before heading back to the kitchen, where you grab your own bowl. You’re back in the living room in no time, and you sit on the floor with your back against the couch, eyes going to the TV.

“Are you guys really watching Love is Blind?” you ask, almost in disbelief.

Sydney laughs sheepishly. “I just thought it could be great to watch a dumb show for a little while.”

“I like the show,” Yunho deadpans, and you think of course he does.

Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in him, but he’s indeed always liked dating shows. It’s something you and Sydney don’t relate to - there’s just so much human stupidity you can take before getting annoyed.

“You need to get better tastes in TV shows,” you fire back, and then you eat a spoonful of noodles.

“And you need to stop being a bitch.”

You glare at your brother over your shoulder, though you don’t miss the teasing glint in his eyes. You love to see it there, so you let the insult slide, instead focusing on eating and watching the show in comfortable silence.

You’re almost done with your food when your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, where you put it down when you sat. Your eyes slide to it to notice it’s San texting you again, and you keep your annoyance at bay as you pick up your phone.

[6:34 pm] San: are you going to be here soon?

You can’t help it - you sigh again, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sydney.

“That guy again?” she asks.

You nod. “I don’t know why I said it was a good idea to do the project tonight,” you say.

Because of course you’d been the one to suggest it last Monday, though you hadn’t planned to have a memorial service today. 

Not that it’s something you can usually plan.

“I’m pretty sure he’d understand if you cancelled,” Sydney says. “It’s your birthday, and with what we were up to today…”

You shrug. “Ah, it’s fine. We celebrated my birthday yesterday.”

You did, and though you didn’t drink a single sip of alcohol, you still managed to have fun with your friends, Yunho even tagging along because you didn’t want to let him mope at home.

“Still,” Sydney insists.

You shrug again, and this time you don’t bother answering before texting San.

[6:36 pm] You: what’s your addy

You finish eating while waiting for his reply, and though part of you does find it strange that he wants you to meet at his apartment, you still call an Uber once you’ve put your bowl away in the sink, Sydney promising that she’ll do the dishes later.

“Do you want me to drive you there?” Sydney asks once you’re getting ready to leave.

You shake your head. “My Uber is already almost here, just stay here with Yunho.”

Yunho shoots her that same lovesick puppy look that she’s entirely blind too, and Sydney ignores it, as she always does.

“Do you need me to come pick you up?” she adds a heartbeat later

You shrug your shoulders. “Nah, I’ll just call an Uber again, don’t worry about it.”

Sydney narrows her gaze as she looks at you from where she’s standing by the kitchen, having followed you out after you put the dishes away. “Are you planning to not come home tonight?”

You snort. “No, I’m definitely coming home. But I want to get a lot of this project done, so feel free to head home before I come back.”

“I thought the plan was for me to stay over,” she says.

She’s right - you’d planned for her to stay after the memorial, though you’d then completely forgotten about your project when you’d planned so.

“True, true,” you let out as you put your shoes on. “Stay here then, and I’ll see you guys later.”

They echo the sentiment, and you finish getting ready, grabbing your school bag and making sure that the Uber is here.

“Don’t have too much fun,” Yunho teases as you get the confirmation that the Uber is downstairs, your hand already on the doorknob.

You cock an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that a project on the Illuminati will be a lot of fun, so I got that covered.”

Sydney chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

You don’t miss her wink, and you ignore it, rolling your eyes. “You guys don’t have too much fun without me!”

Yunho’s cheeks slightly tint with pink, and you don’t know how Sydney misses it. But then again she’s been oblivious to Yunho’s feelings for her ever since he started having them all those years ago.

A moment later, you’re sitting at the back of the Uber with your school bag next to you, and the car starts driving towards San’s apartment. You text him that you’re on your way, and then you look outside the window, enjoying the sunset and the gold that it paints the world with. The clouds up above are drenched golden, like they were dipped in liquid gold, and it’s a sight you’ve always loved - there’s beauty in endings like that of the day, or so you like to tell yourself.

You’re not quite sure there’s such beauty in the ending of a life like that of Nick, but you try not to think about it, not wanting to get emotional before you’re supposed to meet with San.

The clouds have turned to pink by the time the car drops you in front of San’s apartment, and you thank the driver as you grab your bag. You then get out of the car, moving towards the entry, though you stop out front to snap a quick picture of the sky that you send to Sydney.

You’re stopped at the second door of the building, this one locked despite the first one being unlocked. You eye the screen next to you - San lives in a fancier building than you first imagined. You search for his name on the screen, sighing in relief when you find it.

It rings for a few seconds, but then the door unlocks, and you walk in. You’re greeted by an older lady at the reception that nods at you, and you politely smile as you head to the elevator.

You press on the call button, and you scroll through your phone as you wait, stepping in as soon as the doors slide open. You click on the eighth floor, and the elevator shots upwards, coming to a halt quicker than you expected it would.

It takes you a minute to find San’s door, but then you’re standing in front of it, hesitating for a few seconds before you knock. You hear soft footsteps inside, and then the door unlocks, and San appears before your eyes.

The first thing you notice is the black tight-fitting athletic t-shirt he’s wearing - mostly because you’re almost at eye level with his chest. And the shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, so much so that you feel your cheeks burn as you look up to meet his gaze. He’s smirking, his eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, and his hair is unruly, a strand falling in front of his eyes even as he cards his hand through his hair.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smooth voice, and your eyes dip down just long enough to see that he’s wearing grey joggers.

“Hey,” you answer, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, probably because your black dress pants and turtleneck combo does not match his look at all.

He’s the perfect picture of coziness, and here you are still in your memorial service outfit.

“Come in,” he says, and he steps aside so that you can walk in. 

You do so, and he softly shuts the door behind you, locking it and leaning against it. A second later he’s folding his arms on his chest, and you quickly look away from him.

“You have a nice apartment,” you say.

He does. It’s modern, with tall windows that currently show you the remnants of the sunset, and his living room is inviting, especially with the blanket abandoned on the large L-shaped couch. The kitchen is connected to the living room, and the island sports a marble counter that seems freshly cleaned, with some dishes peeking out of the sink.

There’s music playing, and you only understand why when you notice that the TV is currently on, the screen showing the pause menu of some videogame. A grey cat is sitting on a low table underneath the TV, its tail swishing from side to side as it looks at you with piercing blue eyes.

“Tha-” 

“You have a cat!” you let out excitedly, interrupting San. You immediately feel bad, but his soft laugh distracts you long enough for him to speak.

“I do,” he says, and then he’s walking towards the animal. He picks her up, walking back towards you, and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your lips when San stops next to you. “Meet Byeol.”

“Hi Byeol,” you coo, and you let the cat smell your hand before gently petting its head. “He’s adorable,” you say, and you meet San’s gaze before looking into the cat’s blue eyes again.

“She,” he corrects.

You wince. “Sorry for misgendering you,” you tell Byeol, patting her head. 

“She won’t forget.”

San’s teasing tone makes you narrow your gaze as you look up at him again. “Is that a threat?”

He chuckles, wetting his lips. “Maybe?”

Your throat feels dry, and all of a sudden, you understand San’s reputation - he isn’t one of the biggest fuckboys in your program for nothing. Indeed, there’s something effortless about his charm, about the way he glances down at your lips as if he knows he has an effect on you.

And he does. He fucking does, and it’s unexpected - you’ve barely ever spoken to him before except when the professor gave you the subject for your project, and he was clearly hungover then.

You clear your throat, taking off your shoes if only so then you don’t have to look him in the eye anymore. He puts the cat down, and then he’s walking back towards his couch, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

“You can grab the slippers by the door,” he tells you.

You glance at them, and you’re not surprised to see that he conveniently has smaller slippers, clearly for when he needs them for his… dates? 

Though you’re not sure he’s ever really gone on a date before. Not that you want to judge - he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do, and it’s not like you haven’t had your share of adventures before.

If you can call them adventures.

You put the slippers on, and then you follow behind San, glancing to your left as you pass in front of an open door that leads to his bedroom. His bed is messy, black sheets in a bundle, and there’s an abandoned pair of socks on the floor. It’s boyish, yet it screams of comfort.

You push the thought away, shyly sitting on the edge of the couch while San gets comfortable under the blanket. He picks up a PS5 controller, and then he resumes his game of Elden Ring, as you can now see, his character riding a horse through the wilderness.

“Let me just finish this real quick,” San says, and you cock an eyebrow.

“Don’t we have a project to do?” There’s bite in your tone, and San’s eyes widen slightly before he bursts out laughing.

“Don’t get upset, I’ll be all yours in like two minutes.”

You don’t like the easy flirting in his words, so you don’t reply, busying yourself with getting your laptop out of your school bag and turning it on. Though it takes him a little more than two minutes, San soon follows your lead, turning off the game and the TV, then picking up his own laptop that was on the armrest of the couch next to you.

“So, what is this shit about?” he asks.

You snort. “This shit is about the Illuminati,” you answer.

“Sounds ominous,” he lets out. “What do you have on them?”

“The rich and elite are apparently part of them, or something of the sorts,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you scan the Wikipedia article you pulled up while San was finishing his quest, or whatever it is that he was doing in the game. “Some artists too.”

San peeks at your computer. “I don’t think Wikipedia is a good source.”

You side-eye him. “Just trying to figure out where to start is all.”

“Sure,” he lets out, and you don’t miss the teasing smile on his lips.

It’s strange - the teasing is familiar, easy, like you’ve been friends with him your whole life, and not only partners for a college project.

“You got a better idea?” you challenge him.

It’s like he was waiting for you to ask. He smiles, his eyes sparkling with male satisfaction, and then he opens a doc on his laptop, and your gaze widens as you see he’s already done a lot of research.

A lot more than you have, which amounts to absolutely none besides that Wikipedia article.

San shares what he’s found, and you help him reorganize it so that it makes more sense. He lets you do it, and it leads you to sit closer to him, your nose picking up the scent of the cologne he put on earlier today, or maybe yesterday evening.

He smells of something like whisky and vanilla, and though you’d never think the two scents would mix well, they do on him.

The sun is fully set once you finish going through everything that he already has, and you pull out the instruction for the first part of your project, which is a short report you have to submit by the end of September. 

“You hungry?” San asks as you’re trying to figure out the first sentence of the report.

“Huh?” you let out, your eyes begrudgingly leaving your computer screen to meet his gaze.

He’s closer than you thought he’d be, and you can’t help but notice the dimples on his cheeks. “I said, are you hungry?”

You purse your lips. “I ate before I came.”

“Weren’t you at some…” he trails off, motioning vaguely at your outfit.

He looks uncomfortable as you say, “At a memorial service?” He nods, and he seems even more uncomfortable when you add, “Yeah, I was.”

“There was food?”

This time you laugh - there’s something endearing about Choi San getting uncomfortable about something. The confidence he’d exuded earlier seems to have disappeared, and there’s a slight pout to his lips, like he’s wishing you wouldn’t be talking about that at all.

“I ate at home before coming here,” you explain. “But feel free to eat something.”

He seems relieved that you’ve maneuvered away from the topic of the memorial, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Nah, I can eat when you leave.”

“Does that mean you want me to go now?” you ask.

His gaze widens, his mouth falling open for a second. “Wait, no, what?”

You laugh at his bewildered expression. “You okay?”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “I’m actually starving. But you don’t have to go!”

“Well then, grab something to eat, I’ll just be here with Byeol.”

Byeol indeed has joined you on the couch, lying between you and San. You already like her - though you’re not usually around cats a lot, you just can’t help yourself.

“She’s supposed to be mad at you,” he reminds you.

You smile, and he looks down at your lips, a soft smile following on his own face. He seems to realize it quickly, and he shakes his head, putting his laptop away as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Does she look mad?” you tease, petting the cat. “She was lying closer to me this whole time.”

San chuckles, and you look away from him as he walks towards his kitchen. “You wish, Y/n.”

You don’t know why. But the way he says your name… 

You feel different, like no one’s ever said your name before.

“Calling me by my full name, I see,” you joke, as if trying to hide the vulnerability he’s ignited in you.

If it’s vulnerability, and not something else entirely. Something much more… unnecessary when it comes to a college project partner.

“What do you want me to call you?” He remains silent for a moment, but then adds, “I don’t even know you.”

“Ouch,” you let out, and you put your laptop down, effectively distracted by the conversation. You turn towards him, meeting his gaze. “We’ve had a lot of classes together.”

He smirks, eyebrows raising. “Have we?”

“We’re not going to that big of a college, you know that right?”

He turns away from you, grabbing something in the fridge. “I know,” he says over his shoulder. “I just think it’s funny that you remember seeing me in class when I don’t remember you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to remain silent. You instead stretch, glancing at Byeol where she’s still sleeping next to you. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?” San asks.

You get up, your slippers padding on the hardwood floor as you make your way towards the kitchen. “I had mac’n’cheese before.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Maybe just a snack?”

He grabs a plate, and you watch as he empties the Tupperware he’s holding. You’re not surprised to see it’s broccoli, rice and chicken - San seems like the kind of gym guy who only eats broccoli, rice and chicken, after all.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say as you stop on the other side of the island. “I ate a lot for my birthday yesterday and I think I’m still full.”

“Your birthday?” he says, stopping halfway through emptying his dish. “It was your birthday yesterday?”

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s my birthday today.”

There’s a short silence as he just stares at you. He looks dumbfounded, almost insulted, and you feel a little awkward standing there.

“You did not come here to do a school project on your birthday,” he eventually says.

Your cheeks burn. “I… did?”

“And you had the memorial on your birthday too?” When you don’t reply, only staring at him sheepishly, he puts his dish down. “That won’t do.”

He moves towards a cupboard, and you watch him, a confused crease between your eyebrows, as he pulls a box of vanilla cake mix from there.

“You’re lucky these are my guilty pleasures,” he says, showing you the box. “I’ll bake you a cake.”

“God, no,” you quickly say. “You don’t have to bake me a cake.”

He glares at you. “Just sit down and let me bake you a cake, okay?”

He’s determined, that much you can tell. “I feel bad,” you mutter, yet you do sit on a stool. “You really don’t have to bake a cake.”

He opens the box, shrugging his shoulders. “This is going to be a much better dinner than what I was planning to have anyway.”

You laugh softly. “Not too fond of the gym meal prep?”

“Who is?” he jokes. 

“Clearly not you.”

He laughs, and the sound makes you glance away, only to see Byeol trotting towards you. She rubs her head on your calves, and you bend down to scratch her.

“Your cat is obsessed with me,” you say.

San chuckles. “Hard to resist.”

Your cheeks burn, yet this time you choose to bite. Maybe because he’s baking you a cake, which is more than your ex has ever done for you.

“Am I now?” you tease, straightening.

A smirk tickles the corners of San’s lips while he busies himself with pouring the cake mix into a large bowl. “Maybe?”

You narrow your gaze, though you can’t help but snort. It turns San’s smirk into a smile, and you just look at it for a few seconds, hating how endearing he is right now.

It’s the dimples. It has to be the dimples.

“I didn’t even ask,” he says as he grabs butter from the fridge. “You do like vanilla cake, right?”

You nod. “It’s actually my favourite. Not that I eat a lot of cake but…”

He grins then, nodding once. “You and I are going to get along well.”

You match his grin, if only because you can’t resist. “Just because of the cat, though.”

He widens his gaze, and then bursts out laughing. “I’m wounded.”

You make a show of eyeing him up and down, which proves to be a mistake as your eyes inevitably get stuck on his chest, on the way his muscles stretch the fabric of his shirt almost to indecency.

“Where’s the wound?” you ask, trying to sound teasing, though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t miss the breathiness aspect of your voice.

“Maybe you’ll see it if you come closer.”

You wet your lips. “You wish.”

San tilts his head to the side before looking down, letting out a small laugh. He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you think he’ll let it go. But then he looks up, meets your gaze, and says, “So what if I do?”

It’s the way he looks at you. You feel seen, as if you were in a crowd before and suddenly everyone’s disappeared. It’s just you and him, and the air fills with electricity, your brain deciding to conjure up an image of what he would look like without that shirt on.

You feel bad, guilty, yet it makes you feel… alive. 

“You always flirt with girls like this?” you ask, cheeks burning.

He wets his lips. “Only the pretty ones that come see me on their birthday.”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head. “I did not come to see you, Choi San. I’m here for the Illuminati project.”

He narrows his gaze. “And here I am baking you a cake.” He looks down at said cake - which right now is just a mixture of cake mix - and he scoffs lightly. “Maybe I should stop here.”

“And eat your plain, boring chicken?”

“I put spices on it!” he quickly says, and he makes a show of pushing the plate towards you. “I’m not that uncultured.”

You laugh, and the smile that blooms on his lips is like a flower in the spring sun, and you once again find yourself looking away, searching for his cat as if that will make you forget the dimples adorning San’s cheeks.

“Yet you want to eat cake instead?”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, and then he’s popping his plate in the microwave. “I’ll eat both. Happy?”

He says it with a slight pout to his lips that just makes you laugh again. You can’t help it - you really feel like you know him, like you’ve known him your whole life. It’s easy complicity - understanding without having to say a word - and you bask in it.

If only to forget that you were indeed at a memorial on your birthday. At the memorial of someone just a year older, someone that should have had a long life stretched in front of them, yet lost it in a car crash.

“Okay,” San lets out a moment later, after he’s mixed eggs, milk and oil into the bowl. “I’ll put this in the oven-” His gaze widens. “I did not turn the oven on.”

You snort at his expression. “What an expert baker.”

This time when he laughs, his eyes close, his dimples flashing quickly. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I take offense,” you say as you lay a heart on your chest. 

He just slightly scrunches up his nose as he glares at you, and then he spins around to turn the oven on. A second later, he’s pulling his reheated plate from the microwave. He opens a drawer, grabbing a fork and then closing it with his hip. 

“I’ll eat while the oven heats up and then we can work on the project some more,” he suggests.

You nod your head. “Sounds good.”

He sits next to you, and you let him eat in peace as you scroll on your phone. He ends up doing the same, and he’s done eating by the time the oven blares through the apartment, letting you know that it’s warm enough.

San gets up, and you’re dumbly aware of the way his arm brushes yours as he does so. You pretend that it doesn’t have any effect on you, yet a shiver shoots along your arm, leaving goosebumps behind.

San pours the cake preparation into a metallic dish - not before rubbing butter on it to make sure the cake doesn’t stick - and then puts the cake in the oven. You look up from your phone to watch him do so, and he catches your gaze momentarily, flashing you an easy smile before grabbing the plate from his dinner. He leaves it in the sink, and then rests his hands on his hips.

“Time for work.”

You stretch, nodding as you hold a yawn in. “Let’s do this.”

San ends up grabbing your laptop and bringing it to you so that you can work at the counter. He sits next to you again - too close for comfort, yet you don’t tell him to move.

Maybe because you don’t want him to.

Working on the project is easy. It really doesn’t make any sense to you. It’s like the professor knew San and you would work well together. Indeed, by the time his timer lets you know that the cake should be ready, you’ve almost finished the introduction for the report, and San declares it enough work for the evening.

“We’re on a roll,” you say. “Shouldn’t we try to finish it all?”

San shrugs as he gets up, and he remains silent for a moment. He instead grabs oven mitts to pull the cake out. You watch him stab it with a butter knife and quickly pulling it out, confirming that the cake is indeed ready, and then he finally looks at you.

“It’s your birthday,” he states. “We’ve done enough work for today.”

“We have to wait for the cake to cool down before we can eat it anyway,” you say.

He smiles. “Good thing we can watch a movie, mmh?”

You’re not sure it’s a good idea, but you keep it to yourself. Maybe because he looks cute like this, soft in a way you wouldn’t be able to explain even if you had a gun to your temple, and you don’t want to disappoint him. 

“A movie?”

He nods, his smile widening. “Yes. Or a show. Or anything really. It’s your birthday, you choose.”

“Mmmh,” you let out, chuckling. “Can I watch you game?”

“You want to watch me game?” he asks, as if not sure he heard you right.

You nod, offering him a smile.

“Wouldn’t that be boring for you?”

“No!” you say. “I love watching people game.” You pause for a moment, and then you smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief. “If they don’t suck, that is.”

He sees it for the challenge that it is. “You really are a brat, mmh?”

His voice is low, face more serious than you expected it to be, and red slowly tints your cheeks as they burn from the sudden heat in his gaze.

“Am I?” you innocently reply.

He breaks out character to let out a laugh, and then he nods his head. “You definitely are. But you’re the birthday girl, so I’ll do my best to impress you.”

You like that he wants to impress you. Like that he tells you to sit on the couch and offers you his blanket. It faintly smells like him, like vanilla and whiskey, and it’s warm, soft like you imagine his skin to be. 

“Do you want a drink?” he says after he’s turned his TV and PS5 on, and the game loads. 

“I don’t drink,” you admit. “But thank you.”

He purses his lips, then glances at the TV. “I can mix you a virgin drink, you know?”

You watch as his character appears on the screen again. You’re surprised he doesn’t ask you why you don’t drink - it’s usually the first question everyone asks.

“You’re being too nice,” you say teasingly.

He smiles. “Just today,” he says, winking at you. “I’ll go back to my usual self when it’s not your birthday anymore.”

You glance at the time on your phone. “You’re telling me I just have two hours and a half left?”

San shrugs, getting up from the couch. He hands you the controller, and you cock an eyebrow in question before grabbing in. He walks to the kitchen then, and you only understand what he’s doing when he grabs a large plate from a cupboard to put the cake on it. 

Once the cake has safely made it to the plate, San walks back towards you, laughing at your expression.

“What?” he says. 

“Why did you give me this?” you ask, waving the controller around slightly. “I don’t know how to play.”

“I can show you,” he suggests. “In the two and a half hours we have left.”

You smile and you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your lips before the corners of his lift upwards too. 

“I really do want to watch you, though.”

He nods. “Then give me this.”

You do, handing him the controller back, and then he plops down on the couch next to you. He’s close enough for his arm to brush you again, and you slightly lean into the touch, if only because his gravity is pulling you in.

“So,” he lets out, and then he starts showing you the controls. 

It takes longer than you’d imagined it would, yet it’s easy, comfortable. There’s some sort of coziness to the moment, of easy familiarity you indulge in, and he ends up letting you ride a horse for a while. It’s fun, though you eventually fall from a cliff, which just earns you a fit of laughter from him as you profusely apologize.

“Don’t worry, I saved before,” he tells you, flashing you his dimpled smile. “You still want to play?” 

You sheepishly lean back into the couch, dropping the controller on his thighs. “You’re a lot better at this than I am.”

He chuckles. “You’ll get better in time, I’m sure.”

You highly doubt - you don’t have a PS5 at home, and you don’t think you’ll come back here anytime soon. Not that San is not good company - he definitely is, but you don’t want to get too close.

Not when you know his reputation, and when you have a semester-long project to do with him. 

San plays for a while longer, long enough for your eyelids to grow heavy. He doesn’t comment, but you’re sure he’s noticed the way you’re slowly sinking into the couch, the whole day and its exhaustion catching up to you despite you trying to focus on the screen. You end up dozing off, your head on his shoulder - when did it end up there? - only to wake up some time later as he gently shakes you.

“Hey, sleepy head,” he says as you open your eyes. 

You look up, meeting his gaze, and the world feels like it’s slowing to a halt. Like it’s pausing for you and him, to give you a moment to just admire his features from up close. To admire the way his eyes are soft, shining from within, and the way just a few inches separates you from those pretty, pink lips of his.

You’re struck dumb. Struck silent, struck with your eyes slowly widening, and you refuse to voice the tension that arises in your whole body. Refuse to give in to it, to even think about it. Instead, you straighten, stretching your arms. 

“Shit, my bad,” you apologize.

He laughs cutely. “Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed it.”

Did you? You did, and your heart warms inevitably - of course he’d notice.

“And, you woke up just in time for us to put the icing on the cake,” he says, eyes sparkling still.

“Right.” You yawn, and then snort. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Hey, it’s totally okay.” He glances at the TV - he’s paused the game, and the music is low, yet it sounds like he was in an important spot. “Besides, we only have less than an hour left to your birthday. Gotta make the best of it.”

You grab your phone, surprised that so much time has passed, yet he’s right - it’s 11:33 pm, and only twenty seven minutes lie between you and the next day.

“Before you get mean,” you tease, reminiscing about your earlier conversation.

He chuckles, though his gaze narrows. “What makes you think that I’m normally mean?”

You make a show of pondering, tapping your chin with a finger. “Maybe because you don’t remember me from all of the classes we’ve had together?”

At that he laughs, shaking his head. “You really are insufferable. Maybe I was just too busy paying attention to the class, mmh?”

“Or too busy chatting up all the pretty girls, right?”

He rolls his eyes, his lips curving upwards. “Only the pretty girls,” he says, giving in to your teasing. 

“I’m glad I make the cut, then,” you proudly say.

Byeol jumps on the couch between the two of you, and San pets her as she climbs on his lap. “What makes you think you’ve made the cut?”

Your mouth falls open, yet you don’t find any snarky comeback. All you do is watch him as he bursts out laughing, and you soon follow him.

“I thought you were supposed to get mean after my birthday was over,” you say with a pout when your laughter recedes.

He shrugs. “Just giving you a taste of it in advance.”

You like this. Like the teasing, the strange familiarity. The way that you put the icing on the cake together, talking about everything and nothing while San fights Byeol to make sure she doesn’t touch the cake. It’s domestic - a scene straight out of a romance movie. You want to hold onto it, but it feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

Or maybe it’s just that the emotions you’ve suppressed the whole day are slowly creeping back in, nostalgia clinging to your heart like a second skin.

“There you go!” San exclaims once you’ve finally finished icing the cake. “Shit, Byeol!” He quickly picks up the cat, holding her at eye level. “Stop acting feral, we have a guest over.”

She doesn’t move for a time, like she’s waiting for the perfect comedic timing, and then she lets out a long meowl that makes you snort.

“I think she’s saying that she wants cake too.”

San shakes his head no, tutting. “She’s insufferable.”

You laugh, totally agreeing with him, and then you watch him as he walks to the couch, putting her down on the blanket.

“You stay there,” he scolds her, a fist on a hip while he’s threatening her with one finger. The scene is adorable, and you’re smiling wide when he turns back towards you.

He immediately grins and that, most of all, pushes the shadows back to the recess of your mind, shedding light on the day.

“Should we eat now?” you ask.

“Hell yeah,” San answers enthusiastically as he walks back towards you. “Just grab a plate and cut yourself a piece.”

You nod, and then you do as he says, grabbing one of the small dessert plates he’s already put on the counter. Soon enough you have a large piece of cake on the plate, and you hand it to San.

“For you,” you say.

His gaze slightly widens, and he lets out a small chuckle. “No, no, take it for yourself, I can cut myself a piece.”

You narrow your gaze, plate still extended towards him. He snorts, but he does grab the plate. “Good,” you let out. “That was too big for me anyway.”

You grab a piece for yourself, and then you walk around the counter so that you can sit next to him. Byeol thankfully has chosen to stay on the couch, and you can focus on enjoying the cake without having to watch her, sharing a light conversation with San.

“Yeah, I came here when I was in middle school,” San is telling you. “I grew up in Namhae.”

You don’t know a lot about Korea, even though your grandparents originate from there. So all you do is furrow your brows. “Namhae?”

“It’s in South Korea,” he explains.

You roll your eyes, though the shit-eating grin on his lips is all worth the teasing. “I know that,” you say. “I meant I don’t know where it is in Korea.”

“In the south.” He chuckles, and then he takes the last bite of his cake. Silence surrounds you while he chews and swallows, and then he adds, “It was a cultural shock when I got here, honestly.”

You can imagine.

“You seem to have adapted well.” You vaguely motion around you. “Look where you are now.”

That earns you a sweet dimpled smile. “I did. Not at the beginning though.”

You exchange a laugh, and then you finish eating your cake, the atmosphere comfortable despite the momentary silence.

“What about you, though?” San asks once you’re done eating. “Where did you grow up?”

You tell him about growing up outside of the city - about the school yard that led to a field where flowers grew in the summer, attracting all manner of bugs. You tell him about the small park where you and Sydney used to go because it had the best swings. You tell him about Yunho, and San listens with a small smile on his lips, like he doesn’t mind listening to you blabbering on and on about things that don’t really matter anymore.

“Annnd,” you say after a moment. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Loved the details,” he says, and you can’t resist. You punch him in the shoulder, and he bursts out laughing. He rubs at the spot, adding, “I’m just teasing you.”

“Of course you are,” you mumble, cheeks burning. “Sorry about that.”

He slightly frowns. “About what?”

“Mmh,” you hum, shrugging. “About dumping my whole backstory on you like that.”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize.” He fully faces you, tilting his head to the side. “I did love listening to you. You’re really cute when you tell a story.”

It hits you deep. Right to your core, and it seems he didn’t mean to compliment you. Indeed, his cheeks turn pink, and you reckon maybe this moment is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

“Oh,” you let out. You chuckle awkwardly, your whole face burning. “Thank you.”

He wets his lips, nodding once, and then he straightens before getting up. “Liked your cake?” he asks.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” he says as he grabs your plates to go rinse them off in the sink. “Happy birthday, Y/n.”

You smile softly, heart too warm for your own good. “Thank you. Even if I feel like I’m just repeating myself now.”

He laughs at that, and it eases the tension that had filled the room. It returns to the teasing familiarity that you’ve been growing accustomed to, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s because I’m the best,” he teases. “Of course you have to thank me.”

You snort, looking up at the ceiling. “Here we go again.”

He laughs at that, and then he glances at the time. “Birthday’s over though.”

It is - it’s ten past midnight, and you reckon you probably should head home. You have a nine am class tomorrow after all.

“What a shame,” you dramatically say. “I was getting used to it.”

“You’re greedy, aren’t you?”

You’re not sure what he means, but it’s said with that same teasing tone, and all you can do is chuckle as you nod. “Maybe I am.”

There’s a silence while you just share a look, yet you’re too much of a coward to hold his gaze, your eyes dropping to the counter. You know you should be leaving, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it.

Not when you know the shadows and emotions from earlier are just a second away from circling back to you, and you don’t want the vulnerability just yet.

“When should we meet again to work on the project?” you ask.

He purses his lips. “I think I’m free on Wednesday. And the library should be open then if you’d rather go there.”

You glance at Byeol, who’s now curled up on the couch, fast asleep on the blanket where San put her down. “When would I see her again?”

It’s said with a small pout, and you’re painfully aware of the way San looks at it before he replies. “You can always come over.”

There’s more to his words, a truth left hanging, and he looks at you as if waiting to see if you’ll catch. And you don’t know if you should. Really don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with San, but there’s something in the air. 

There’s been something in the air all day, be it quiet grief and nostalgia and the realization that life comes to an end one day.

You don’t want to have any regrets later on.

“Can I…” you trail off, and you feel the blush creeping on your cheeks. “Can I stay a little longer?”

You tell yourself that you need it, that you need to feel alive for a little while longer. And perhaps that’s just what San’s been doing - acting as a reminder that there’s life, and that despite the grief you know your brother is going through, life always ends up shining.

You think San understands. You’re pretty sure he does - he nods, walking back to the living room and plopping down on the couch.

“Come here, let’s watch a show.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You get up, immediately making your way towards him. You’re forced to sit even closer than before if only so that you don’t disrupt Byeol’s peaceful slumber, and San takes it in stride, raising an arm to wrap it around your shoulder.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

As if he needs your permission.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He smiles, and then he grabs the TV remote. He maneuvers to HDMI 1, and then he opens Netflix. He hands you the remote then, letting you choose what to watch. You settle on The Office, seeking the comfort of a show you’ve watched a hundred times before already, and then you give him the remote back, offering him a sheepish smile.

“I hope you don’t mind watching this.”

“Not at all.” He leans his head back into the couch, and his arm tightens around you. “I’ve actually watched it before, though.”

“Who hasn’t?”

He chuckles as the episode starts. “I wonder what makes this show so famous,” San ponders. “I feel like it should be offensive.”

“I think that’s what people like?” you say like a question. “And Steve Carrey is hilarious.”

“That he is,” San agrees. “The show wasn’t the same after he left.”

It wasn’t at all, and you love that San agrees. Love that you end up talking for the whole episode, barely even paying attention to it. It’s just so easy - it flows naturally, like the river to the sea, and you’re surprised when the credits roll in, and you don’t think you’ve heard a single thing in the whole episode.

“Shit,” you let out. “We really can’t shut up, can we?”

That makes San laugh, a cute laugh full of dimples on his cheeks and smile lines around his eyes. It makes you look at him, like you’re proud you’re the one making him smile. He meets your gaze, and there’s a moment of silence as his laughter recedes, his gaze finding yours.

You think his eyes soften. You’re convinced they do, and then you’re leaning forward, pressing your lips on his.

Electricity shoots through your bloodstream, and if San is surprised, he doesn’t let it show. He kisses you back, his lips just as soft as you imagined they would be, and he cups your cheek before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You sigh into the kiss, sigh into the life that it creates inside of you - the warmth, the sun, beauty like that of lingering summer, of a sunset painting clouds in gold and pink and everything in between. 

There can’t be shadows when the sun shines like this.

You tilt your head to the side, deepening the kiss. San follows your lead, his tongue teasing your lower lip, and you let him in. Taste him, tease his tongue with yours. His arm around your shoulder pulls you in closer as one of your hands lands on his thigh, and then you reach a little higher, putting it on his stomach instead.

His abs are rock hard under your palm, and you sigh appreciatively.

The kiss lasts for its small eternity, your thoughts scattering like dust in the wind as San’s hand gently grabs your wrist to pull you on top of him. You don’t resist, and you reckon you were expecting it.

Expecting to find yourself perched on the bulge in his pants, and this time your sigh turns breathy, more like a moan than anything.

It unleashes something in the two of you. San’s hands find your waist, and he makes you grind on him while yours cradle his face before moving to the back of his head, keeping him from pulling away.

You feel warm, hot, and nothing else matters than the way he sucks on your lower lip, slightly biting at it.

“Shit,” you curse against his lips.

He immediately leans away from the kiss, fighting against your grip before you loosen it. “Everything okay?” he asks.

He’s breathless. He’s breathless, his chest rapidly going up and down, and you struggle to get oxygen in your lungs again as you sit there, his dick pushing against you despite the fabric between you.

“Yeah,” you let out. “I…” you trail off, unable to break eye contact despite the redness flushing your cheeks. “Do you want to… to stop?”

You don’t know why you’re stuttering, why you’re feeling shy all of a sudden. He’s hardly your first, yet it feels different.

Perhaps because of the whole circumstances surrounding this moment in time.

“If you want to,” he murmurs. He takes a deep breath. “I’m down to keep going, but I’m aware it might be weird for you considering…”

You silence him with another languid kiss, and his grip tightens on your waist. You grind into him again, and he grunts, his dick twitching in his pants. And even though you want more, you can’t bring yourself to disconnect from his lips. Not when he kisses you so damn well, every swipe of his tongue emptying your brain until there’s just you and him and that whiskey and vanilla scent of his.

It smells of sweet addiction, and for tonight, you want to revel in it. Want to feel alive, want to remind yourself that you are alive.

Maybe that’s why you pull away, breathing raggedly, to ask, “Can I suck your dick?”

San gulps. “Shouldn’t I be the one pleasing you?” 

You furrow your brows, wetting your lips. “Why do you think sucking your dick won’t please me?”

This time he wets his lips, and a smirk slowly takes over his features. “You want it that bad?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, instead leaning forward to capture your lips into another embrace, and you roll your hips. He grunts, pulling away. “By all means,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

You bite at your lower lip, circling your hips one last time, just so that you can see the way his mouth falls open, a pleasured frown taking over his face. And it feels good, far too good, as his dick rubs on your core, on your clit, shooting lightning along your nerves.

Once you’ve had enough, you pull away, kneeling on the floor between his legs. You run your hands along his thighs, appreciating the strength of them, while he just watches you through half-lidded eyes, his chest still moving fast as he keeps on breathing raggedly. Your eyes hold his gaze for a few more seconds before they drop to the imprint of his dick, and you gulp.

He’s big. That much you can tell despite the clothing, and when you run a hand along his length, you know he’ll hurt your jaw. Yet the way he arches when you touch him makes you want to please him, makes you want to hear the kind of sounds he’ll make when you’ll be choking on him, and you know you won’t stop.

“Can I take your pants off?” you ask, your eyes trailing back to his face.

“Let me help.”

He bends down, immediately pulling his pants off, though he leaves his boxers on. They’re tight, revealing even more of his dick, and you run your hand on his length again when his sweatpants are finally off.

“You took a shower today?” you ask as you crawl a little closer.

“Huh?” he lets out.

You cock an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer.

“Yeah,” he adds. “Yeah, I took a shower after the gym.”

You wet your lips. “Good boy.”

And then you bend forward, licking at his tip through the fabric of his boxers. You taste the salty precum that’s already stained the fabric, and you immediately want more. So you pull his boxers down enough to free his dick before wrapping a hand around his base.

His dick sits heavy in your hand, and it’s flushed with arousal, darker than the rest of his body. The head is stained red, looking ready to explode, and veins run up and down his dick, inviting your tongue. Most of all, he really is large despite not being too long, and you lose some of your confidence.

How are you even supposed to fit him in your mouth?

“Shit,” you let out.

“Mmmh?”

You meet his gaze for a few seconds before looking down at his dick. Before you reply, you slowly stroke him up and down, your tongue teasing his slit once.

“You’re so big,” you praise.

“Yeah?” He pushes your hair away from your face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail. “Don’t worry, baby. You can take it.”

It undoes you. It’s the way he says the word, with so much praise, yet so much barely concealed lust.

You want to please this man, and you won’t stop until he’s had his fill of your mouth.

You lean forward, swirling your tongue around the tip of his dick while holding eye contact. He doesn’t blink, only grunts lowly, his mouth falling open when you flatten your tongue and tap his dick on it.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“How do you like it?” you ask, and you spit on his dick, using your saliva as lube so that you can jerk him off faster.

“I like it in your mouth,” he says. “Be nice for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, smirking. “Or what?”

You suck on his tip once, and his hips lift from the couch, seeking for more friction, yet you don’t grant it to him.

“You’re such a fucking brat.” It’s whiny, but the way his dick twitches in your hand tells you he likes it.

You tease his frenulum with your tongue. “Am I?”

His lips stretch in a thin line as he holds your gaze, and he curses, looking away. “Thought you wanted to suck my dick.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” you say. 

You dive in, wrapping your lips around him, taking as much of him in as you possibly can. But then you pull all the way out, stroking him fast instead, and San grunts in frustration.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, and he lets out a small moan as you take him in your mouth again, sucking on his tip as your tongue teases his shaft.

You think the moan rewires your brain. Because it unleashes you, and you start bobbing your head up and down, your hand following the motion, and soon San starts guiding your head, his hips moving up to meet you.

It’s no wonder you choke on him, and he lets you pull out just long enough for you to take a breath, and then you’re back on his dick, sloppily sucking him dry. You’re drooling, his taste inebriating, and you feel it on the back of your hand, dripping down to his balls. 

It’s only when you get that thought that you pull away so that you can lick down his dick, pressing a kiss on one of his balls. He fucks into your hand, moaning again, and you look up to see that he’s thrown his head back on the couch, the tall column of his neck the only thing visible from where you’re kneeling between his legs.

“Do you want me to suck on your balls too?” you ask.

“Fuck, Y/n,” is all he answers, and so you lick a large stripe between his balls, more tentative than anything else. That snaps him back to reality and he leans forward, cursing loudly. “Just…” He takes a deep breath. “Just be careful, they’re really sensitive.”

You nod, and you gently lick at them this time, before going back up his shaft to swirl your tongue around his tip.

And then you sit back on your heels and ask, “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

He wets his lips. “I kind of just want to fuck you.”

You shake your head no, sucking on his tip again. The heady taste of his precum coats your mouth, but you want more.

You think you’ll always want more with him.

“Just my mouth,” you say after. “I don’t want to have sex right now.”

That’s a big fat lie if you’ve ever said one - you just don’t want to know how good he can make you feel, not when you know you can’t do this again.

If he looks disappointed he doesn’t say. All he does is nod, and then he says, “Move back.”

You do, allowing him to get up. He’s huge like this, towering over you as he looks down at you, and he gently cups your cheeks. You open your mouth, tongue flat to allow him space.

“Fuck,” he curses again. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Wreck me, San.”

He doesn’t need you to say more. Indeed, he grabs his dick, taps it on your tongue as you just patiently wait there, your hands on your thighs. You crave to touch him, but something about the way he’s looking down at you tells you he likes to have his control, likes to be the one seeking his own pleasure.

And you want him to use you. Want him to come down your throat.

“Stop me if it’s too much, okay?” he says as he rests the tip of his dick on your tongue.

You lick at his slit. “Okay.”

“Fuck.”

His curse is all he says before slowly pushing in. Your jaw is stretched, eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat, and then he’s slowly pulling out, eyes fixated on the place where his dick disappears inside of your mouth. He’s so large you know he has to feel your teeth a little, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Maybe because you’re trying to use your lips to not hurt him, and it seems the sensation is driving him insane. Because the next time he pushes in, he’s faster, a hard thrust that you answer with a moan, and then he fully loses it, shutting his eyes tightly. 

San establishes a quick rhythm, grunting and groaning as he fucks your mouth, drool soon covering your chin. He tastes good, something heady, and the sounds he makes are music to your ear. He’s impossibly hard, and you think of how he’d feel inside of you.

You’d see stars, that much you’re sure of.

“Fuck, Y/n,” San says. “Your mouth feels so good.”

You moan, and he looks down at you. His cheeks and neck are reddened, his hair falling in front of his eyes, but you still feel his gaze piercing through yours, so much so that you feel naked kneeling there.

And maybe you are, in a much more important way than the physical.

“I think I’ll be able to come,” he says, and he pulls out, slowly jerking himself off. “Where do you want me to come?”

You lean forward, sucking on his tip. “In my mouth?”

It seems he was still holding back. Indeed, his gaze goes feral, lustful, and you prepare yourself as he grips your hair in a makeshift ponytail again, his other hand landing on the side of your head. And then he smirks and says, “Open up for me, baby.”

You do. You fucking do, unable to be bratty anymore. Not when he’s looking at you like that, and especially not as you crave him already.

He doesn’t disappoint. San pushes inside of your mouth, hitting the back of your throat so hard you choke on his dick. Your eyes water, a tear slipping free, and he dries it carelessly before fucking into your mouth again.

This time, you hold in the gag reflex, focusing on flattening your tongue, and then dragging it on his dick as he moves in and out. San moans, and you echo it. He pulls on your hair, hard, and you sit back on your heels, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick. It breaks when he taps his dick on your cheek, and you just keep on looking at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“I gotta admit,” he says, and he strokes his dick up and down. “I have trouble coming while standing. Do you mind going to the bed?”

There’s something cute about the way he asks, and you smile, chuckling. “Sure.”

Your voice is croaky from his dick fucking your throat, yet San doesn’t mention it, only smiles down at you before patting your cheek.

“Let’s go.”

He holds a hand out for you to take, and then he pulls you up to your feet. You wince - your knees hurt more than you were realizing - and San chuckles before gently leading you to his bedroom.

And the bedroom is simple, consisting of just an unmade bed with dark sheets, a small bedside table, and an open door that leads to a walk-in closet. San lets go of your hand, and then he plops down on the bed amongst the sheets, his eyes on you.

“Think you can suck me and make me come?” he says, a smirk on his lips.

So maybe he doesn’t need to be in control to come after all.

You move closer, kneeling on the bed next to him. San watches you as you run a finger on his abs, and then you hook it under the hem of his shirt, pulling up.

“Take this off,” you say.

He wets his lips. “And why should I? You’re still fully dressed.”

You cock an eyebrow, and then you take your shirt off, throwing it to the side. San’s gaze widens before dropping to your breasts, and you unclasp your bra, also taking it off. You put it on his abs, and then your hands return to your breasts. You pinch your nipples, making sure they’re all perked prettily, and then you say, “Better?”

“Much better,” he says, voice so low it sounds like a growl. “Can I touch you?”

He makes to sit up, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “No.”

He groans in frustration, yet lies back down, awaiting your next move.

“Tonight is about me making you come,” you add after. “I don’t want you to distract me.”

He takes a shaky breath in when you run your finger along his sensitive dick. You bite at your lower lip, trying to hold a smirk in, but it’s to no avail.

“Then get to work again, baby,” he says. “Better make me come.”

You bend down, blowing a breath on the tip of his dick. “Yeah?”

He nods, cursing underneath his breath, but then you dive in, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out a small, pleasured moan. And though your jaw is sore, you suck him hard, taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. It’s easier to hold the gag reflex in when you’re in control, so you go up and down sloppily, your spit coating his dick thoroughly. 

San soon starts to groan louder, the sounds turning into breathy moans that have you soaking through your panties. It’s hot, sinful, and for a moment, you wish you could just sleep with him.

Wish he wasn’t your partner in that stupid project so that you could just indulge.

But he is, and he’s gripping your hair, guiding your movements.

“Shit, I’m going to come soon,” he grits through his teeth, and you look up to see his throat again, the flushed skin of his neck beautiful.

You moan, and his dick twitches once before his hands move to the side of your face. He thrusts up twice before stilling, and the taste of his cum fills your mouth as he comes deep in your throat.

You suck him through his high, suck him dry, only stopping when he pulls on your hair gently. You let go of his dick with a satisfying plop, sitting back on your heels.

There’s a moment of silence only interrupted by San’s heavy breathing, and all you do is watch him as he lies there, his eyes closed. When his eyelids finally flutter open, San meets your gaze, letting out a disbelieved laugh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Holy shit,” he lets out.

You scrunch up your nose, holding a shy smile in. “You liked it?”

He chuckles again, tilting his head to the side. “I think you just sucked my soul out of my body.”

You laugh, your cheeks burning as he grabs your hand to pull you closer. You understand what he wants as he scooches over to make space for you, and you lie down next to him, laying your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you.

“I’m glad you liked it,” you whisper, suddenly shy at his proximity. 

Not that he wasn’t close when he was deep in your throat, but this feels different, more intimate, vulnerable.

It’s the kind of thing you don’t usually do.

“Of course,” he says, and then he sighs in contentment. “I gotta admit this is the first time a girl has ever made me come by sucking me.” He chuckles, and it’s a low rumble in his chest, almost like the purr of a cat. “So yeah, I loved it.”

“No way!” you let out, pushing m up on an elbow to look at him. “I don’t believe that.”

He cups your cheek, then just gently pats it. “Well, it’s true.”

“Don’t you… sleep around a lot?”

He must not like your words. He frowns slightly, eyes narrowing, and his hand falls away from your cheek. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Sorry,” you immediately apologize. “I did not mean it in a bad way at all.” You purse your lips, looking between his two eyes. His features soften slightly, but there’s still a wary edge to them, and you hate it. “It’s just that I didn’t think I was that good?”

You say it like a question, because it frankly is. You’ve had your share of partners as well in the past - an ex-boyfriend, and then a line of ephemeral relationships that didn’t last more than a few weeks to a few months.

It’s the college experience after all, isn’t it?

“Are you getting insecure on me?” San asks, and his features finally earn that teasing sparkle from earlier. “Confidence looks better on you, Y/n.”

You blush. You can’t help it - there’s something in the way he’s looking at you right now, holding your gaze, that makes you feel incredibly vulnerable.

You feel too seen.

“My bad, then,” you mutter, and you put your head back on his shoulder if only so that you don’t have to look him in the eyes anymore. “I know I’m the best.”

He snorts, and his arm momentarily tightens around you. The silence prolongs for a moment, and you just breathe in time with him, listening to the beats of his heart. He eventually sighs, shifting until he’s on his side, facing you.

It brings your face right in his chest, and the scent of him engulfs you deeper, like a blanket wrapping around you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you feel good too?” he asks in a whisper.

You nod against him. “I probably should just go home for real, now.”

He makes a sound that you can only interpret as a groan. It’s cute, endearing, and at the opposite of what you’d imagined Choi San would be like.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” he suggests. “It’s getting pretty late.”

You wince. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Even if I sleep on the couch?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Even if you sleep on the couch,” you say. “We have a morning class tomorrow.”

“We?” he says, and you hear the smirk in his voice. It makes you want to roll your eyes, yet you’re too comfortable right now to truly be annoyed.

“Yes, dumbass,” you answer. “We.”

“I have a friend that records all the classes,” he reveals. “I could get you the recording and then you could stay and we could sleep in.”

It’s weird - does he really want you to stay that bad?

“Thank you for suggesting it, but I’d rather just go home and go to class tomorrow,” you say. “Another time, maybe?”

He’s pouting. You know he is, partly because he pulls his head back enough to meet your gaze. “That’s boring.”

You chuckle, a little embarrassed. You don’t even know why you are. You just sucked his dick like there was no tomorrow, yet you feel like you need to flee the scene, like maybe a crime was committed.

You wonder, is it a crime to hook up with your project partner? Surely it has to be.

“Well then, call me boring, Choi San.”

He looks like he’s considering it, but then he says, “Nah. I get it, today must have been a wild day for you.”

It… was. You’re glad he understands, even though some part of you does want to stay over. It’s mostly for that reason that you make your way to the door after having grabbed your stuff, and San follows you, his grey joggers finally back on.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, offering him a small smile.

He smirks. “I feel like I should be the one to say thank you.”

“I meant for the cake.” You roll your eyes as you speak, and San just laughs cutely. “And for actually being a decent project partner.”

He narrows his gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” you say, and you chuckle. “I think I’m just getting really tired.”

He nods in understanding, and then looks behind himself. “Do you want to say goodbye to Byeol before you leave?”

“Yes please!”

You must be beaming because San grins, laughing lightly as he turns around to seek out the cat. He comes back with her, her tail swishing in the air, and you gently pet her, cooing at her like you would to a baby. San lets you do it, his smile everlasting, and when you’re finally ready, you look up to meet his gaze.

He’s close, and for a moment, you want to kiss him again. Want to stay, want to return to his bed so that he can hold you in his arms. The emotion is so strong you have to take a step back, and you awkwardly clear your throat, your gaze dropping to the ground.

“So,” you let out.

You don’t find anything else to say, and San saves you by saying, “Do you want to meet again on Wednesday to work on the project some more?”

“Yes.” You nod, relieved he found something to say.

Relieved he wants to meet again.

“Yes, let’s meet at the library,” you add. “Just to keep things…” you trail off, chuckling awkwardly.

“Are you afraid of what’ll happen if we’re left alone again?” he asks teasingly.

“Gosh, San.” You chuckle awkwardly. “You’re annoying.”

“I made you cake!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re annoying.”

He pouts. “You’re mean.”

You look up to the ceiling, but it’s to no avail - there’s no salvation on San’s ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe that’s why I sucked your dick.”

He bursts out laughing, and it’s a little loud, so much so that he startles Byeol and she jumps out of his arms before trotting away.

“Right,” he says after having watched Byeol leaving. 

There’s another pause in the conversation, and it slowly fills with tension as you once more just share a look that seems to hold so many words unsaid you can feel their weight on your shoulders. It brings a light blush to your cheeks, and you look away, pulling at some dry skin on your lower lip.

“So I’ll see you on Wednesday?” you say.

He nods. “Yes. But also in class before then.”

“Alright then, Choi San. I’ll see you in class.”

He offers you a gentle smile, one that reminds you of why you kissed him initially - you wanted to feel alive, and you think his smile carries life, warmth, breathing vitality to your soul. It chases away the shadows from the memorial earlier today, and reminds you that you’re breathing. That your heart is beating, and that your neurons carry little sparks of electricity to make you into the full, functioning human that you are.

It’s comforting, reassuring, and you can’t help but echo the smile.

Later that night, when you’re finally in bed, you can still feel the ghost of that smile on your lips, and you fall asleep to the memory of Choi San’s lips on yours.

Teaser | Next

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hihihihi i guarantee that it is a slow burn lmaooo trust me <3 please let me know what you guys think!:)

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Review for @bangtanwritershq Ficstoric Society

@mrsparkjimin18 --Your writing never lacks tension and intrigue that makes readers want to continue!

Nicolette is a powerhouse! I love how you wrote her as a woman who defies the traditional expectations with wit and intelligence. Her journey from reluctant dater to potential romantic heroine was mesmerizing! 🔥Yoongi emerging as the perfect counterpart - mysterious, rebellious, and unexpectedly tender, created a dynamic with electric chemistry. This one also showed there was an unexpected way love can emerge! 

✨🌶️ ✨OH and the SPICY was SPIICYYY ✨🌶️ ✨

Spoilers!

The nightclub: A brilliant introduction of Yoongi that undermines all romantic expectations! 💜💜

The restaurant "confession": An ingenious plot manipulation that had me laughing out loud