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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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🎵Whole Again🎵

Pairing: Rocker!Yoongi x Fem Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Exes to LOVERS🥰

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual encounter (unprotected sex, spanking with a belt, m&f receiving oral, soft dom if you squint), jealousy, Tae offers unsolicited xxx pics as a joke, as usual all edited/proofed by me so, she’s a mess.

Summary: When your ex, Yoongi, reaches out for a favor, you have to decide if you can continue acquiescing his requests without it being too painful. Your feelings are still very real but you can’t be sure if his are.

“I’m at work,” you all but whine into the phone.

“Sounds like you’re in your car to me,” Yoongis voice echoes through the vehicle. You roll your eyes. Observant little shit.

“I’m on my way to a meeting,” you argue.

“You’re in the line at Starbucks, bet anything,” he clicks his teeth and you can all but see his sassy little mouth twist up at the corners.

“Here’s your flat white,” the barista in the window beams and you hear Yoongi cackle through the speaker.

You grab your coffee and smile as politely as you can, throwing some cash into the clear box on the edge of the window.

“Well, I’m on my way now then. Like I said Yoongi,” you sigh as you pull back into traffic, “working. What do you want?”

“A favor, like always,” he says flatly.

You rub your forehead as you halt at a traffic light, “Not that. Please be joking.”

“It’s just-,”

“Don’t you dare utter the words ‘it’s just one last time’ you lying sack,” you huff.

“I’ll tell her eventually! She loves you, it’ll kill her to know,” he whines. He’s of course talking about his mother, the only human on earth the man is petrified of. Despite the fact you’ve been broken up for months, Mrs. Min is still very much under the impression that you are still together.

“Of course she does, I’m a fucking delight.”

“Right,” he mutters, “It’s easy this time. I just need you to come to my show tonight.”

“Your show?” you furrow your brows, “Bullshit. There’s no way your mother is going to your show tonight.”

You try to picture his mom standing in the middle of the mosh pit, her favorite bag clutched tight under her arm. You hold in a giggle thinking of it.

“She wants a picture of the two of us,” he sighs, “she likes to switch the frame on the mantle out every few months. I told her about the show and she asked me to text her a photo, that’s it.”

“This is sick Yoongi,” you shake your head, “we broke up three months ago and your mother is still putting up pictures of us? You have to tell that poor woman!”

“I will.”

“Liar,” you laugh dryly, “but fine. Text me the address, I’ll come and snap a pic, then I’m out. Out. O-U-T.”

“Okay, yeah, loud and clear boss,” he chuckles.

“You say that, but you better tell Taehyung. He’s always trying to guilt me into staying at these things, the kid clearly wants us back together.”

Yoongi snorts into the phone, “Yeah, that’s the reason he’s so incessant with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Get to your meeting - I’ll text you the details. Later.”

The phone goes silent and you toss it into your bag in the passenger seat.

This is part of it all, you think. This is why you broke it off with him. He is a perpetual child. The man can’t even tell his own mother he’s no longer seeing someone!

Everyone, including Yoongi, thought it was because of the music. That you wanted a man with a “grown up” job, that you wanted someone who would pay your bills, buy you stuff. That’s what hurt you the most, aside from the reality of losing him as a partner. It stung learning that evidently they all thought that little of you, that they thought you were that insufferably shallow.

In actuality it was the immaturity. The fact that you showed up for him, front row, every time - but he rarely showed up for you. Last December you won the award for highest commission earnings in the region - they had a ceremony where everyone dressed up and had it catered - but suits and ties and that crowd “isn’t his thing” he’d said. You were just proud of yourself and wanted to share the moment with him. You wanted him to be proud of you too - but it was too much to ask.

That had probably been the last straw. It hadn’t been the first time, and at some point you had to accept that it wasn’t going to be the last.

You pull back into the parking lot of your office and take breath, wipe some pesky tears that seemed to have come from no where, then get back to it.

You can hear the broken riffs blaring from guitars before you even get inside the bar. Warm up and sound check.

“Cover charge is fifteen,” a man standing at the door states.

“Oh, right,” you dig your wallet out of your purse.

“She’s with us,” a familiar voice interrupts and you turn to see Taehyung sauntering around the corner, tossing a cigarette butt into the street.

“Cool, good luck tonight,” the bouncer nods and Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you in.

“Thanks,” you nudge him, “I really didn’t want to pay fifteen bucks for a picture.”

“Huh? A picture?” he scrunches his nose, flipping some of his wavy locks out of his eyes.

“It’s so dumb, but I just need to take a picture, and then I’m out of here,” you tell him.

“Baby if you wanted a picture of my dick you could’ve just texted me, you didn’t have to come all this way-,”

“That’s good Tae, thanks, you think you could tape down some of these cords? Or are you still on your smoke break?” Yoongi raises a brow and Taehyung removes his hand from your shoulder.

“You’re gross sometimes Tae,” you add with an eye roll.

“Nobody takes a fuckin’ joke around here, swear to God,” he mutters but grabs the roll of electrical tape.

“Howdy,” he finally says, setting his guitar on the stand.

“Hey.”

He had to wear the leather jacket. Of course he did. It’s practically one of his uniforms for performances. It’s also one of your weaknesses. Along with the ripped jeans and the chunky rings on his hand that would look stupid on any other man. His hair is also getting so long, you notice he’s covered up the green, all of it back to his natural black that now hangs in effortless waves all over his head. He probably just woke up like that, you think. You end up having to look away, because he’s just too fucking hot right now and you’re suddenly fighting the urge to touch him, kiss him.

“You look all dressed up, you got plans tonight?” he asks, laying some of the cords flat on the stage so Tae can tape them proper.

You think of lying, maybe telling him you’re going out with friends - but the truth is most of your friends will be here, watching his band perform. You swallow a heaviness down your throat.

“No, just thought I’d make your picture look good,” you tease weakly.

He smiles as he continues sorting equipment on stage.

Maybe you did go a little overboard, subconsciously. Maybe you put on an outfit that was a little tighter than necessary. Maybe you took more time with your hair. Maybe you did your makeup in a way that you know he likes. Maybe you did it for him, it’s hard to say, it all still feels so weird. Seeing him. Being this close to him. You miss him - does he miss you? Did you make a mistake? Will you be alone forever now because you broke up with your soulmate?

“I guess you want to get it done then,” he sighs, dragging his phone out of his jeans, “Joon! Can you take a picture of us real quick?”

You almost interject, tell him he can take his time, but that contradicts your sour attitude from the phone conversation earlier.

“Sure…,” Namjoon takes Yoongis phone, “You guys do know you’re broken up right?”

“It’s a whole story Joon, just take the picture,” Yoongi says flatly. He wraps his arms around you from behind and for a brief second it’s the most natural feeling. His head comes around so your cheeks are pressed together and your heart aches in your chest. You can’t keep doing these things for him. It hurts.

“Uh. You guys both look like someone died, maybe like…smile?”

You hear Yoongi let out a breath by your ear and you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or out of frustration. You turn your head and the two of you look at one another briefly but can’t seem to manage to keep each others gaze.

“One, two, three…” Namjoon counts and you plaster a bright smile across your lips, trying to pull that light up to your eyes but likely failing miserably.

“That’ll do,” he says stepping over to hand Yoongis phone back, “you sticking around ___?” he asks.

“Oh, um-,” you trail off.

“Of course she is!” Taehyung pipes up, “We’ve got a new song to play, and we’re trying out a new cover, of course she’s staying.”

“You wrote a new song?” you look at Yoongi who just nods, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Please stay ___,” Taehyung pouts, “we need you to tell us if the new song is trash or not, please?”

“I could…,” you look at Yoongi, “if you’d be okay with that?”

He doesn’t look at you as he starts rolling out extension cords, “I always want you around ___. I need a longer cord, be right back,” he says hopping off the stage to go find the manager.

“It’s settled then,” Joon pats you on the back, “it’s good to see you by the way. He misses you, ya know?”

You feel your face get hot. You simultaneously want to ask him to spill it all, what Yoongi has said about you, and also want to tell him yeah, you get it because you miss him too.

“Oh,” is all you muster up.

“Just…listen to the new song close tonight? Okay?” he instructs and you nod.

He leaves you standing there with Taehyung and you’re silent for several moments.

“I need a beer,” you finally sigh.

“No shit,” Tae agrees, pulling some cash out of his pocket, “get me one too.”

Where did you go?

You took me with you

Pulled me out of my body

And left me behind

I just wanna be whole

With no one but you

Put me back baby

I just wanna be whole

You sit at the bar, a very good distance away from the band, and you watch Yoongi.

The song was obviously a break up song and you found your hands shaking during the tune. What does this mean? Or does it mean nothing, he’s a musician, and musicians write stuff to get things out - but it doesn’t always mean anything significant. It could’ve been as simple as needing a softer track, something other than ‘fuck capitalism, fuck the man.’

You need to talk to him. You look back toward the band who stand on the floor in front of the stage taking photos with fans. You smile, you can remember when the only person at their shows on purpose was you and a few of your friends.

You watch as a girl in basically nothing wraps herself around Yoongi and obnoxiously begs her friend to snap a picture. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her lips against his cheek.

And you fucking hate it. Your blood instantly reaches a boil as you watch him smile awkwardly. As if he can sense it, his eyes find yours across the expansive space, and you angrily grab your beer and stomp out of the bar to the outdoor area.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You never gave a shit about fans flirting or touching him. You know he hates it, you know he doesn’t like being touched or hugged by strangers but he allows it because they have to have fans to grow. You know he’d never do anything with a fan. Their drummer, Jungkook, once took a girl home after their show, a fan, and Yoongi nearly lost his mind. Seriously considered kicking him out of the band. Namjoon and Tae had to talk him down for days. ‘It’s unethical, unprofessional, and no one’s going to take them seriously if they fuck groupies he’d said.

So why are you pouting out on the patio with steam all but rolling out of your ears?

You look up at the sound of metal doors opening and Yoongi emerges, his eyes scanning the area until he finds you sitting in the furthest corner.

“Hey,” he approaches and you look at the ground, your knee bouncing with anger and jealousy like a lunatic.

“Hi.”

“Why did you fly out here like a bat from Hell?” he laughs, sitting in the chair beside you.

“Hot.”

“You’re doing the thing,” he warns.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you give me one syllable answers with a tone that sounds like you’d love to gauge my eyes out with a melon baller,” he laughs.

“Hmm, you think they keep one at the bar?” you ask flatly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Go ask little miss skanky pants in there,” you huff, taking a long sip of your beer.

“Little miss skanky pants…really?” he laughs and you have to press your lips in a tight line to stop yourself from laughing too.

“I didn’t like it,” you admit.

“Yeah? How do you think I feel when Tae says dumb shit to you like joking about sending you dick pics?” he counters.

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “Taehyung is a pig, whose dick has probably been inside every human being within a ten mile radius of wherever he’s standing at the moment. No thanks. You know me better than that.”

“…and I think you know that I hate being touched by strangers. I physically cringe. So why are we out here being jealous?” he sighs, “I mean fuck, we’re not even together.”

He sniffs, resting his chin on his hand.

The song.

“The new song you wrote,” you start cautiously, “was that…about us?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like a self-centered ass who’s trying to make it about me…yeah, the shoe kind of fits there, doesn’t it?”

“It’s about us,” he admits, “about our split. About how it made me feel - I don’t feel like me without you - it’s stupid…” he shakes his head.

“It’s not stupid Yoongi,” you touch his shoulder, wondering if you should say what you’re really feeling, may as well. “I don’t feel like myself without you either, if I’m being honest.”

“I know better now, you know?” he looks at you.

“Know what better?”

“Why you left. It took me a while, but when I was writing that song it kind of hit me. You were always such a willing participant in our relationship. My cheerleader. Hell, we’re not even together and you came here to take moms stupid photo and stayed to watch the show, and you never asked for anything in return - but the few times you did I never returned the favor did I?” he says with a sad smile.

Your eyes prickle with tears.

“I just wanted you to be proud of me, the way I was proud of you Yoongi. I wanted you to look at me the way I looked at you and say “yeah, that’s my girl, she’s fucking killing it” but it never seemed like you cared to do that,” you sniff.

He pulls your chin with his fingers so you’re eye to eye, “I’m so sorry ___. You deserved as big of a cheerleader as you were to me, and I never gave that to you but I am. God I am so fucking impressed by you on a daily basis, and for the life of me I can’t understand why I never showed you that.”

You smile and squeeze his hands. Wipe the tear from your cheek and chuckle.

“That’s all I ever wanted to know.”

“I know. I’m not trying to force you back into anything you don’t want, but I swear on my life I won’t make the same mistakes twice. Now that I understand, I promise I won’t.”

“Jesus Yoongi,” you laugh, “you keep talking like that and we’re gonna end the night with me on your lap and my panties pulled to the side.”

Whoa. Where did that come from? Did that come out of your mouth? You look back over at him and he’s just staring. Eyes a little darker, lips pressed into a mischievous smile. He looks around, scoots his chair closer.

“Do you want to?” he whispers, “because I’d love to feel you right now. Fuck, I miss how it feels to fuck into that tight cunt, your nails on my back. Take us home baby, let me make you feel good.”

Your clit is throbbing and you bite down on your bottom lip, nodding hard as he takes your hand.

“What about loading up the equipment?” you ask as he drags you back through the bar.

“I’ve single handedly packed our shit up enough times that I think they’ll be okay this once,” he points out.

“I’m leaving, you guys are on your own,” he hollers to them.

Namjoon looks up, then centers on where your and Yoongis hands connect, his lips curling up, “Nice. Go on you two, we’ll load up!”

“Let’s go,” Yoongi pulls you into him, his mouth against your ear, “I want to do the worst fuckin’ things to you, we got time to make up for.”

You couldn't describe in words the noise you make if your life depended on it.

When you shut the door to your apartment things feel real suddenly. You'd half expected him to shove you up against the door, ravish you, and part of you wishes he would.

In typical Yoongi fashion though, he takes a moment, wanders around the room as if he's looking for something new. As if he's trying to learn something about a woman he's on a first date with.

"What are you doing?" you finally ask, hanging your jacket up on a hook.

"Can I ask something stupid before we do this?" he looks at you, removing the leather jacket you admire so much and tossing it over the back of your couch.

"Sure."

"In the time we've been...not together - did you...have you been with-," he trails off. It's adorable.

You smile, "No, Yoongi. There hasn't been anyone else."

He nods, "Good. I haven't either, just FYI, if you needed to know. Not that you asked but...yeah. There's only ever been you on my mind ___, just you."

"Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

"Come here and touch me."

"Right."

Finally you're alone with him. You were alone in the car, of course, and you had to stop yourself from touching him, tasting him on the ride here. No one needs to die in a fiery crash because they're horny.

"I missed you so fucking much," he whispers, and his lips brush over yours.

"I know," you manage to rasp out, lips pressed against his. "Me too."

Now he pushes you against the wall, "Never again, you're mine," he all but whimpers as his mouth descends on your neck, your jaw.

His lips and tongue move erratically over your skin, reclaiming it, and you fist the sides of his shirt willing him to stay forever. You pull at the hem a little, and he pauses just long enough for you to slide his tee shirt up and over his head.

"Come on," he pulls your hand and guides you to the bedroom.

Noticing the blinds are open he walks across the room to pull them down, pulls your curtains in. Then he turns and looks at you.

"Strip," he tells you clearly and your heart skips a beat.

You'd never admit it out loud, but one of your favorite things is when he gets bossy in the bedroom. It's something you missed quite a bit - your vibrator certainly knows - but he doesn't. You're unsure of how bossy he plans to be, so you test the waters.

"Aren't you going to say please?" you tease him, and the corners of his mouth do twist up into a grin, but his eyes aren't playing your game.

"No. I'm going to tell you one more time nicely, but after that I'll just do it myself baby," he licks his lips.

“Alright, okay,” you giggle, pulling your dress off, trying to get it in the laundry basket but missing.

“Was all this for me?” he eliminates the distance between the two of you, his fingertips flitting over the hemline of your bra, then down your stomach to play with the lace line of your panties.

“I didn’t know this would happen,” you admit, your arms sliding around his neck, your lips brush against his, “but maybe, subconsciously, it’s always all for you Yoongi.”

“I like that,” he smirks, his tongue tickling your lips and you open up to give him access, to give him anything he wants.

“Turn around,” he finally commands, his voice coming out in a sharp breath.

You do. You spin for him slowly, making sure your ass rubs across his hips, before you brace yourself against the footboard of your bed.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Yes baby, very good,” he palms your ass cheek, giving it a squeeze.

You can hear him behind you unbuckling his belt, hear it sliding through the loops on his jeans. Then suddenly a sharp snap of the leather. He drags it over the skin of your ass. He knows how much you love being spanked.

“Not too hard, please,” you remind him, mouth dry.

“Never,” he bends down and places a wet kiss on each side of your butt, where the swell of it peeks out from your underwear. “I’d never hurt you baby.”

You nod, feeling him stand back up behind you. The clink of the belt buckle fumbles in his hands and you grab the board a bit tighter.

It doesn’t hurt, when it hits your ass, but it leaves a sting that radiates outward, straight to your cunt. You stifle a loud moan, biting down hard on your lip.

Again the sting hits, though the smack of the belt is barely audible in the quiet room. A few more times and your head is spinning.

“Okay?” he pushes his body against your back side, his face disappearing in your neck.

“Yes…Yoongi please I-,” you’re on your tip toes, calves twitching as he grinds his hard, clothed cock against your ass, between your thighs.

“Mm, been waiting to hear that for what feels like forever,” he smiles against your skin, biting your shoulder a bit and you whimper.

“Hear me beg for it?” you chuckle at yourself.

“Yes ma’am,” he grips your hips and drags you against his hard length.

You’re about to say something but he suddenly hooks his fingers in your panties, dragging them down as he lowers himself until he’s kneeled behind you, delicately pulling your feet out of the underwear and tossing them over where your dress lies.

“Open up for me,” you feel his breath hot against the back of your thigh and you shudder, but do as you’re told, widening your stance.

He licks and sucks the skin on your legs, right under your ass, delicately moving his tongue closer to your slick heat.

“Yoongi…” his name comes out as a plea and you bend ever so slightly, trying to silently direct his tongue to your cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet baby,” he whispers. “It’s practically dripping down your thighs.”

“I missed yo- oh fuck!” you gasp when you feel his tongue wriggle between your folds, gliding effortlessly through your slick. You nearly double over when he starts softly lapping at your clit, his entire face buried in your wetness.

“Mmmmm,” he moans into your body and you reel, your grip on the bed frame becoming pathetically weak with every flick of his tongue.

“Oh god…I’m so close,” you whine, lips parted in want as you move your hips with his tongue, grinding on his mouth as he fucks you so well with it.

You’re right there, the build of an orgasm getting stronger and stronger. Then he’s gone, his tongue pulls off your dripping pussy, his body heat dissipating. He’s fucking edging you?

“Wait…wh-,” you whine.

“Bed. Now.”

You catapult yourself over the frame and land on the mattress softly with a giggle. You watch as he walks around, pulling the rest of his clothes off. He grabs your legs and drags you to the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs. His hand scoops you up behind your neck and he drags your mouth onto his.

“Fuck me,” you breathe into him, your hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him softly.

He grins into your mouth, his hand moving from behind your neck, his fingers wrapping gently around your throat, “Then ask nicely baby.”

“Are you punishing me or something?” you pout.

He laughs, running the back of his knuckle through your slit and you hiss.

“Is asking you to be polite a punishment?”

“It just feels like you’re making me work awfully hard for something you clearly want to give me,” you say, squeezing his cock a little tighter.

“Maybe I am,” he breathes, fucking your fist a bit, “maybe it’s payback, for you breaking up with me, maybe I need to know how bad you want it, that you really mean all this - and it’s not just you wanting me to fill that sweet fucking cunt up,” he explains, teasing your lips with his tongue.

“Is that so?” you ask.

You take your hand off his dick, place them on his lean hips, then pull him onto the bed.

“Sit up, let me show you,” you tell him gently.

“You taking control baby?”

“Just for a bit, wanna take care of you, let me show you,” you repeat.

You watch him get comfortable, his legs spread over your bed so you can crawl up between them. Unhooking your bra, you let it slide down your arms and drop it.

“God you’re so fucking beautiful,” he smiles.

“So are you baby,” you reply, dragging your tongue up the shaft of his throbbing cock gently.

He makes a sexy noise and lets his head fall back into the pillows.

You lick and massage his testicles, then kiss your way back up, taking the head of his cock in your mouth with a soft suck, using the tip of your tongue to kitten lick his head, relishing in the way he squirms.

“Fuck, that’s so good, just like that baby,” he buries his fingers in your hair as you take him deeper.

“Missed your dick in my mouth,” you admit between sucking.

“I missed watching you take it,” he pants. “I’m gonna bust if you keep going,” he warns.

“I can finish you,” you offer, “you could cum all over me, you like that if I recall,” you smirk.

“I do like that,” he says, scooting up, “but that’s not what I want right now.”

“What do you want?” you ask, he’s pulling you into him now, limbs tangling as he eases you into the position he wants.

“Wanna be inside you, want you under me, thighs wrapped around my waist, fucking yourself onto my dick because you want it so bad too,” he whispers.

“I can do that too,” you smile, taking his head between your hands as you kiss him.

“I know you can baby,” he lays you down so you’re on your back, “you take me so fucking good.”

“Yoongi,” his name slips out in a soft whimper, you can feel him aligning with your body.

“So good for me,” he utters as he pushes into you.

You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him in this way until he’s fully inside you. You both open your eyes and look at each other, the entire moment screaming how good this feels, how right it feels, without either of you saying a word.

He moves like that slowly, letting your bodies readjust to each other. You feel every centimeter of his length drag against your insides, laying that foundation, and you already feel the pull. The heat of a spark that’s about to turn into an explosion.

So you give him what he wants as his pace quickens, and you lock your thighs around his waist, holding your hips up and off the mattress. He grabs a fistful of your ass as he plunges harder, deeper, and you meet his thrusts with a grind.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh, that pull is getting tighter and tighter, you have to chase it now. You continue meeting his thrusts, continue to fuck him, hard. You wonder if he can feel what he needed to feel in your strokes against him, how desperate you were to get him back, not just for this, but in your very bones how you need him. You’d wished him to say what he said at the bar, about understanding now that you needed him, you need his presence in your life.

You think of this as you drag your nails down his back, think of how his breaths are getting shallow and erratic. You watch the muscles in his arms and chest move as he works his body into yours and before you can even tell him - the pull of that spark ignites and explodes. Your legs tighten around him and your back arches up off the bed as your fists disappear into the blankets, scrunching them up as you come.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees and gripping your hips so he can drag you onto his cock. He fucks you hard until his thrusts cease for a moment, you can feel him twitch as he releases it all inside you.

“I love you,” you say softly, pulling him back to you, wrapping yourself around him with no immediate plans to let him go.

“I love you too, so much ___. I missed you so much. I should’ve showed up at your door a million times to tell you how sorry-,” he sniffs, but you place your finger over his lips.

“Don’t be sorry, you don’t have to be. You showed me tonight everything I needed to know. We’re okay now,” you promise him.

“You’re sure right? I can’t lose you ever again,” he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m positive,” you kiss him, “and lucky you - you never even had to tell your mother.”

You both start laughing, laying together on your bed - and you feel whole again.

T H E E N D

Endnotes:

1. Special thanks to my Tumblies ( @btsgotjams27 @starlightjoon @kittycat1dsn @minholykingofkorea ) who all ran to help me when I got stuck on this fic and had no idea where to take it. Ya’lls slutty ideas gave me the inspo I needed to continue and I love you all to pieces. Truly💜

2. This story started as a fic titled “Remember Paris.” Which some of you will recognize bc you voted for it to be my next wip-to-fic in a poll. I’m here to swear to tell you that this is that fic😂 after editing, deleting, rewriting and that photo 🥴etc; this fic looks about as much like my original idea as I look like Min Yoongi (I do not btw). Sooo 🙃 enjoy!!!

#to read

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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i'll be yours

pairing: bang chan x fem reader

genre: smut – MDNI

synopsis: unable to stop thinking about that night, reader confronts chan resulting in a confession and a night of passion.

warnings: smut, ghosting, unestablished (turned established at the end) relationship, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, fingering, protected sex (piv), oral sex (f rec), alcohol consumption, pet names

words: 3.9k ~ (3930)

♡ part one — ♡ m.list — ♡ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

time has passed since that day. everything went back to normal. you continued on with your life and chan continued on with his. no harm done, right?

expect, you haven't been able to stop thinking about that day. the way chan felt on your skin. how his hot breath would tickle the skin of your inner thigh before his soft lips would press against them. them same lips sucking and eating out your cunt like a starved man.

you orgasmed, naturally. but when you wanted to do something for him, he refused. you had that sinking feeling in your stomach, slowly rising to the back of your throat. he refused to give you eye contact, saying a quick goodbye before rushing out of your apartment with a raging hard-on.

you know chan better than anyone else on this planet so you know how much he loves sex. you'd go as far to say that he's a slight sex addict so it made no sense why he would rush off so quickly.

you thought nothing of it and brushed it off. however, chan is now ghosting you. you let him off the hook the first few text messages and phone calls, making up excuses for him in your head. but it's been weeks and still, he refuses to return your calls and texts.

did the thought of you being a virgin scare him off? you don't have experience, that's for sure unless you count watching endless amounts of porn videos. but porn is fake, it's exaggerated to make the viewer feel something. porn videos only has one purpose and that's to help the viewer ‘get off’

you hate feeling like this. feeling constantly anxious and worried about the whole situation. you don't want to regret what you and chan did, but with the way he is acting towards you, you're forced to.

you tried, you really did. you tried to forget about that day, about him but you can't. every time you close your eyes you can see him. his head between your legs, his fingers digging into your skin making indentations and small bruises. how he moans and complements you, constantly reassuring and praising you.

he was so kind, so gentle but now, he's like a stranger–and you hate that.

deciding that wallowing around in your own self pity was doing more harm than good, you decide to go out. have one or two drinks, dance with a few strangers then go home for the night. what you didn't bank on was that same man that has been clouding and consuming your thoughts to be at the same bar with his one night stand, of course.

“chan?!” you shout loud enough for your voice to be heard over the music. the bass vibrating, ear drums ringing with a small headache approaching to accommodate.

“yn..” chan swallows, placing his glass down on the table. he shifts on the spot feeling a little awkward. your rosy cheeks and doe eyes are all too familiar to him. flashbacks of that night flashing in his mind, blood rushing south fast.

“what are you doing here?!”

“could ask you the same question.” he chuckles.

“why haven't you been returning my calls or texts?!” your brows furrow as chan rubs the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

“i've urm, i've been busy yn.” you roll your eyes at him, tongue in cheek.

“busy?” you scoff. the alcohol in your system rushing to your head, clouding your thoughts and better judgment. a wave of confidence washes over you. “as in fucking an endless amount of people?”

chan swallows before sighing. you turn your attention to his plus one, smiling sweetly as you take a sip from your beverage.

“don't think yourself so special darling. chan doesn't do relationships. you're just another person to add to his body count.” the alcohol definitely talking at this point. you try to hold yourself back, but it's no use. the anger you feel, the regret seeping from your pores.

his plus one scoffs before walking away, chan shaking his head slowly. you smirk, giving his plus one a small wave in a sarcastic manner.

“do you have to?” chan sighs. you cock an eyebrow.

“do i have to what? i mean, you're the one that ate me out and then decided to ghost me, chan.”

“that wasn't my intention..”

“no?! then why do it?”

“because..”

“because what chan?! is it because i'm a virgin? i know i don't have experience but if that's the case, then that's fucked up!”

“no! i–”

“you knew it was my first time being eaten out chan!” you interrupt him, the alcohol soon fading away as your emotions override your thoughts. “you eat me up and you're quick to leave me, confused. and on top of that, you fucking ghost me!”

“i'm sorry yn. i know it was so shitty of me to do that but–”

“you don't have to worry about me being bad chan. i've watched so many porn videos that i think i know what i'm doing. i mean, i know i'm not as skilled as your previous one night stands but i can improve.” you ramble.

“yn!” the firmness of his voice shocks you a little, making you pout and look at your feet.

“i know no amount of sorrys can make up for my shitty behaviour towards you but if you just shut up for one second and let me explain.” chan chuckles softly, his tone of voice soft and playful letting you know that he is joking.

“sorry.” you mumble as you look at him, holding up your glass “think i've had a bit too much to drink..”

“yeah, no shit.” you flush a soft pink colour as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“the reason i left so sudden that day was because i was scared, yn.”

“scared?” you tilt your head to the side as chan hums and nods. “why?”

“because i didn't want to hurt you. i could feel myself getting so overwhelmed and feral. the softness of your skin, the sinful yet sweet moans. i felt so.. animalistic.. like, i wasn't there. and it scared me yn because if i stayed, i would've hurt you.”

“but.. why did you ghost me after?”

“because every time i see anything remotely about you, it takes me back to that day. i wanted to forget yn, to keep the image i have of you pure and innocent but fuck.. since that day, my head has been so consumed with sinful thoughts of you. i want to ruin you, corrupt you yn..”

“i still don't understand chan.. why do you feel like that about me? is it just me or do you feel like that about your other one night stands?”

“no, i don't yn. these past few days being away from you has made me realise something, something i've been so ignorant to. a feeling i've been concealing in the form of sex.”

“huh??” you tilt your head, feeling confused as ever. chan takes your hand that's not holding the glass, intertwining his fingers with yours. you blink at him as you watch, his face softening and eyes sparkling.

“i like you, yn.”

“oh!” you grin, “i like you too! you're like, my bestest friend ever, chan!”

chan sighs softly as he laughs, shaking his head.

“y'know, for someone so smart, you really are a little dense, yn.” you furrow your brows, taking slight offense to that sentence.

“he–” you being to protest only to be silenced by the feel of another's lips. your mind turns blank as your body is still like a statue. your eyes widen at the sudden action, the familiar wispy bits of black hair the only thing you see.

his lips are soft. the kiss is gentle with little to no pressure being put into it. it's close to being just a simple peck but the way his lips linger on yours is telling you is more than that.

your mind works on overdrive as you fail to push him away due to the fact that you don't hate it. it feels normal, natural. you've spent days wondering and filling yourself up with anxiety over whether you and chan would still remain friends and it turns out that you'll both be something much more.

chan pulls away slowly, laughing at your shocked expression that's paired with rose tinted cheeks.

“do you understand now, yn?” he says softly. “do you understand why i distanced myself from you?”

“i do..” you whisper. it's just you and him together, in a club full of drunk adults grinding on one another, yet, you can't hear the noise. it's blurred out, a distance noise in the background. the only thing you can focus on is chan, the kiss and the way your heart is erratically thumping against your rib cage.

“you didn't have to leave..” you mumble as you chew your lip. chan tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“excuse me?”

“that day.. you didn't have to leave. you could've stayed.”

“yn.. what are you implying?” you twiddle your thumbs before combing your fingers through your hair.

“that i wanted you to stay with me.” you whisper, swallowing thickly as chan gives you slow blinks as he tries to process everything.

“even after everything i've confessed to you, you still want me?”

“yes. i want to finish what we started.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“are you sure yn?”

“yes chan. for the millionth time yes. just shut up and eat me.” you groan as you push his head down between your legs earning yourself a chuckle.

“impatient much?” he hums as he squeezes your thighs gently.

“i haven't stopped thinking about this, about you.”

“oh really?” a hint of cockiness dripping from chan's words as he peppers kisses along your inner thighs. goosebumps rise and ripple along your skin, making you whimper and squirm.

“really. every time i closed my eyes, all i could see was you between my legs again.”

“and what was i doing, angel?” he purrs as he looks up at your flustered state through his lashes.

“chan…” you whisper, feeling heat rise up your neck to sit dormant on your cheeks.

“tell me angel. what was i doing?” he ghosts his fingers up and down your inner thigh.

“you were kissing me…”

“like this?” he asks before planting soft and gentle kisses along your inner thigh, occasionally sucking and squeezing to leave purple bruises behind.

“yes..” you breathe out.

“what else angel?”

“and then you…” you trail off, whimpering softly as chan raises his eyebrow at you.

“go on.” he hums. you chew your lip gently, swallowing thickly as embarrassment fills your entire body. you've never done dirty talk before, the only explicit thing you've done is be eaten out–by the same man that's between your legs, yet again.

“y-you..” you stammer, words lodged in your throat due to embarrassment and fear. chan notices due to the fact he reaches up and laces his fingers with yours. he gives you a reassuring and gentle smile whilst his thumb strokes the back of your hand slowly.

“it's ok. it's just you and me, darling.”

“sorry.” you mumble. “i've never done something like this before so it's all new to me.”

“i know darling. do you want to do this with me? as in go all the way?”

“you mean as in…?” chan hums and nods his head. you've always imagined your first time being something magical and exciting. you wanted to give your virginity to someone you trust with your whole life, someone who will love and protect you for eternity. who will put a ring on your finger, walk you down the isle and start a potentially family with you.

looking back at chan, you get flashbacks of his confession back at the club. your heart hammers against your rib cage as you recall his expression–that of a love sick puppy. that's when it hits you, like a bullet to the heart; chan has always looked at you like that.

your first time may not be as magical as you had hoped, but one thing you know for sure, is that chan will vow to love and protect you.

“i want it. i want you to be my first.” blood rushes to chan's cheeks (and penis) as his heart thumps erratically against his chest to the point where he thinks he might be having a heart attack.

“are you sure?? like, 100%” his voice laced with concern. he wants to hear it, hear the confidence in your voice that tells him;

“yes. i'm sure.”

chan closes his eyes slowly as he inhales deeply. now is not the time to be animalistic. it's your first time, he has to be gentle. imagine that you're some type of art work that's delicate to the touch. he can't ruin you–not yet anyways.

with a simple nod and “ok” from him, he dives back between your legs. he gentle sucks on your clit whilst squeezing your inner thighs gently. he licks, sucks and gently nibbles, soft hums of contentment ripple from the back of his throat.

you groan softly, fingers automatically tangling in chan's hair. you feel the muscle of his tongue dip between your folds and lap at your juices. your taste coats his taste buds, making him shiver and relive the previous night that he has burned deep inside his brain.

“gosh, you're so beautiful.” he mumbles before his tongue dives into your entrance. you don't have time to retaliate. just a simple, unplanned moan was all you could muster from the sudden feeling.

you feel the pad of his thumb rub slow circles on your sensitive clit. it's enough pressure to make you feel something, to make you arch your back up off the back and groan loudly.

“c-chan!!” you whimper. your hair sticking to your skin due to it coating in sweat quickly. that all too familiar knot in the pit of your stomach tightening and tightening. your thighs start to shake, breathless pants and empty moans fall past your now dry lips.

chan carries on assaulting your cunt with his tongue and thumb. he'd occasionally look at you through his lashes, his cock twitching at the sight of your rosy cheeks and glass eyes.

“chan.. please.” you effortlessly pant as chan smirks against your pussy. he removes his tongue and pulls away to kneel between your legs. you watch him as sits back on his feet. his chin and lips glistening with saliva and spit.

he uses two fingers to rub between your folds. he keeps his eyes on you at all times to grab a hint of discomfort from you. he slowly pushes one finger inside, pushing until he's at the first knuckle. he's welcomed by warm and squishy walls that contract around the single digit.

he slowly pumps his finger in and out, watching your brows furrow together and body twist side to side. you've fingered yourself before, plenty of times in fact, but nothing compares to what you're feeling now.

chan's fingers are thicker, he has technique. his finger curls against your walls as it caresses them. his finger becomes slick with your juices. the wet, sloppy sounds echoing in the bedroom; an embarrassing reminder that this is all new to you.

“more.” you groan out as chan picks up the pace.

“more? are you sure?”

“yes! please, i want more.” your mind is foggy. the words that come out off your mouth feel alien–like it's not you that's talking, but someone else who's much more experienced.

chan nods before adding in a second finger. you groan once more as the feeling of his thick fingers fill you up so effortlessly. he curls them as he pushes more inside you. you pant heavily as he pumps them at a reasonable pace, occasionally scissoring you.

you tighten around chan. a sudden shock of pleasure rushes down your spine as chan rubs your clit with his free hand. the knot tightens, legs quiver as you grip onto the sheets.

“c-chan!!”

“it's ok darling. cum.” moaning chan's name loudly, your walls pulse and contract around his digits as your legs shake uncontrollably. your stomach dips as you try to process the intensity of your orgasm.

chan slowly pulls his fingers out to undress himself. you watch him with half-lidded eyes as he takes a condom out of his wallet.

“we're really doing this, huh?” you whisper.

“do you want to?”

“i do but, i'm scared..” chan smiles softly before leaning over you. he rests on his forearms that are either side of your head, stroking your sweaty hair away from your face.

“it's ok to be scared.”

“it is?”

“yes. this is a whole new experience for you. you're at your most vulnerable, baring all for me to see. you're allowing me to touch your most intimate parts and well, do things to you. you're experiencing new things as well as new feelings. it's normal for you to be scared.”

“will the relationship between us change?”

“i think so.” the colour drains from your face. you can't lose chan, not now, not ever!

“h-how?��

“if you say yes to being mine.” chan smirks as you whine, gently slapping his bicep

“you gave me a heart attack!!”

“wasn't my intention.” chan laughs softly before kissing the tip of your nose gently. “ready?”

“ready.”

chan nods before kneeling up. he pulls down his underwear, his cock springing free from the restraints. your eyes widen a little at the size and thickness. many questions and thoughts of “will he fit?” and “he's too big” swim around in your head as chan opens the condom, giving himself a few pumps before rolling the rubber on his length.

“are you sure?” chan looks at you, his expression and tone of voice stern.

“positive!”

“100%?”

“chann” you whine, giggling.

“i'm just making sure darling. i don't want you to regret this, that's all.”

“chan, i'd never regret this. i want it just as much as you. i cant think of anyone else who's more loving and caring than you to give my virginity to.”

chan's cheeks flush red at the sudden confession, his cock twitching which causes you to giggle softly.

“o-ok!” a flustered chan holds your waist with one hand, the base of his cock with another.

“this will hurt. we prepared you but even so. you will stretch, it might sting at first. please tell me to stop if it becomes too much. i will go slow and i will be gentle with you. don't be afraid to be vocal, ok?!”

“ok.” you bite your lip gently as chan nods. he rubs his tip between your folds before gently and slowly pushing into your entrance.

you hiss as an overwhelming and unpleasant feeling washes over you, knocking the air out off your lungs. the stretch burns but it's not unbearable. chan soothes you by stroking your hips gently, slowly pushing under half his penis inside.

you're tight, possibly too tight but that's to be expected from you having an orgasm and have never been penetrated before. you grip onto the sheets, forgetting to breathe until chan encourages you to take deep breaths.

you look at him. he smiles softly, taking in deep breaths and exhaling slowly to encourage you to do the same. you do as you keep eye contact with chan feeling yourself calm down and your heart rate steadily beat.

“there you go. good job.” chan strokes your waist gently as you blush. “better?”

“much. thank you.”

“does it hurt?”

“a little. it's like a burning sting but it's bearable.”

“hopefully that'll change soon. are you ok if i start moving?”

“i-i think so..”

“ok. remember to tell me to stop if it's too much.”

you nod, closing your eyes as chan slowly starts thrusting. you bite your bottom lip gently, the first few thrusts stinging as you get accustomed to his size. but once you do, a whole new feeling explodes.

the way his hips slowly move, his hands gripping onto your hips and his cock caressing your walls is almost too much for you to bear. the soft, yet deep moans that ripple from chan's throat makes you shiver and want more. the pain you was feeling quickly turns to pleasure, tingling up and down your spine before reaching the tips of your fingers and toes.

you feel electrifying. a new, alien feeling, a feeling you never thought you would ever feel is now happening. it's so much that it's scary for you, but you don't want it to stop; you want more.

you feel your mind haze over. the bed creaking and the sheets rustling all become background noise with the sounds of your sloppy pussy and chan's grunts amplifying. your eyes flutter open as you whimper softly, reaching out to chan.

he pants softly, grabbing your wrist to kiss your palm before nuzzling his cheek into it. he then intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand softly yet firmly.

“more.” you choke out.

“are you sure?”

“yes! please chan!” you don't care how desperate you sound. you sound and feel like a whole new and different person. the pleasure you're feeling is bundling up in the pit of your stomach, forming a knot that tightens and tightens with each stroke of chan's cock.

chan nods and simply obliges to your request. he slowly picks up the tempo, starting small and slow before speeding up as he watches your body twist and turn. your pussy clenching around him, providing him with such warmth and wetness that he doesn't want to leave.

“fuck fuck fuck.” you groan. chan clenches his jaw, a thin layer of sweat forming on his body. he grips onto your hips a little too tightly as purple bruises form slowly.

“god you feel so good. so warm..”

“mhm.” is all you can muster as a response. your thighs shake and stomach dips as you clench around him tighter and tighter. chan mentally chuckles to himself, noticing how quick you're close to another orgasm.

with the pad of his finger, he rubs your overly sensitive clit. you cry out, empty moans and pants escaping past your lips. chan is also close, he has been since the very beginning. however, he figured that orgasming together would make the experience more special and memorable.

“close..” you whine, nails digging into chan's wrists.

“me too. together?” you frantically nod your head as the knot snaps. you pant heavily as your orgasm hits and washes over you with a forceful impact. it knocks the air out off your lungs and causes your ears to ring. you hear and feel chan grunt and halt his movements, emptying himself in the condom.

once calm from all the adrenaline and hormones does your body feel heavy with exhausting. chan slowly pulls out of you, apologising when you hiss. he takes the condom off, tying it and discarding it in the trash before flopping down beside you.

“how'd you feel?”

“tender, tired and thirsty.” you giggle, looking at chan. “but good.”

“that's good. i'll help you clean up and i can make us some food.”

“that sounds perfect.” you sit up slowly as chan shuffles off the bed. he reaches the bedroom door before spinning on his heels suddenly. his cheeks flush, eyes filling with happy tears as he beams from the words you suddenly say–

“i'll be yours.”

note: woooo. im back. i finally finished uni stuff so now i have so much time to write, read and play games. hehe!! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

tags (open): @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @fairylouist ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @cixrosie ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

Text

Sit. Stay. || KSJ

(banner by @kth1)

Title: Sit. Stay. WC: 14k one-shot Genre: fluff, s2l, neighbors!au, baby angst for a quick minute?, smut

Summary: Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?

Rating: NSFW - Minors DNI, i mean it

Warnings: language, casual drinking, a parent is having heart problems and seeing doctors for it, miscommunication sort of, immaturity lol, kissing, mentions of surgery/doctors/hospitals - but everyone is okay!, an argument, protected penetrative sex, doggy style (i mean how could i NOT), fingering, a nanosecond of nip stim

A/N: Written for the Paw Prints Academy Collab hosted by @kth1fics! Typo-check by @oddinary4bts - thank you, Ella!!!

You’re asleep, dreaming something plotless - your grandmother, long deceased, is there. It doesn't feel sad - it feels peaceful. It feels like, oh, it’s nice to see you again.

And it’s ruined, too early, by a long, high-pitched, inhuman cry. You startle awake, heart pounding as your brain scrambles to make sense of the sound. The whine - it’s a whine despite the loudness of it - dies down and is followed by a series of yips and sharp barks. Every noise seems to pierce straight through your skull.

You haven’t slept through a night in four days.

“Zinnia,” you beg, pushing the comforter off your body and making your way blindly across the unlit bedroom, “you have got to chill. You are not dying.”

Zinnia, an eleven-week old chocolate labrador, yaps even louder once she hears your voice.

You’re reinforcing bad behavior by getting up, a voice in your head reminds you.

You know it’s true, but what’s the alternative? Let Zinnia wake up every apartment on the whole floor?

You open the bedroom door, and Zinnie bounces with excitement in her crate, her tail flapping against the wall of it with a rhythmic thwap-ap-thwap-ap.

You sigh. She’s so dang cute, you can’t even be pissed that it’s two in the morning. “Hi, silly girl,” you say, resigned. She rolls herself in a full circle, going belly up and then back to her feet in less than a second.

You unlock the crate and watch absently as she catapults around your feet, races into the kitchen, slides across the linoleum and crashes sideways into a wooden cabinet door, and then dashes - unphased - back towards you, barreling into your shins.

You sigh again and head back to your bedroom for a hoodie and some shoes. Miss Zinnie needs to run, apparently.

You hook up her leash and grab your keys, patting your pocket to make sure your phone is in there before heading to the hallway. Zinnia zips left and right, tripping you more than once on the way to the elevators.

You take the elevators up instead of down. There are a lot of perks to your high-end apartment building - covered parking, a pool, a 24-hour gym - but the best is by far the dog run, outside on the twelfth floor. You’ve used it approximately sixty times in the days since you brought Zinnia home.

You realize as you push open the glass doors to the rooftop space that you forgot poop bags.

“Zinnia,” you say seriously, “I need you to promise not to poop. Got it?”

Zinnie gags once as she pulls too hard on the leash. You rub a hand over her face and reach down to pick her up, opting to carry her hyper ass the rest of the way to the dog run. You hold the door on your way back in for a tall guy with a baseball cap tugged low over his brow, leading a fluffy, blue-eyed dog back into the building. He nods in thanks and hurries past you. You have to step inside for a second to let him by, his shoulders take up so much of the doorway despite his slender frame.

“His dog isn’t choking itself on the leash,” you point out to Zinnia sourly. You make your way over to the dog run and make sure to latch the gate before setting Zinnia back on the ground and unclipping her.

“Go, you absolute menace,” you tell her. “Go run until you’re tired. Please, for the love of god, run until you’re tired.”

–

You’ve always gotten a mid-afternoon energy slump; Zinnia’s nighttime shenanigans haven’t helped that at all. You’re bent over your desk, trying to inhale the caffeine from your two pm coffee, when your phone pings on your desk.

Your heart sinks when you see the name of the college kid who’s supposed to watch Zinnia on weekday afternoons.

“Please just be a cute picture,” you mutter as you unlock your screen. No such luck. The text informs you that, in your absence, Zinnia chewed through a pair of shoes you’d been stupid enough to leave out.

There is an attached picture.

It is not cute.

–

You get home earlier than normal somehow, letting yourself into the apartment and kicking off your shoes. You immediately pick them back up, cradling them against your chest like they need to be protected.

They kind of do. Zinnia hears you and blasts straight at you, running circles around your legs, tail flopping side to side so hard her whole butt wiggles.

“Hello, silly beast,” you say affectionately, though truth be told you’re still mourning those chucks she’d ruined.

Ry, Zinnia’s college pal, gathers her belongings and tells you goodbye. Alone with your shoe-destroyer, you sigh and head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Abandoned in the living room, Zinnia begins to sing the song of her people.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “Please, can you let me pee and change clothes? It is okay to be alone for five seconds!”

You ignore her complaints as you do just that, emerging in joggers and a hoodie, and sneakers that aren’t your chucks, since those live in the garbage can now.

You’d been planning on taking Zinnia on a walk walk, but there are some pretty ominous clouds out there. You pull your phone from your pocket and check the hourly - 80% chance that it’s already raining.

A quick trip to the dog run will have to be better than nothing.

You two head to the elevator, and you push the button for the twelfth floor, the ring around the button lighting up red.

The elevator slows to a stop on the eighth floor. The doors open and you spot the dog you’d passed last night, the one with the pretty blue eyes. You raise your eyes to look at its owner, the guy with shoulders the width of the moon.

He’s got a cap on again, but you can see his face today. He lights up when he sees you, stepping inside to let the doors close behind him. He glances at the button panel to make sure his choice is selected - he must be heading to twelve as well.

“We met you last night,” he says slyly, smiling at you. You’re unable to answer for a second; he’s so good-looking you think he must model or something. He’s got a strong brow, beautiful dark eyes, and lips that should be a museum, carved from marble.

“I think we did,” you agree, feeling suddenly shy, completely unqualified to speak to this absolute god.

“We did,” he says confidently. “I’d remember a face that cute anywhere.”

You feel yourself flush, suddenly so warm that you want to strip off your hoodie and maybe your shoes too, just to cool down. Then you realize that he’s looking down at Zinnia, whose tail is wagging so ferociously that she’s almost toppling over as she sniffs noses with the stranger’s dog.

“Is she okay?” you ask suddenly. “Do I need to –?”

“It’s fine,” he says easily, flapping a hand at you. “Blue’s very maternal. She knows a baby when she sees one.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing a little in relief. Being a Bad Dog Owner is bad enough, you’d hate to make a mistake with someone else’s dog in the equation.

The elevator doors open on the twelfth floor, and the guy holds out a hand, beckoning you to go first. You try to exit, but Zinnia is so obsessed with the guy’s dog - Blue - that she won’t budge.

“Good god,” you grumble, reaching down to lift her, stalking out of the elevator with only a scrap of your dignity. You’re pretty sure you hear the guy snicker as he follows you towards the doors to outside.

There’s an elderly lady and a corgi in the dog run, and you and the guy from the eighth floor hurry through the gate and latch it quickly.

Zinnia takes off sprinting the second you unclip her. Blue trots over to the corgi first.

“So,” you say. “You have a dog that listens.”

The grin he shoots you is amused. “I’ve had Blue for almost eight years. You have a baby. A lot of her behavior right now - the energy, chewing on everything she finds - she’ll grow out of.”

“That’s a relief,” you say, thinking of the ruined chair legs under your kitchen table. You’d had that kitchen set for a decade and Zinnia left it covered in teeth-marks within the seven minutes it took you to switch laundry loads.

He shrugs. “Some of it has to be trained out, though,” he warns you.

“Damn,” you sigh. A raindrop hits the back of your hand; instinctively, you raise your eyes to the clouds. Beside you, the guy does the same. On the other end of the dog run, the older lady calls her corgi over and clips its leash, ready to head in.

“You better pee fast, you monster,” you tell Zinnia, who doesn’t hear you and wouldn’t care even if she did.

The guy laughs quietly under his breath, then whistles once. Blue stops sniffing the ground and trots over immediately. Either his competence is really sexy, or you’re biased by his face.

“I’m Seokjin, by the way,” he says, looking up at you as he bends over to clip the leash back on. “Most people just call me Jin. This is Blue.”

As the rain starts to patter more strongly, you tell him your name, and then point at your bonkers puppy, who is currently trying to wedge herself under the metal beam below a bench. “That absolute disaster is Zinnia.”

He smiles and repeats it. “We’ll see you around,” he says, heading back in towards the building, leaving you and your puppy in a suddenly steady rain.

–

You stagger like a zombie to the elevators in the morning, hands clasped around a travel mug full of hot tea. Inside, you lean heavily against the wall, willing your eyes to stay open as you descend.

You’ve made it down two floors before you even register that another human is in there with you. One more before you register that you know that human.

“There she is,” he says brightly, when he sees that you’ve clocked him, finally. “Good morning!”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling ruefully. “I’m exhausted.”

He nods understandingly. “New puppies will do that,” he says, still cheerful. “Are you crate-training her at night?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. “It’s not going great.”

He seems like he’s going to answer, but the elevator stops on floor three and four more people shuffle in between you. When you’re released into the lobby, he nods goodbye from the opposite side of the small crowd as you make your way through the front doors.

–

You barely make it through the work-day without taking an illegal nap at your desk, but somehow you do. When you get home, Ry slipping out your front door the second she hears you, you want nothing more than to collapse on the couch and close your eyes.

Instead, you leash up Zinnia - without even changing clothes first - and head up to the dog run. You figure if she handles her business now, it might buy you a few hours of couch time.

You also wonder if the guy - Jin - is usually out there right around now. He was yesterday, after all. Maybe that’s his normal schedule.

He’s out there before you, this time. Your hunch was right. You unclip Zinnia and lean back against the fence, hoping you don’t fall asleep on your feet like this.

Jin sidles up beside you and you can’t deny the warm, pleased feeling that rises up in you.

“Tough day at work?” he asks.

You can’t fight the smile off your face - you don’t even try. “Normal,” you say. “Yours?”

He shrugs. “Normal.”

You wait a beat, two beats. Jin leans comfortably next to you, his eyes watching Blue as she runs happily alongside someone’s doberman.

“What do you do?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

He gives you a sideways look that you can’t decipher. “You’ll be disappointed,” he says, sort of like a warning.

This surprises you. “Disappointed? Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s pretty boring.”

Your smile turns a little knowing. “And you don’t like looking boring?”

His mouth twists to the side. “I don’t like feeling boring. But anyway - I’m a salesman. I work at a sporting goods store. I do consultations for certain equipment, but most of the time I’m just trying to make commission.”

I think with that smile you could probably sell me a used tissue, you think unhelpfully.

“That’s more exciting than mine,” you tell him, hoping it cheers him up. “I spend all eight hours behind a desk.”

He grimaces. “Do you hate it?” he asks.

No one’s ever framed the question like that before. You ponder this as, across the dog run, Zinnia happily harasses a pair of doodle-mixes.

“I don’t hate it,” you say slowly, weighing the truth of the words. “It’s just… monotonous, sometimes.”

“So you got a puppy to break up the monotony,” he guesses.

Now it’s your turn to grimace. “I got a puppy because my boyfriend moved out.”

He turns to look at you sharply, expression stricken. “I’m sorry - I didn’t -.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “I kicked him out. Caught him - well - it doesn’t matter. The point is I wasn’t sad to see him go. And I’d been trying for a long time to talk him into getting a dog, so. I gave myself a few months to get back on my feet and then I got myself a damn dog.”

And now she’s eating everything I own, you don’t add.

“Sorry you went through that,” Jin says seriously. You wave him off.

“It’s ancient history,” you tell him. “Besides, I’d trade him for Zinnie any day. Even when she pees inside.”

He laughs at this.

You stand chatting for a while - long enough for the doodle-mixes to get taken inside, and for a whole herd of dachshunds to come, chase circles around Zinnia for thirty minutes, and leave again, shepherded out by a middle-aged man. Long enough to learn that Jin went to college in the city, has an advanced degree in Business Management that he’s never used, adopted Blue when he was twenty-one. Long enough to learn that his parents live on the coast, that he can do most board-centered sports well, that he likes food and video games more than he likes most people. Long enough for him to learn your answers to the same questions.

“I should probably take her in,” he says finally, as dusk settles around you. “We both need dinner.”

“Sure,” you say. “I should, too. Zinnie! Zin! Zinnia, come!”

Jin snorts as Zinnia happily ignores you.

–

Your Friday is off to a bad start. Not only did Zinnie scream through the night, until you caved and let her out of the crate and spent the rest of the night on the couch so she wouldn’t feel lonely, but you break a heel on your way out the door.

The sudden break sends you sprawling onto your carpeted entryway floor. Your thermos of tea rolls away - thankfully sealed tight - but you feel your tights tear on your knee where you land. And your face ends up almost under a kitchen chair, eye to eye with a delightful little gift that Zinnia must have left you sometime while you were trying to get dressed.

You pushed yourself to your feet, eye your ripped tights and then the clock, and burst into tears on the spot. “Zinnia!” you wail. “I do not have time to go change! And I definitely do not have time to scrub the carpet right now!”

You do both, shooting the puppy death-stares as you scoot out of the apartment twenty minutes late with a blotchy face. You’d better not meet Seokjin in the elevators today, like this.

Luckily you don’t - but that’s about the last good thing you can say about the rest of your day. You get a nasty email from your boss for arriving late, you realize once you get to your office that you’d left your thermos of tea back on your kitchen table after you’d tripped, and Ry texts you to say she’s got a flu and she can’t take Zinnia out to pee after lunch the way she usually does.

You can’t leave early to handle it; you’re already in hot water for being late. You have to accept the fact that you’ll be going home to a mess - Zinnia can’t be expected to hold it that long, and it’s your fault, not hers. You just hope that, without someone there to play with her, her tiny, baby bladder is the only mess you’ll find, and not more ruined furniture.

It sucks, and you feel horrible - hoping she doesn’t cry and bark all afternoon, alone - but there’s nothing you can do about it.

When you get home, it’s about what you expected. You spray the carpet, hurry to change clothes, then come out to scrub where the spray had been sitting. You clean this up, and then the shreds of paper towel from the paper towel roll that Zinnia somehow got from the kitchen table, and face the puppy, utterly exhausted and at wit’s end. Somehow, you find yourself wanting to cry again.

“Maybe,” you tell her, as she looks up at you expectantly, “I am just not meant to be a dog parent. Maybe you need someone who knows what they’re doing. Or works from home. Or has a roommate to help. Something. Something that isn’t this.”

Oblivious to your emotional spiral, oblivious that you’re questioning your place in her life, Zinnia lays down and yawns, pink tongue curling and paws stretching as far as they can reach.

You skip the dog run. You think she probably needs an actual walk since Ry didn’t play with her this afternoon, and you don’t think you can face Seokjin in your current mood. He’ll either be friendly or sympathetic, and you can’t handle either of those with grace right now.

You strap Zinnia into an actual harness, not trusting her on just a clip-leash off the apartment property, and head towards the river. You detour through the park on your way, hoping the fresh air, exercise, and sunshine will work their magic.

They don’t. You fight back tears all the way to the riverside, Zinnia trotting along at times, pulling the leash towards passersby and random garbage at others.

Near the river, you spot a restaurant with outdoor seating. A few tables have brought their dogs; they lay on the pavement next to their humans’ tables happily, causing no fuss.

“What do you think?” you ask Zinnia wryly. “Can you be good long enough for one drink?”

You don’t give her the choice, getting yourself a table and tying her leash securely to your chair. One drink turns into two, then somehow you’re working on a third, your chin resting in your hand, a little stormcloud brewing above your head.

You’re startled when a body drops into the chair across from yours. You reach for Zinnia’s leash, alarmed, and then you realize it’s only Jin.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, at the same time that he says, “You look miserable.”

You stare at each other, not sure who should address what first.

“I was on my way home,” he explains. “The subway stop here isn’t that far from our place, so I’ll take it sometimes when the weather’s nice.”

You nod, accepting this. Then you decide to address what he’d said. “I am miserable,” you admit. “I am the worst dog owner on the planet. Come see me in five years, I will have one hellion of a dog, and exactly zero unruined square inches of apartment.”

Jin looks at you with an expression that’s both amused at your hyperbole and a bit sympathetic. You don’t know what you expect him to say, but it isn’t this - he leans forward, brows furrowing seriously, and asks you, “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” you say, somewhat desperately. “I will take any suggestions.”

He sits back, the intensity leaving his face. “I have a few friends who work at this place in town? It’s called Paw Prints Academy.”

You chuckle. “Is it for bad dogs?”

He flashes you a smile. “Their secret, unofficial motto is there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.”

“Sounds like the place for me,” you admit.

“They’ve got it all - obedience classes, experts to run your questions by, groomers, boarding, day care.”

“It sounds great,” you say. “I obviously need some expert help. I’m a disaster.”

“I’ll send you their website,” Jin promises, and then pauses, his hand halfway to his phone. He seems, suddenly, less sure. The tips of his ears are suddenly red. “I… that is… if you’re okay with giving me your number?”

You hide your smile behind a hand. “Sure,” you say, trying to bite back the grin. “You can have my number.”

“For puppy purposes,” he clarifies with a cheeky smile. As if you both know that’s a lie.

“For puppy purposes,” you reassure him, feeling your little stormcloud start to dissipate.

–

Seokjin doesn’t abuse having your number. He sends you the website to Paw Prints Academy, and adds, “my friend’s name is jimin, tell him you know me” and then you don’t hear from him again. You call the academy and get Zinnia registered for obedience courses. You also sign yourself up for a seminar called New Puppy 101.

Slowly, things actually start looking up. It happens in a trickle, so gradually it’s barely noticeable. You don’t notice - until the first morning your alarm goes off and you realize with a jolt of terror that Zinnia hadn’t woken you up in the middle of the night, even once.

But when you trip over your own feet in a panic, throwing open your bedroom door, terrified of what you’ll find… you find Zinnia lying peacefully on her side in her crate. She begins to thump her tail happily when she sees you, and you nearly sag with relief.

Things improve for you at work, too; it’s almost like getting a full night’s sleep makes you more productive or something.

You go a full five days without scrubbing your carpet or throwing away any shoes.

And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that you meet Seokjin and Blue up in the dog run nearly every evening after work.

It’s during one of these unscheduled, yet oddly routine instances that Jin points out Zinnia’s progress.

You’re leaning against the fence together, watching absently as the dogs run around, as you have almost every day lately. Sure, you take Zinnia up as soon as you get home from work for her sake. But the coincidence that Jin is usually there around the same time doesn’t hurt.

“She seems way better,” he observes, turning his head to watch Zinnia zip by. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten, too.”

“I know, right?” you explode, responding to both observations at once. But you can’t help it - you’re proud. “Watch this! Zinnia! Zinnie!”

And Zinnia, your wild baby, stops running and turns to look at you eagerly, waiting.

“Sit!” you call.

And Zinnia sits.

Seokjin whistles low, appreciative.

“Jimin’s a miracle worker,” he says. “I’m glad you called them.”

“Me too,” you admit. “Did I ever thank you for sending me their info? Because, seriously, I think you saved my life.”

Jin laughs, full and deep.

It scares you how much you like the feeling of making him laugh. It makes you want to sprint out of there, with or without Zinnia, hopping the fence if you have to.

–

The next afternoon, you get home and get ready to head up to the dog run. It’s a beautiful day, but you barely notice as you rotely go through the motions - change shoes, clip Zinnia’s leash, grab your keys from the countertop, head for the elevator. You keep your phone in your hand, hoping for a vibration, terrified of the vibration.

The dog run is empty when you get there; normally you’d be a little bummed that Jin isn’t there with Blue as he is almost every weekday evening, but today you’re relieved that you don’t have to try to carry a conversation. You unclip Zinnia, who darts away, and give a heavy sigh, leaning heavily against the fence, your phone still between your white-knuckled fingers.

Your relief is short-lived, because the building door opens less than two minutes later and Blue leads Jin out into the sunshine.

He smiles when he sees you, loping over and taking his now-familiar spot next to you as Blue sniffs the ground next to the metal bench to your left.

He’s chattering at you, and you think you’re answering, but it all kind of flows around you. After a few minutes of this, he pauses mid-sentence, brows furrowing.

“Hey,” he says kind of softly - there’s a definite change in his tone, which is honestly the thing that grabs your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer on instinct. “All good.”

There’s something sharp in his sideways glance. “You sure? You seem distracted.”

You wave the hand holding your phone a little, nodding your head toward it. “My dad’s at a cardiologist appointment right now. I’m waiting to hear if everything is fine… or if everything is not fine, in which case I probably need to go pack a bag and look up train times…” You trail off. Seokjin is listening intently, his face serious. You feel a flush of embarrassment anyway. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload on you. We’re practically strangers.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens with his frown.

“Well, now my feelings are hurt,” he complains.

You blink back at him, surprised. This was not the response you were expecting.

“I thought we were friends,” he continues, an exaggerated pout creeping into his tone and onto his features. “I don’t keep a steady schedule at the complex’s dog run for just anybody, you know.”

Your heart trips over its own feet and faceplants in the dirt. You feel your eyes go wide as he puts words to something you’d suspected but had been afraid to assume - that you’d both been coming here at the same time on purpose. Not just you, but him too.

The playfulness melts away with the fake pout, and he’s back to looking at you seriously. “Have you had dinner?” he asks. There’s something gentle about the way he says the words; you feel something warm drop to your toes, intoxicating. “Let me cook for you.”

“You cook?” you blurt.

He smiles warmly, a touch of amusement in it. Like he’s thinking, but is too polite to say, how much you don’t know about him. It’s definitely what you’re thinking.

“Come on,” he says, heading around you towards the gate, giving your elbow a gentle touch on his way by. “I’ll make you something good.”

–

Jin’s apartment is cleaner than you’d expected, to be honest. He sets you up at his breakfast bar with a generously poured glass of red wine and gets to work in the kitchen.

“Is Zinnie okay?” you ask him, looking over your shoulder anxiously as Zinnia sniffs his couch frantically, like the fabric is holding every secret the universe could ever hold. “She tends to… chew. It’s been better since we started classes with Jimin, but nobody’s perfect.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Jin says, waving a hand at you. “Blue did her share of damage to my stuff when she was a baby.”

You watch him in comfortable silence as he dices vegetables, a pot of water heating on the stovetop. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but it’s lowkey pretty sexy how he works a kitchen knife. It’s almost enough to distract you from the churning pit of anxiety in your stomach as you tap your fingers absently on your darkened phone screen.

“So it’s been going well with Jimin, huh?” Jin asks over his shoulder, and you tear your gaze away from your phone and try to catch up to the conversation.

“Oh,” you say, once you’ve processed. “Really well, actually. I think he’s a dog genius.”

Jin laughs at this, lifting the cutting board to slide what he’s chopped into the pot of water. Then he comes over to his side of the breakfast bar and picks up the other glass of red wine, still untouched.

“He’s good at his job,” Jin agrees. “I don’t know about genius. Did you know he’s secretly a cat person?”

This makes you giggle a little, your eyes falling back to your screen. Again, Jin tries to pull you back.

“Is she following any other commands now?” He eyes you over the top of his wine glass as he takes a long drink from it.

You smile a little, well aware that he’s distracting you on purpose, well aware that you aren’t sure you deserve this level of care from him.

But apparently you’re friends.

“She’s pretty good about here, and sit,” you say. “Not so good with stay. It’s a work in progress.”

Jin grins at this, something sparkling in his eyes.

“She’s sleeping in her crate at night, too,” you add.

“Wow,” Jin says, eyebrows raising. “That must be nice.”

“I don’t know how I was surviving before,” you tell him seriously, and he laughs again as he turns back to the stove to handle something.

You chat like this, in starts and stops, until the meal is done. Jin slides a steaming bowl before you and sets up a few sides before coming to take the seat to your right. Zinnia appears underfoot, nose sniffing wildly.

“I agree,” you tell her seriously. “It smells amazing. Who taught you to cook?”

His smile softens, going a little sideways. “My grandfather, actually. Weird, right? He was widowed when my dad and my aunts and uncles were all pretty little, so he had to learn, had to feed all those kids.”

“That’s not weird at all,” you tell him. “It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

Emboldened, Jin continues, the fond smile remaining on his face. “He’s a brilliant cook - we’ve told him forever he should have a cooking channel.”

You laugh a little. “People would probably be into that. Especially if you were the assistant.”

This comes out of your mouth without you realizing; the second you register that it has, you feel yourself blush furiously. And, dammit, Jin clocks the whole thing.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, that soft smile turning razor sharp. “Why’s that?”

You’re saved by your phone buzzing on the table, the screen coming to life, illuminating with the notification from your messaging app: Mom.

Frantically, you swipe to open the message, eyes flying across the screen as you read her update. Then, you close your eyes, pressing your forehead to the breakfast bar, the fake granite cool beneath your skin, letting out a shaky exhale.

You feel Jin; he’s instantly in your space, one large hand resting lightly over your shoulder as he hovers closer to you. Aside from his hand on your back, comforting, he’s not touching you at all. But somehow it feels like he’s surrounding you.

He says your name quietly, inquisitively.

You reach out blindly, your hand finding his knee. “It’s okay,” you say, taking a deep breath and sitting up. Your head spins. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes and take another deep, bracing breath. Seokjin’s hand stays on your back. “It’s good news.”

You hear Jin exhale beside you, his fingers twitching against your shoulder blade, almost like he had the reflex to squeeze you and fought it just a second too late. It strikes you, deeply, that he’s relieved. He doesn’t know your parents, has no real stake here. But his relief is palpable next to you; your worry had become his own.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Your problems shouldn’t be his to bear. “I know I wasn’t great company tonight.”

He shakes his head, following your lead and placing his hand back on his own legs, as if wanting to cover the spot on his knee that you’d left vacant. “I enjoyed your company,” he says openly. “I’m glad you came over.”

You sit in silence, both sneaking glances, neither knowing what move to make yet. You feel like you’re playing Chutes and Ladders and a chute just sent you sideways around the Peppermint Forest and dumped you seven spaces ahead when you don’t really belong there yet. Or maybe you’re mixing up your board games.

“I should probably go give them a call,” you say reluctantly. “Can I help you clean up? You cooked.”

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. Both dogs look up at this familiar word, gauging if they’re the ones in trouble. This makes you smile, and it breaks you out of the weird headspace you were in. “I’ll clean up.”

You rise, calling to Zinnia as you grab her leash. You clip her up and head for the door. Jin trails behind you, walking you out. You pause near the door, looking at him balefully.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Seriously - for everything. For… caring about my problems. For the delicious food. For cooking and cleaning up. You should have let me do the dishes.”

He smiles at you, sunlight spun into the quirk of his lips, the soft wrinkle at the edges of his eyes. “If you’re that worried about it, I know how you can make it up to me,” he says, his voice a little teasing.

“Oh?” You quirk an eyebrow. You’ve got emotional whiplash; in the last three hours you’ve gone from flirting to panicking to soft to awkward to flirting again and you cannot keep up.

He leans against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest, that smile turning sharp again. God, you like his face so much. You like him so much. “Mhm,” he says, mock seriously. “I found a trail I want to check out with Blue, but as a general rule I don’t do mountains alone.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “You need an Adventure Buddy.”

“Yes,” he says eagerly, snapping his fingers in excitement. “Exactly. So, what do you think? This weekend? The weather’s supposed to be great.”

“Can I let you know?” you ask. “Text me the details.” Truth be told, you want to look up the trail first and decide if it seems too challenging.

Jin slips out of that teasing, flirtatious mode easily. “Sure,” he says, all casual again. He’s so hard to keep up with, you think you’ll never get used to it. “I’ll text you.”

You open the door, tripping over Zinnia a little as she pushes past you into the hallway, but you’re stopped when Jin says your name one more time. You look back over your shoulder, curious.

“I’m glad your dad’s okay,” he says, giving you a rueful smile.

You give a tiny smile back before Zinnia bodily tugs you further away, spurring you into movement. “Thanks,” you say, and turn to go.

–

[9:19 PM] You: idk about this trail…. looking at the elevation… do you think it’ll be too hard for Zinnie? she’s just a baby :’)

[9:21 PM] Seokjin: the elevation’s misleading, it’s honestly not that bad

[9:22 PM] Seokjin: you’ll be totally fine

[9:23 PM] Seokjin: oops i mean “Zinnia” will be totally fine 😏

[9:23 PM] You: … what exactly are you implying here

[9:24 PM] Seokjin: just that any and all babies will be fine :)

[9:25 PM] You: …….i think we’re fighting

–

Seokjin drives you - and the dogs - to the trailhead early Saturday morning, the low rising sun dodging in and out between buildings as they pass you by. The forecast calls for a beautiful day - bright and clear, not too hot to hike, but not so chilly that you’ll shiver the whole first leg.

As Seokjin parks and organizes his backpack, you stand next to the car, shielding your eyes and peering at the top.

He laughs when he notices, the sound alive and as bright as the weather. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promises, coming close, looking at the top with you. His presence, so close to you, feels thrilling - like electricity, like a promise.

“You keep saying that,” you deadpan, “but if Zinnia conks out on me, you’re carrying her up the mountain and back.”

“Have some faith,” he teases, and heads for the place where the trees split, the path tamped down from many feet, leading into thick forest.

Zinnia keeps up pretty well, actually, and you and Seokjin set a steady pace up the trail.

About a half a mile in, he asks, “How’s your dad?”

It startles you, and you look over at him kind of wildly. He looks back at you like it’s nothing - like it’s nothing that he remembered and thought to ask - waiting for your response.

“Fine,” you say, a habit. Then, reconsidering, you add, “I mean, the same. He’s got more tests and stuff lined up, but the verdict from the cardiologist was that there’s no immediate concern. So… that was a relief. His primary care doctor looked at his EKG results and said to go immediately, so we were pretty scared.”

“I’d be scared, too,” he admits. “I’m glad you got good news. I would have been a wreck.”

You continue talking as you walk - about your families, your parents, your siblings. This moves into a conversation about things you both remember from growing up, until the conversation has delved into you both laughing too hard to get a sentence out as you manage, “Wait - wait, do you remember -?”

This takes the conversation to old movies you remember fondly.

“Can you believe my ex had never even heard of those?” you ask a little indignantly, before registering that maybe that was a weird thing to say.

But Seokjin takes it in stride. “The one who cheated on you? We’ve established his poor taste already.”

This makes you giggle. “Yes, that winner.”

He looks over at you, as the trail veers left and sharply steepens. “I’m sorry you went through that,” he says evenly. “I can kind of relate. It’s not fun.”

You peer back at him, not sure how heavy this conversation is going to, or should, get.

Hesitantly, you ask, “Do you want to tell me about it? I don’t want to… y’know. Pry.”

He shrugs. “At the end of the day, there’s not much to tell. My last girlfriend… I don’t think she cheated - or, well, I never had proof that she did.”

“You suspected?”

He wiggles his head, indicating a maybe. “I think it was heading that way with her and a co-worker. It’s possible that I ended things before it got to that point. But she started lying to me about him - about little stuff, stuff that shouldn’t matter. And I just… I’m a pretty understanding, easy-going guy, but I’m not going to tolerate someone lying to my face.”

You continue in silence for a few minutes, weighing these words in your mind, adding this new knowledge to the idea of Jin that’s in your head.

Then, he flashes you a cheesy grin and says lightly, “And that’s my sales pitch! Want to date me?”

You laugh out loud, mostly in surprise. But he’s still looking at you, and you feel your eyebrows raise.

“Was that a real question?” you ask, a little disbelieving. God, he’s the most unserious person you’ve ever met.

“A little bit,” he admits.

Stunned, you manage, “You might need to do a harder sell.”

His brows furrow dramatically. “Please, I’m a catch. Didn’t you taste my food the other night?”

“That’s true,” you muse. “The food was bomb. I’ll think about it. Gotta decide if this purchase will break the bank or not.”

While you’re just going along with his little bit, it kind of feels like code. You do need to consider if you can afford dating Jin - emotionally. Mentally. Are you ready for a relationship again? Would that even be what he wants?

“That’s fair,” he says easily. “Crunch some numbers and let me know.”

You think with anyone else it would be awkward the rest of the way, but Jin doesn’t allow it to be. He carries the conversation onto the next topic - gossip about your dog-trainer, Jimin - without a hitch.

You follow the conversation somewhat absently, still in your head, questions rising up to stare at you like Marley’s ghost, covered in chains. What do you want? What are you ready for?

You aren’t sure - about any of it. But Seokjin’s presence feels like warm rays of sunshine, warming you from a chill you didn’t know you had, and his laugh feels like the toll of city bells, telling you it’s time to come home.

–

Zinnia doesn’t conk out on her way up the mountain, but she definitely slows. Jin ties the girls’ leashes to a low branch near the trail and fishes a collapsible water bowl from his backpack, filling it with water and setting it down.

“Wow, that’s fancy,” you marvel, as Zinnia attacks the water bowl with vigor, water splashing the rock beneath, painting everything a darker shade of grey. “If we’re gonna keep doing this, I might need to get one of those.”

But Jin’s attention isn’t on the dogs anymore - it’s on the view. He’s wandered to the edge of the flat expanse of rock, where grey meets the green of far down below. You join him, and he puts an arm around your shoulders, glancing at you to make sure this is okay. You look out at the view, and it is beautiful… but your mind is too busy to appreciate it.

“Jin…” you say slowly, and he looks down at you, hand tightening against your shoulder almost reflexively.

“Hm?”

“If I were interested… what exactly are the terms of sale?” you murmur, feeling kind of shy.

Jin laughs, delighted, throwing his head back with it. His hair falls away from his face and he uses the hand that’s not on your shoulder to push it back. “What do you want them to be?” he asks, and you feel a tingle down to your toes at the dangerous undercurrent that flows along with the question.

“I’m not totally sure,” you admit quietly. “Is there any kind of… trial period? Any way to start is slow and see how it goes?”

Seokjin gives you an understanding squeeze. “Listen, as much as I love the bit and your dedication to it, I really want to communicate clearly about this. So - just to be very clear - I’d really like to date you. If you’re more comfortable starting slowly, I’m okay with that.”

You press your lips together, reaching a hand up to gently touch his fingers where they rest on your shoulder, considering.

Seokjin watches your face, then says, “I know a great burger joint on the way home. Let me buy your dinner, and we can call this a first date. What do you think?”

You turn to face him, looking up and up into his warm eyes, and his hand shifts from your shoulder to the center of your back, holding you loosely enough that you don’t feel held in place, feel free to go if that’s what you choose.

“That’s a pretty good first date,” you say seriously. “But it’s really gonna depend on how the burgers are.”

He grins, cocky. “They’re pretty good,” he says. “But, honestly, mine are better.” Then, he presses the knuckle of his index finger gently to the bottom of your chin and kisses you gently - again, so gently it’s barely there, so gently it would have taken just a breath of space for you to pull away if you wanted to.

You don’t; instead you press forward, pressing your lips more firmly against his, your hands coming to rest on his upper arms, feather-light. Behind you, Zinnia begins yipping - loud, insistent, each sharp sound piercing the silence around you.

You pull away from Jin, flushing, pleased to see a smile on his face. “She’s just jealous,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Please. She gets to kiss me all the time. She can share.”

Laughing, Jin heads for the dogs, ready to head back down to the cars. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “Let’s go get some pretty good burgers.”

–

They are good - better than pretty good, you think, and you tell Seokjin so after a beer and a half at the burger joint’s outdoor patio. The mountain you’d tackled looms in the distance, blue and shadowy.

“I’m telling you, mine are better,” Jin insists. “I have a secret method.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “Taking it to the grave?”

“You say that like it’s a joke,” he says seriously. “But I am.”

On the wooden deck beneath you, Zinnia lays on her side, eyelids fluttering and paws twitching as she dreams.

“We really knocked her out,” you observe.

Jin laughs, reaching his arms over his head to stretch, the movement causing his shirt to ride up just enough to show a slip of belly before it falls back into place. You try not to look, try not to remember kissing him at the mountain’s top.

“That’ll be us in a few hours,” he jokes. “I always knock out after a hike like this.”

“I’m going to be sore for days,” you agree, rubbing your calves in anticipation of the aching muscles you’ll have tomorrow.

“I have a suggestion,” Jin says, voice low. You flush, expecting him to flirt, to offer to rub your tired legs or something suggestive. Instead he says, “You ever try epsom salts?”

You blink at him, bamboozled. You just can’t predict him - he zigs when you expect a zag every damn time.

“I have, yeah,” you finally stammer. “I don’t think I have any left, though.”

“I have a huge bag,” he tells you, finishing the last of his second beer in one long draught. When he sets down his glass he tells you, “I’ll bring you the bag later. It’ll help a lot, I promise.”

You look him over. “You’re a guy with a lot of solutions, huh?”

He coughs, averting his gaze. You notice the tips of his ears turning pink and you hide a smile behind your hand. So cute.

“I try to be solution-oriented, yes,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

There’s no sign of that - the pink ears, the averted eyes, the mumbling - when he shows up at your door about twenty minutes after you arrive home. Zinnia is passed out on the floor behind you, having first lapped up her body weight in water from her silver bowl in the kitchen. As for you, all you’ve managed to do so far is shed your sneakers, your jacket, and the tshirt that had been sticking to your back, leaving you in athletic leggings and a sports bra.

Jin’s gaze sweeps you from head to toe and then settles determinedly on your eyes, like he’s got to work at it. “I brought the epsom salts,” he tells you unnecessarily, holding up the bag.

“I see that,” you murmur, feeling warm under his gaze. “Thanks.”

You reach to take the bag from him, but he tugs back on it a little, effectively pulling you to him. You trip into his arms willingly, ready for it this time when he kisses you.

He walks you backwards into your apartment, out of the threshold, letting the door close behind him. You hit the wall of your entryway, let him cage you in against it, his lips insistent against yours. When he runs a hand softly up your arm, summoning a wave of goosebumps in its wake, you sigh against his lips.

He takes advantage of the opening, teasing your bottom lip with his tongue before venturing further. You open for him happily, leaning back against the wall, reveling in the feeling of his strong arms on either side of you, the feeling of his tongue sliding against your own, the feeling of his hair between your fingers - when had you grabbed his hair?

You kiss him until you’re dizzy, until your legs feel weak beneath you, until you feel his hand travel from between your shoulder blades, to the small of your back, to the side of your ribs.

You break the kiss gently, nearly panting for breath. You can feel Jin’s pulse jumping as he does the same.

You look at each other for a long moment, communicating silently, weighing options.

You could invite him in. He’s here already, Zinnia’s unconscious, you’re holding a bag of bath salts (wait, no, the bag is on the ground - when did you drop it?). But something in your stomach tugs, tells you not yet. So that’s what you tell him, on a whisper, your teeth coming to toy with your swollen bottom lip as soon as the words are out - not yet. I’m sorry.

“Hey,” he says, cupping your cheek with a hand, so soft. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything. Don’t apologize.”

You glance around the room, desperate for a distraction, but nothing comes. “I, um,” you say, looking anywhere but him, “I think I’m gonna try the salts now. My legs are like jello.”

He gives you a tiny grin, and you roll your eyes. “From the hike!” you protest.

He gives you a playfully disbelieving look but backs off, giving you some space again. “Sure, of course,” he says, smirking.

You bend to pick up the discarded bag, holding it in your hands, feeling along the rubber zipper. Then, you cross Jin’s path and open the front door again, looking up to find him still watching you.

He gives you a playful smile. “I had a nice first date and a half,” he says, losing the fight against a pleased smile.

You huff out a laugh. “This was the half?” you clarify.

“I don’t kiss like that on the first date,” he sniffs in mock indignation.

You giggle, following behind him as he heads to the hallway. “Goodnight, Seokjin. Thanks for the salts. And the date and a half.”

–

You soak away your sore muscles and sleep deeper than you have in months.

Your days continue this way as April’s grey and rainy afternoons give way to sunshine, bright afternoons, trees starting to bud as the temperature grows milder. You meet Jin at the dog run every afternoon unless you text to make different plans - sometimes a walk with the dogs through the park nearby, sometimes dinner out, sometimes dinner in.

Dinner in usually means more kissing.

Sometimes, dinner out does, too.

In retrospect, you should have known. You should have known that as you fall for Seokjin little by little something else must be coming. Things can’t just be bright sunshine and Seokjin’s laugh, Zinnia’s wagging tail and linked fingers under starry skies.

Your brother shows up at your door, unannounced, almost a full month after your first date with Jin.

You almost don’t recognize him; it’s not that you haven’t seen him in that long - you have. It’s just that he’s still a kid in your head, a gangly, acne-prone teenager with earpods and a scowl. The man who stares at you, a rolling suitcase in hand, is in a suit. He looks put-together, and grown.

You say his name nervously, and he sort of grimaces at you.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he says. “I’ve been on the phone with Mom and the doctors.”

“Doctors?” you echo, backing up to let him inside.

He gives you a look as he wheels his little suitcase inside. You don’t like the look. It says something bad is coming.

“It’s Dad,” he says.

–

You end up going out to grab dinner - you have no groceries to cook him a meal, and you’re a terrible cook anyway.

Your little brother fills you in - that cardiologist appointment over a month ago had ended with a positive outcome. They’d told your parents not to worry, there was no immediate danger, but there were certainly concerns.

Concerns that had worsened in the following month, apparently.

“They’re going to see a cardio team at the hospital here in the city,” your brother explains. “Mom was going to call and explain all of this to you, but I told her I was coming here anyway. She can focus on them - getting a hotel set up, packing, all that stuff. It looks like he’ll probably need surgery - they’ll decide at his appointment tomorrow. If that’s the case, they’ll stay in the city for a little until he’s recovered enough to go home again.”

You feel like you’re in shock; it’s a lot all at once. Your whole family suddenly in your city, under terrible circumstances. Surgery? Heart surgery?

“I’ll get a hotel, too, if it turns out they’ll be here a long time,” he says.

You come back to earth sharply. “You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome with me and Zinnia as long as you need, okay? Seriously. I’ll talk to Mom in the morning. We’ll get everything figured out.”

Just like that, the toughness drops out of him. Somehow he’d been the one your mom had called, the one responsible for relaying the information, the one responsible for making and supporting medical decisions. You’re the elder, it should have been you. As soon as you take the reins again, he folds, pressing his hands to his face and letting out a shuddering breath.

You feel horrible, instantly. He’s the baby, he’s not supposed to have to shoulder the responsibility.

“Hey,” you say softly. “It’s gonna be fine. Dad will be fine. We’ll find out tomorrow what his treatment plan is, and how long they’ll need to stay. You’re fine staying with me, okay? It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he says, uncovering his face and reaching for his water glass. “You’re right.” Then, quieter, “You’re right.”

At the end of the meal, walking back to the apartment, you stop near the door and give him a hug, your brave little brother.

“You did well,” you assure him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

He hugs you back, holding you like he’s been drowning and you’re a buoy. It breaks your heart to think that may sort of be the case.

Neither of you notices Seokjin and Blue pass by, glancing at you curiously over his shoulder on his way into the building.

When he texts you that night, not long after you’ve set your brother up on your couch and crated Zinnia for the night, it’s not entirely unexpected, considering you’d skipped your normal trip to the dog run earlier, and you’d been too spun in circles to text him an explanation.

His message lights up your screen - “missed you earlier. everything ok?”

You hesitate, nibbling at your lower lip as you consider. What could you really tell him right now?

Not really, my baby brother showed up unannounced and emotionally hanging by a thread, and we’re waiting to find out tomorrow if a team of surgeons will be opening my elderly father up for heart surgery.

Not really a text message conversation, right? Honestly, you’re not sure it’s an in-person conversation, either. The relationship - if you can call it that without having discussed exclusivity yet - is still new, blooming, fragile. Is it too much, too soon? Would you be better off telling him later, when things are settled, when you can tie up the story nice and neat?

We had another health scare with my dad, but it’s okay now. He’s recovering.

Isn’t that less heavy? Your problems should not be Seokjin’s to carry, and you know he’ll try to carry them. He’s wonderful that way, always doing. There’s something scared and snappish inside you that wants to keep him far away from this until you’re sure you can look brave, until you’re sure you won’t fall apart in front of him.

In the end you send back, “all good! just got busy. how was your day?”

It strikes you as a little weird that he hasn’t answered by the time you go to bed. But as soon as you’re up the next day, you’re completely focused on your parents. You call them before you’re even out of bed, checking up on where in the city they’re staying, what time your dad’s appointment is. You call out sick from work, glad you hadn’t wasted sick days back when Zinnia was keeping you from sleeping - even though you’d definitely considered it more than once.

You and your brother both go to the cardiologist appointment, you two and your parents squeezing into the little consultation room as the surgeon examines your dad’s results on his computer screen.

Your heart hammers as you wait. You see your mom’s foot tapping, tapping, tapping, and you reach to hold her hand, hoping to comfort her, calm her down.

The surgeon removes his glasses and looks at your father seriously. “I do think surgery is the best course of action,” he says calmly. Your heart drops. The doctor continues, “It’s a pretty routine procedure, as far as these things go. Nothing to worry too much about. I’m confident that a stent will work.”

You lock onto the words minimally invasive, listening eagerly as the doctor continues to outline the plan he thinks will work best.

“I think it’s best to admit you today and schedule the surgery as soon as possible,” you hear the doctor says, and the rest of the day is a blur - signing papers, answering doctors’ questions, running back to your parents’ hotel to throw together a bag of personal items for your dad, running to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee that has been your only meal all day, more papers, waiting room after waiting room after waiting room.

When you finally get home, long after dark, your brother trailing wordlessly behind you, you’re so mentally and physically exhausted, you could cry. Zinnia waits for you in her crate - Ry had luckily been around when you texted, and came to take her outside a few times while you were gone. You let Zinnia out of the crate and collapse on the couch. Your brother takes the recliner, staring at you like you’ve both emerged from a warzone.

As you unwind, try to unclench your brain and your jaw and your shoulders, you think to check your messages. Part of you hopes Jin’s sent you something.

But your messages are empty. Your heart sinks with disappointment. You plan to go to work tomorrow; your dad’s surgery should end midafternoon and you can go straight to the hospital from work. It’s another day that you’ll miss Jin at the dog run. You think about texting him with an explanation, but that last message you sent him still sits there, unanswered, calling you a fool. So, instead, you slide your phone into your pocket and ask your little brother if he wants you to order delivery.

–

It takes you two more days to really get the message - Jin’s silence is deliberate. Your father’s surgery goes well, and if all goes according to plan your family should be heading back home in just a day or two. Crisis handled, on the day after surgery you swallow your pride and send Jin, “Sorry I’ve been MIA - family thing. All good now. What’s new with you?”

Not only does this go unanswered - like the one before - but another three weekdays go by and your trips up to the dog run at 5:15pm remain devoid of company.

Your father heals. Your mother takes him home. Your brother packs up and leaves just a folded up blanket on the couch he’d occupied for almost a week. April turns rainy, like the children’s rhyme says. And you… you slide back into your old routine, sans Seokjin.

You’re sad - of course you’re sad, you liked Jin. He was funny, charming, and so ready to do for you. You’d gotten used to having him around - his windshield wiper laugh, his great cooking, the way he’d carry the same joke or bit with you for a whole day before letting it go, the way the monotony of your day to day seemed interesting again once he was in it.

And you missed Blue, too.

But it wasn’t that deep - not yet. You’re not sobbing, heartbroken, into your pillow or anything. You feel disappointment above all else - disappointment at the loss of what could have been something.

You really do think it could have been something real.

You also feel… confused. What had happened? Had Jin seriously gotten mad at your silence for a few days and just ghosted you? You replay your last few conversations in your head, scour your last few text exchanges for anything that would make sense, but nothing does.

Some little part of your brain niggles, suggests that you’ve been wronged, somehow. That something had happened to you that you didn’t deserve. It’s enough to start just the tiniest flicker of anger, deep in your belly.

Thursday brings rain - relentless, cold, the kind of rain to make you wrap up in a jacket and tell Zinnia to hustle when you bring her upstairs to pee.

For the first time since the day your brother showed up at your door, you run into Jin and Blue. Jin is coming in from outside, both he and Blue soaked from the rain. His jacket sticks to his chest, his drenched hair pushed away from his face. He pauses as Blue shakes the water from her fur, and that’s enough time for your eyes to catch his.

You freeze, not sure what will happen - will he talk to you? Should you say hi?

His face, already blank, somehow slides blanker, like something falls away from it and leaves it even more empty. Then he pulls his gaze away from you, orders Blue to his side with a single, muttered syllable, and turns on his heel to walk to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

He’ll take the stairs, you figure, so he doesn’t have to walk past you to get to the elevator.

That little flicker of anger builds into a flame, and even the mid-April downpour can’t put it out.

–

It rains for days, your apartment cast in grey. You don’t know if it contributes to your mood or if it’s just mirroring it, but you feel grey, too. You quit using the dog run and start taking Zinnie on loops around the block, instead. After her walks, you lay on the couch, cheek pressed against the soft material, dramas playing on the screen without your attention.

Zinnia lays on the floor against the couch, occasionally whining and licking your hand. Sometimes she digs out toys - rubber kongs, plush ducks she’s practically decapitated, rawhides - and drops them at your feet, looking at you hopefully. You toss them for her or play tug each time, but you think she knows your heart isn’t in it.

Later, when you try to remember April, all you can think of is grey and rain.

–

It seems, though, that you’re not the only one who gave up on the dog run. On the first weekend in May, on a day that is - yes - grey, but thankfully not rainy, you run into Jin on the sidewalk a few buildings down from your own.

Blue wags happily when she sees you, but you feel yourself frown, already sliding your gaze to the ground. You don’t want to watch his face go ugly again, like last time. You can’t bear it, you think you might snap. That indignant little flame tickles in your veins.

You have to pass each other unless one of you turns around, so you grit your teeth and push on. It feels like an imminent collision, tension and anxiety building in you the closer and closer you get - and then Zinnia decides to make it an actual collision, zigging sharply towards Blue at the last second, knocking you off-balance right into Seokjin’s space.

His hands take you by the upper arms, steadying you, placing you back on your feet. There’s something tender in his touch, you think, and then you glimpse his face. That blankness again, the flatness nastier than any scowl he could send your way.

His hands are off you quickly, and he’s pushing past you, not a word spoken.

That flame bursts from a tickle to a storm.

“Hey!” you shout, the word tearing from your chest like it had to detach from something, burning up your throat like the burn of liquor. Seokjin turns, that flat expression starting to border on a defensive sneer. “What the hell is your problem?”

Now it is a sneer. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me!” you shout, stomping closer. Zinnia follows, her tail down, sensitive to your tone. “What exactly is the problem, Seokjin? I’m dying to know.”

He opens his mouth to answer you, but you cut him off with a bitter laugh. “No, seriously,” you say, that same bitterness marinating every word. “I’m dying to know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I can’t. So please, enlighten me. What did I do?”

Your body sings with adrenaline, your chest heaves with quick breaths as your body tells you it’s ready to fight.

Seokjin lets out a single huff of a laugh. “What did you do?” he echoes sarcastically. “Literally the only thing I consider a hard no.”

You don’t follow. “What?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe that you don’t get it. “I saw you hugging that guy,” he says evenly, “and then I texted you to see what -.”

“That was my brother,” you blurt furiously, eyes narrowing. “Is that what this was all about? You didn’t strike me as a jealous, jump-to-conclusions kind of person -.”

“I don’t care about that,” he says over you, tone stoney. “You lied to me - right to my face.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to put the pieces together. He’d seen you hugging your brother, and then he’d texted you “everything ok?” and you’d said… “just busy”. It was a lie, sort of - barely.

You laugh - actually laugh. “You’re out of your mind,” you say coldly. “You dropped me over that? I had things going on that I didn’t want to get into. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he says, not cruelly, just truthful. “It was a lie.”

You heave a frustrated breath, casting your gaze at the full clouds above you. “Seokjin,” you say slowly, “you’re not being fair.” It feels suddenly very important to you to defend yourself, to explain it all away - even if he still walks away after, you want to be sure he knows he was wrong. “I wasn’t lying about, like, where I was, or who I was with. It was just… omission. The situation felt… too heavy for whatever this is. Whatever this was,” you amend.

He just looks at you silently, but you can see the changes in his expression - that flatness melting away almost imperceptibly, making way for something chagrined. You take this as a good sign and continue, explaining what had happened - from your brother showing up, to the surgery, to your family heading home again - leaving your space emptier than they’d found it.

Finished, you look at him silently, watching him process. Then, everything off your chest, you move to continue on. You feel, suddenly, like you have nothing else to say to him. “We were just casually dating,” you point out as you take a step away. His ears are red again, but he hasn’t tried to speak. “At no point did I lose the right to choose what to tell you and what to keep to myself. You acted like a child when you could have just communicated with me.”

You give Zinnia a gentle tug and she follows as you head back to the apartment’s front doors. You don’t look back; you don’t think you can.

–

Upstairs, you unclip Zinnia and sink into a kitchen chair, head in your hands. It felt good to yell at him, felt good to find out the reason for his silence. You’d made your peace already with losing him - so why do you feel worse now?

You’re there only minutes when you hear a soft knock on your door. You sigh, knowing exactly who and what it is, and forcing yourself to rise anyway. All the anger you’d felt outside seems to have leaked out of you; now you just feel resigned.

Jin’s ears are still bright red. “You’re right,” he says in greeting. Then, he waits, leaning against the door jamb as you process, as you decide how to respond. Blue stands just behind him patiently, the leash slack.

Mouth twisting, you look at him flatly. “Care to elaborate?”

“Ah,” he utters. He looks embarrassed, one hand still absently on the back of his neck, eyes on the ground. “I owe you an apology.”

When you still say nothing, he continues.

“You’re right - you don’t have to tell me your business. I’d like you to - or, I’d like to feel like you can - but you’re not obligated to. I… overreacted. And then I was being too rigid to look closely at what was going on. I just…”

He trails off and looks at you balefully. “I’m not trying to make an excuse,” he tries to explain. “I know I was wrong. I just made myself a promise years ago to never let anyone lie to me again… hoping I’d never feel so stupid again… and I let it… take over. I’m sorry.”

You consider this, foot tapping nervously. “Okay,” you say finally.

Something hopefully breaks over his face; he moves minutely closer to you. “I feel horrible,” he admits, voice hushed suddenly. “You were going through all that, and I absolutely made more problems for you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice echoing a little flatly to your own ears. “I forgive you.”

He takes a step back, like the unbending insincerity of your words actually knocks him off balance.

“Okay,” he says, his voice somehow small. He starts to back away from your door, Blue scurrying out of his path, but his eyes remain on you. “I’ll, uh… I’ll probably be at the dog run tomorrow? Normal time?”

The way he says it, a question, asks if you will too.

“I don’t know,” you answer, even though he didn’t technically ask. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. We’ll see.”

You agonize over it all night. You’re mad - mad that he reacted childishly, mad that he added stress during a hard time for you, mad that he doubted you and judged you and didn't give you a chance to explain yourself. Mad that he let you down.

But, something logical inside you counters, he’s apologized. He’s taken accountability for it, admitted he’d behaved immaturely. Didn’t people, generally, deserve second chances? Didn’t you want to give him a second chance, regardless?

By the time you get ready for work the next morning, you still aren’t sure. Your stomach churns with indecision all day. When you get home, you sit on the couch, still in your work clothes, and eye Zinnia thoughtfully. She sits and cocks her head to the side, almost quizzical. Like she’s asking, okay, boss, what’s the plan?

You still don’t know. With a sigh, you change out of your office attire and take Zinnia out. At the elevator, you stare at the buttons: physical embodiment of this choice.

In the end, you hit down, taking Zinnie out through the lobby and heading down the street. The idea of Seokjin up at the dog run, eyes on the glass doors - hoping to see you, makes you hunch your shoulders up against a wave of guilt.

You feel like now you’re being the childish one. You know you want to give him another chance. Pretending otherwise just to punish him for hurting you… it’s not a good look, and you know it.

When the knock on your door comes, several hours later, as the sunset casts your apartment in deep blues and shadows, you feel like you were expecting it the whole time. You feel like it’s your own second chance.

“You didn’t come,” he says, frowning adorably.

You sigh, taking a step backwards to let him inside. He does, the door shutting behind him.

“Why are you here?” you ask; not demanding, not to fight - you want to know. You want to know what he’s hoping for right now, what he wants to happen, so that you can decide if you’re game or not.

He seems to understand, seems to hear the question for what it really is. He says your name, still hushed, like if he says it with too much force the letters will blow away like dead autumn leaves in a November squall.

“Well?” you prod.

“Please,” he says, something so desperate playing on the notes of the word.

“What?” you repeat, hating that your voice is choked. “What do you want, Seokjin?”

He closes the space between you, one hand coming to cup your jaw so light you aren’t sure he’s actually touching you or if you just feel the warmth of proximity. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I want you to let me try again. Let me do better.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, but you lean into his touch, closing your eyes. He strokes your cheek gently with his thumb, then pulls his hand away and cups the back of your head, guiding you close enough to press his lips to the top of your head, the kiss lost in your hair.

“I promise,” he whispers, “I won’t fuck up like that again. I want to try again - I like you so much, I want to do everything right for you. I feel like such an idiot for wrecking it.”

“You are an idiot,” you say, and you feel him smile against your forehead before he laughs.

“Never again, Jin,” you say sternly, leaning back to look up at him. His hand slides down to the back of your neck, resting comfortably. “I don’t do bullshit like that. We’re adults. We have to communicate. We have to speak -”

Behind you, Zinnia barks once, sharp and proud.

You and Jin both dissolve into giggles, both of you praising Zinnia for following the command.

When you turn back to Jin, he’s looking at you warmly, eyes shining with fondness. He dips his head to kiss you, and when he feels you kiss him back he tugs you closer by the small of your back, grunting into your mouth when your bodies collide.

He breaks the kiss and whispers against your jaw, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, tilting your head to give him more room as his lips go from whispering his desire to kissing your pulsepoint, teeth barely there before his lips soothe the spot.

You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, holding on tight, relying on him to hold you upright as his mouth makes you dizzy. When his lips make it back to yours, you tug on his shirt and walk him backwards towards your open bedroom door. You giggle against his lips when he kicks it shut behind him.

You’re kissing again as you shed layers in tandem, breaking apart to pull shirts over your heads, kissing messily again as you balance on one foot at a time to remove socks, giggling as you lean back to get a good look at him as he undoes his belt. Would it be crass of you to whistle in appreciation? His shoulders are just... so… wide.

When your leggings pool on your carpet next to his blue jeans, he backs you up to the bed, where you sit heavily. He crawls over top of you, mouths clashing again as he holds himself over top of you. You feel like you’re spinning - you cling to his shoulders, focus on the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, his fingers tracing the outline of your breast, the insistent press of his clothed erection hot against your thighs.

He kisses you like he’s devouring you, like he’s claiming you, like he’s pouring out every frustration into his lips and teeth and fingers and tongue and they’re all spinning you in bigger and bigger circles, ever widening.

Then the spinning crashes to a halt, because his fingers are meandering lower and lower, skimming your last rib, skating over your lower belly, sliding over your cotton panties and hovering just out of reach from where you want him the most.

He presses kisses down your jaw, down your neck, goosebumps rising up your arms as his breath ghosts along your throat. His fingers skim your slit over the damp cotton, making you moan shamelessly against the top of his head, but his hand travels back up, fingers sliding up your stomach and back to your chest.

“Jin,” you breathe, as he rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of electric delight clear down to your toes, and he answers you with a low groan before capturing your mouth in another deep kiss.

You’re spinning again.

Then his hand is back where you want it - fuck, you want it everywhere - fingers sliding through your folds before pushing deep into you. You gasp, but your body shifts to meet his knuckles, hips tilting to let him deeper still.

It takes you only minutes before you’re begging for him, unashamed, whispering his name around a litany of please and I need you and more, please, more.

He rolls away from you wordlessly, shifting to dig through his wallet. You hear the telltale sound of foil ripping and then he’s back over top of you, lips marking a path from your stomach, up between your tits, past your collarbones, before latching onto your neck as he gives you exactly what you asked for.

The stretch stings but you don’t care, moving to meet him, to take him all the way. Seokjin buries himself deep with a throaty groan, the sound mingling with your own whine.

He keeps a slow pace at first, content with exploring every new everything - every new sound he can pull out of you, every new spot he can touch that makes you arch your back and moan a little louder, every angle that makes you pitch go high and your nails find his shoulders.

It’s not long before his resolve breaks, his pace quickening as his hips snap into yours, the room filled with the sound of his thighs slapping yours. The tightening ball in the pit of your stomach swells, and your fingers find your clit as you careen towards the edge. Seokjin talks you through it when you crash past the precipice, calling you beautiful, telling you that you feel so good as you clench around him in waves.

Your limbs feel like jelly as you come down from the high, but Seokjin isn’t done with you. He presses kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the space just beneath your ear. Then, he whispers, “Can I go behind you?”

You nod - words are still too far away, slipping just outside of your fingertips. You can touch them, but can’t pull them close enough to use. Jin uses gentle hands to roll you over and backs up to stand next to the bed; he guides your hips backwards until your knees rest on the edge of the mattress. Still boneless, you fold your arms and press your face into them, moaning loudly when he enters you slowly.

At this new angle, you feel like he’s somehow, impossibly, deeper, and it’s all you can do to dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you and survive. His pace is slow for only a moment, letting you adjust, and then he’s pounding into you again, hands tight on your hips, pulling you backwards to meet each thrust.

You can tell it immediately when he’s close - the sounds spilling out of him turn from deep grunts and quiet gasps to lengthier sounds that verge on whiny. You gasp in time with him as he pumps into you more shallowly, barely pulling out at all, as one last strangled, broken sound leaves his mouth.

You collapse forward onto the bed the second he releases you, your heart hammering. Behind you, he must be handling the condom because when he flops next to you, eyes searching for yours, it’s gone.

“Hi,” he says, smiling.

You laugh. “Hello there.”

He rolls onto his back next to you, radiating happiness. “So?” he asks your ceiling. “Am I forgiven?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t erase the smile from your face. Oxytocin is a bitch. “I guess,” you allow. “But you’re on thin ice for a while.”

He makes a thinking sound. “I’ll have to fix that,” he muses, one arm thrown over his head. He looks over at you. “How about you go shower, and I’ll cook you something?”

You twist your lips, considering. “Mmm,” you say. “I think I’d rather you join me in the shower first.”

His smile grows impossibly wider, and his hand creeps to find yours, his fingers lacing between yours and squeezing tight.

��

When you think about May, you remember pink.

Pink flowers blooming on the trees outside. Pink sunsets as you and Jin walk Blue and Zinnia through the park in the evenings. The pink of Zinnia’s tongue, lolling out of her mouth as she pants happily at your feet. The pink of Seokjin’s ears when you tease him or call him handsome in front of your friends.

You started things slowly - even slower than the first time; you’re nervous that something will happen again, that this second chance was indeed a mistake. But, true to his word, Seokjin shows up for you every day - he misses no chance to remind you that he’s here, and he’s got a score to settle with his past mistakes.

As the month comes to a close, spring teasing at tepid summer, you make a decision. You head to Seokjin’s place before dinner, as you do most evenings lately, letting yourself in with the door’s code. Blue is resting on a dog bed near the kitchen, placed there so she can see Seokjin even when he’s cooking and doesn’t feel lonely out in the living room. Zinnia slips through your hands the second the door opens, zipping into the apartment wildly.

“Zinnie!” you call.

Seokjin’s voice carries out to you from the bedroom - “Yeah?”

You laugh, shutting the door behind you and heading to where you’d heard him from. “I said Zinnie, not Jinnie!” you clarify.

He comes out of the room, laughing at the miscommunication, pausing to kiss your cheek. “How was your day?” he asks, before heading around you into the kitchen, where he had apparently been halfway through chopping some veggies.

“It was fine,” you hedge. “There’s something I was thinking about today, though.”

“Oh?” he says, looking over his shoulder at you as he picks up where he left off with the chopping.

You lean over the kitchen table, palms a little sweaty with nerves. Below you, Zinnia zips around, chasing a rubber ball of Blue’s, barking loudly as if scolding the toy for fleeing.

“I was thinking about us,” you say slowly, and Seokjin stills, setting down the knife and turning to face you, sensing that this talk is serious. His ears tinge pink almost instantly.

“Okay…” he says slowly.

You take a deep breath and push forward. “I was thinking about how I asked if we could do this slowly. How we were taking it one day at a time, not putting a name to it or anything.”

He nods, eyes on you, listening.

You shrug, look away and lick your lips. “I think I’m ready - I think what I want is…”

Behind you, Zinnia’s repeated yaps overtake the room, echoing through Jin’s kitchen.

You try to speak over her, stumbling over your words. “What I’m trying to ask you is… will you…”

Zinnia’s barks get louder; the ball is stuck under the couch and she is pissed. You turn, calling to her, “Zinnia, sit!”

The command works. She plops onto her butt obediently, and silence descends on the room like a sprinkle of snow.

You turn back to Jin, heart racing, to finish your question. “...stay?”

Thank you so much for reading! <3 Please look forward to the other fics in the collab and support those excellent writers as well!!!

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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A Jin Is A Dream Your Heart Makes

Author: vyduan Pairing: Kim Seokjin | Reader, Kim Namjoon | Kim Seokjin Genre: romance, comedy, light angst, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, polyfidelity Word Count: ~12.3k Rating: Mature, 18+ Warnings: swearing, legal consumption of alcohol, mentions of legal consumption of THC edibles, mentions of a bad come down from said THC edibles, discussion of polyamory, light discussions of incest, navigation of polyamory boundaries, light mentions of coming out to family, a lot of references to famous twins, general absurdity, and terrible jokes [AO3]

Summary: Jin is in love with both Y/N and Namjoon – and they might love him back. One small problem: Y/N and Namjoon are twins.

Notes: There is no incest or sex (explicit or otherwise) portrayed in this fic.

Also, minus the Namjoon being my twin part, being in a poly relationship, and the Jin being in love with me part, a high percentage of this fic is ripped from my actual life. MAKE OF IT WHAT YOU WILL.

Special thanks to @bangtanbeforebitches, @reliablemitten, @justasparkwritings, @sugalaritae for checking content, beta-ing, bouncing ideas off of, sensitivity reading, and generally making sure I didn’t completely go off the rails. Super special thanks to @miscelunaaa and @thatlongspringnight for vibe checking the concluding paragraphs.

~~~~

“Jiiiinnnnnniiiiiiiieeeeeee!” you whine.

“Y/N?” he replies, voice muffled and soft with sleep. “You’re lucky I left the ringer on.”

“I took the wrong train hooooommmmmeeeee and Joonie won’t pick up because he is awful and asleep and doesn’t care about meeeeeeeeeeee~~~! Can you come get me at the stop by your house?”

You try to speak quietly because you really don’t need the entire train car to know your business but also, you’re a really poor gauge of volume at the moment due to the fact that you are slightly inebriated.

“How’d you get on the wrong train anyway?” Jin grumbles.

Keep reading

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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in my head; kth

pairing: fwb!taehyung x reader

genre: pwp (porn with plot), angst, college au

word count: 8k

synopsis: taehyung’s friends love you ー adore you. they probably want to fuck you, but they’ll never admit to it. instead, they’ll push taehyung’s limits in the middle of a frat party, testing just how close they can get to you before he takes you to bed in a fit of jealousy. and maybe, just maybe, one of his friends can have a taste too (if he’s lucky).

warnings under the cut!

warnings: unrequited love, commitment issues, dacryphilia, degradation (use of the word slut, whore, and pervert), fingering, oral (f receiving), spit kink, overstimulation, use of the color system, breast play, hand job, unprotected (jealous/possessive) sex, marking, impact play (slapping - face & pussy, spanking), breeding kink, choking, mirror sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, manhandling, mentions of intoxication (mc & taehyung are sober!), use of the word daddy, mentions of religion, ass play, mentions of dp, creampie

You can’t help but think that this is a terrible idea. The heavy bass and the sound of rap lyrics vibrate through the walls of the old Victorian house. Unfamiliar voices are muffled beneath the syncopated beats, and you can’t make out a single word.

You’ve managed to escape the sticky, beer-stained floors and the heat of the frat party downstairs. Instead, you’ve sought refuge in one of the bedrooms, hand-in-hand with none other than Kim Taehyung himself.

The space around you is dark, save for the dim lamp behind you. You’re propped on top of his tiny desk, careful not to knock over the expensive camera that rests beside you.

“I thought you were gonna show me your new photos.” You pull apart from Taehyung’s lips, meeting his gaze between pretty eyelashes.

Your words slur, finding it difficult to talk with his tongue in your mouth. A string of spit connects your lips together. It threatens to break loose the further you recline.

With hooded eyes, he leans forward, chasing after your kiss. “What’s the rush?”

His lips brush against the corner of your mouth as his hand wanders down to the hem of your dress, bunching it over your waist. The straps have already fallen loose from your shoulders, the top of your breasts spill out from over the fabric.

Taehyung grips your jaw, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. His nose nudges against the column of your neck. A sigh falls from his lips as he lingers over your pulse point, his breath hot against your skin, teeth grazing.

He glides a finger over the taut fabric of your panties. It’s soaked from your arousal, wet and sticky between your thighs.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he taunts with a crooked smile. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

Although that may be true, you’ve been kissing for what feels like over an hour.

In an effort to pull him closer, you wrap your legs around his waist. The outline of his erection leaves an imprint against the fabric of his sweats. It rests against your core, hot and heavy. You shift in your seat, desperately wanting him to pull your underwear to the side so he could stuff you full.

“Who got you this worked up, hm?” Taehyung dips his head down to kiss your shoulder.

His fingers squeeze your cheeks once again, and he angles your face to look him in the eyes, domineering. The hum of his low voice sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is dark and hazy with lust and desire.

There’s a soft glow of light that surrounds you, almost like a halo. Taehyung thinks that you look the prettiest at times like this ー when you’re pressed beneath his weight, right in the palm of his hands.

You meet his eyes before shifting focus to his swollen lips. He quirks his brow, and you melt in his touch. Perhaps you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long because you can feel your saliva pool out of your mouth, dribbling down your chin.

Taehyung’s thumb swipes across your bottom lip, collecting your drool. “What’s wrong, love?” He tsks, tapping the side of your cheek. “You always have so much to say, but now what? Don’t tell me you’ve gone this stupid for cock.”

A fervent whine escapes from your parted lips. Your eyes brim with tears as your cunt pulses with desperate need, aching to feel Taehyung inside of you, even if it’s just the tip.

Taehyung throbs at the sight of your soaked eyelashes, but he pays no mind to your pleas as he sinks down to his knees.

“Let’s try again.” He spreads your legs further apart, trailing kisses against the inside of your thigh. “Who made you this wet?” His lips hover over your panty clad cunt before mouthing against the fabric.

“Taehyung, don’t tease,” you shake your head, babbling. “You’re the only one I want, you know that.”

He pushes the cotton aside, revealing your sweet pussy to his wandering eyes.

“I’m the only one?” In a deep voice, he hums against your folds. “Are you sure it’s not Namjoon?”

You shake your head in denial. “Just you,” you say in a hushed tone.

His fingers spread your lips apart, watching you clench around nothing. Taehyung lingers above you before releasing a glob of spit onto your core. It glides between your slit, dripping down your entrance.

You spread your legs wider, making room for his broad shoulders. His gentle, teasing fingers trace across your sensitive lips before dipping them between your velvety walls.

“You seemed to be really cozy with Joonie though,” Taehyung pumps two fingers inside of you, easily gliding between your soaked cunt. “You were acting like such a needy slut downstairs, I swear that you wanted to fuck my friends.”

His jaw clenches. You can sense a hint of jealousy in his tone. You find that to be odd considering Taehyung is never jealous.

He’s not even yours.

Taehyung has always been difficult to read. More often than not, in the lonely hours of the night, you’re within an arm's reach, prepared to keep him company, dropping everything at his beck and call.

After tangling between the sheets at the end of every night, he’d comb his fingers through your freshly-washed hair, careful not to linger too long on the hickeys that scatter across your collarbone.

Meanwhile, you’d trace hearts onto his back, wondering what he thinks about when he looks at you ー whether or not your name sits inside of his head in that current moment, if ever at all.

Time and time again, he reminds you that this is just casual. The two of you are supposed to let loose and have fun.

Yet he holds your hand so gently when you cross the street, when you slow dance in the quiet of the night, and when he fucks you deeply and ardently into the mattress. After, he’d order Chinese delivery to your house, stuffing siu mai in your cheeks so that you would shut up and stop talking nonsense about paying him back.

He even kisses your forehead and calls you his good girl after leaving love bites on your neck.

It would be impossible not to fall for someone like Kim Taehyung as kind, sweet, and humble as he is.

If you ask him to be your boyfriend, would he laugh? Would he furrow his brows and wonder why? Would he utter a vague response? Something along the lines of “I don’t know.” He often deploys these words when he’s faced with questions he doesn’t want to think about.

In your mind, the worst case scenario occurs when Taehyung breaks it off right then and there, asking you to leave. Meanwhile, you linger by the door, begging him to love you just once, and maybe twice ー Through the ups, downs, and in betweens.

It never happens. You never ask. You never bring it up. You just go through the motions, settling for the warmth of Taehyung’s body, even if it’s a temporary fix.

Lost in your own thoughts, you bite back a whimper. Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Taehyung grabs your wrist, placing it at the edge of his desk.

“You weren’t this shy when you were whispering in Jimin’s ear ー when his hand was on your thigh, and when you were acting like a huge, desperate cock tease.”

The possessive part of Taehyung’s brain takes root when he guides his hand between your legs, slapping your clit. Shuddering under his touch, you release a silent scream.

Taehyung plunges another finger inside of you, stretching you apart with a steady pace. It feels like too much, yet not enough at the same time. Your head is spinning, body sensitive from the heat of his skin against yours.

“I want to hear you cry for me.” His brows furrow. A look of faux sympathy crosses his angelic features. “Unless you don’t want my friends to hear you being such a whore.” He speaks so casually, as if he didn’t just drop another glob of spit onto your mound. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Namjoon was here though ー watching you.”

You shake your head, panting for air, trying to catch your breath as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Really? Then how about Jimin?” He taunts you so cruelly.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking your lips before you can bring yourself to speak. It’s too difficult to form words when your mind is numb on pleasure, nothing but a steady hum of static.

But if there’s one thing that you should know about Taehyung is that he is not a patient man (despite the fact that he’s been edging you for the better part of the last hour). It’s evident when he wraps his hand around your throat, bringing your attention back to his hazy eyes. He needs your answer, and he needs it now.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he says, demanding, squeezing the column of your neck.

He’s obsessed with the way your throat constricts beneath the pressure of his grip as you swallow your spit.

“Would you prefer if Jeongguk was here then?”

His lips curl into a smile as if he’s testing you, but you see right through his sweet facade. Kim Taehyung is nothing if not mean in bed. If you were to be honest, he would find a way to punish you despite the reassurance in his tone.

After all, Kim Taehyung has never been one to show you mercy. He will spank you, choke you, and fuck you until you’re at the edge of your limit, simply because you let him. Because you love it, and you love when you’re reduced to nothing but a slutty little mess.

“It’s just you, Tae,” you murmur weakly. “Just want you, not Guk.” Despite the affirmation in your voice, your walls clench around Taehyung’s fingers.

Guk? Since when did you ever use nicknames with Jeongguk?

“Love, we both know that’s not true,” he says, slapping your clit once again.

You curse under your breath.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you sob with tears streaming down your face, but you adore every second of it. Taehyung takes a moment to wipe the tears from your eyes before pressing a tender kiss to the apples of your cheeks.

“I saw the two of you at the door earlier,” Taehyung begins, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, biting the flesh between his teeth.

It’s true that Jeongguk invited you to the party. Actually, he asked you long before Taehyung had even brought it up. But no, Jeongguk is not your date and neither is Taehyung.

At the very least, Jeongguk had the decency to acknowledge you and give you an ounce of attention (Taehyung would argue that Jeongguk looks at you like he’s in love with you, yet you remain oblivious, chalking it down to being friends).

The entire evening, you talked his ear off about your neuroscience research ー the idea of emotional numbness being a symptom of certain psychological disorders. It sounds depressing, but when you manage to break it down, comparing it to Widowmaker’s genetically modified brain chemistry, Jeongguk clung onto your every word.

Not only are you so adorable, but so fucking brilliant. On top of that… you can unpack the lore of his favorite Overwatch hero for hours on end? You might just be the girl he’s been searching for in all of his dreams. It’s no wonder he looks at you with so much love in his eyes.

Meanwhile, throughout the whole night, Taehyung was too “busy” to approach you ー only watched from afar. He can’t risk the thought of people finding out about your relationship. Rather, he was swarmed with girls hanging off of his arm, vying for his attention. Yet the only thing he saw was you.

You finally had a moment alone when he brushed against your arm, asking you to trail him upstairs to “show” you the photos he took on his new camera.

And that is exactly how you found yourself in this predicament.

“Jeongguk was so sweet to take off your jacket and offer you a drink.” Taehyung circles your clit with calloused fingers as if he has all the time in the world.

These soft, gentle touches only mark the beginning of your punishment, and you’d be lucky if you could crawl out of bed tomorrow morning. You close your eyes, praying to a higher power that you’ll make it out of here in one piece.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” He murmurs against your jaw, pressing a kiss to your chin, barely missing the soft curve of your lips. “I’m pretty sure he thinks about you when he touches himself.”

To emphasize his point, Taehyung glides his hand down the inner part of your thigh. Goosebumps ripple across your skin as you shiver in his hold.

“What if Jeongguk was here, watching you beg for my cock, hm?” Taehyung hums. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You whine desperately, saying anything that would please Taehyung despite how easily your body betrays you ー pussy pulsing with need, carnal and insatiable.

Anyone could tell that Jeongguk has a huge crush on you. It’s in the way that he looks at you with wide, lovestruck eyes. He holds onto every single one of his words as if you’re rewriting the stars. Whenever you share a lame joke that flies over everyone’s head, he’s giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Truthfully? Nothing pisses Taehyung off more than that.

Somehow, even the sound of Jeongguk’s name makes you clench around Taehyung’s fingers.

“Do you want him to fuck you?”

The image of Jeongguk making room for himself in your cunt makes you break into tears, sobbing. Or perhaps Jeongguk would be the type to take it slow, you can never be so sure. His pretty face is so deceptive. Maybe he would memorize every inch of your skin and make love in a way you’ve never quite understood.

“Because I know that Guk wants to.” Taehyung says it as a matter of fact. As if he knows something that you don’t. There’s malice in his tone when he utters the nickname you’ve defaulted to.

“Would you let the boys watch? Namjoon? Jimin? You know they’re quite fond of you, right? You might give them the impression that they have a chance with you because you’re such an easy slut.” Taehyung spins a dirty fantasy inside of your head while he rubs deft circles onto your clit. Your slick arousal seeps out of your pulsing cunt, soaking his fingers.

“I bet you’d let Jeongguk fuck you raw too.”

The innermost part of you thinks about Jeongguk losing his innocent image so that he could stretch you open and flood you with his cum, round after round. How he would plug your needy cunt with his length, forcing you to cockwarm him, locking his cum inside of you until he’s ready to ruin you all over again.

How would Taehyung feel if he were to watch? You can’t decide if he would love it or hate it, and neither can you.

Jeon Jeongguk is nothing if not kind, so surely, he could do you one favor, right?

With the thought of Jeongguk stretching you open, your orgasm washes over you, and you tremble in Taehyung’s arms, consumed by your climax. You cry out, muttering apologies over and over again. Tears cascade down your cheeks, unable to control yourself.

But perhaps you’re not sorry at all.

That’s all it takes for Taehyung to latch his mouth onto your clit, sucking harshly on the small bundle of nerves. You buck your hips, wanting him impossibly closer, but his hands squeeze around your waist, pinning you to the table.

His tongue delves between your entrance, lapping the arousal that drips out of you. The taste of your cum is such a sweet reward, but it’s almost offensive how you could come to the thought of fucking another man, a man who is not him, but one of his friends and fraternity brothers. Even if Taehyung was the one to flood your head with thoughts of Jeongguk, he can’t seem to handle the truth.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s because you could slip through his fingers and leave him at any point in time. How much longer can you deal with this lack of commitment ー no strings attached situationship?

The gossip among your friends isn’t lost on him. He knows that they don’t like him, always urging you to step away. An ember ignites inside of his chest when he recounts a conversation he once overheard: ‘Jeongguk’s been asking about you. You should give him a chance, don’t you think? What if he’s the one?’

As if Taehyung has something to prove, he works you into overdrive, sucking your clit into his mouth as he rolls the small bundle of nerves with his tongue.

You reach down, gripping his hair between your fingers, feeling much too overstimulated after your first orgasm. Taehyung digs his face deeper into your pussy in hopes that he can elicit the sweet whimpers that make his cock leak with beads of precum.

From beneath his desk, he drags down the band of his sweats, just low enough for him to pull out his dick. His hand wraps around his length, jerking off to the sound of your moans and the way that your pussy weeps for him, squelching into the quiet of the night.

Taehyung eats you out like he’s starving ー messy and depraved. You’re dripping in arousal, completely soaking his chin with your essence.

Your legs quiver, closing around Taehyung’s head as you approach your high once again. He circles his arms around your thighs, spreading them wide apart. You’re rendered immobile, forced to take him like the good girl he knows you are.

He picks up the pace, forcing his tongue deep between your walls.

Trembling in his hold, you tip over the edge with a sob that rips through your throat. Your cunt pulses as he laps up the cum dripping from your core.

Your fingernails dig into his scalp, yet Taehyung has no intention of stopping. In fact, the pain drives him to work even faster. He swipes his tongue against your clit, sucking on the bud and working you into overstimulation. He needs to make sure that you don’t ever think about touching another man but him.

He may not be yours, but you are his without a single doubt.

Taehyung plunges his fingers back inside of you, massaging the inside of your cunt with delicious friction. It’s on the border of pleasure and pain, yet you welcome it as you ride out your high.

“Taehyung…” You whimper in a weak voice, “It’s too much…” Once more, you tug on his hair, pulling him apart from your cunt, even as it pulses in his wake.

But Taehyung can’t help himself, lurching forward, he wedges himself between your thighs. He needs to taste you, just a little more as if this is the last time he’ll ever have you. He kisses your clit, repeatedly, one smooch after another ー completely pussy drunk. He knows that you can take it.

You slump against his desk, legs weak. But there’s nothing you can do. What Taehyung wants, Taehyung gets. And all he wants is to mark you, claim you, and breed you until you’re filled with his cum for days on end.

Taehyung wipes his chin with the back of his hand, and it just might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He picks you up from beneath your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

You’re no stranger to the bounce of his bed as he lays you on top of his covers. You’ve been there a dozen times before, having memorized the feeling of the cool, linen fabric against your exposed skin.

Taehyung tugs on the neckline of your dress, revealing your breasts to his hungry eyes. He suckles on one of your pert nipples while twisting the other between his thumb and forefinger.

Meanwhile, you reach forward, palming his erection through his sweatpants. He grinds against your hand as he hums into your chest. Murmurs of “mine, mine, mine.”

His hand reaches down to circle your wrist before shoving them down his pants. He dips your hand beneath the fabric, guiding your hand to fist his cock, pumping his length without the burden of cotton in between.

It’s heavy in your hands, long and thick. You can barely wrap your fingers around the circumference of it all.

Taehyung shifts focus onto your neck, sucking love bites into your delicate skin. To fuel his ego, he needs the rest of the world to know that you belong to him. That nobody can fuck you better than him. Not Namjoon, not Jimin, and definitely not Jeongguk.

“Tae, I need you.” The words are slurred coming out of your mouth. You’re delirious, yet you haven’t even had a taste of him.

“You think you deserve my cock?” He tilts his head to the side, arching his brow. His question is rhetorical, yet you can’t help but nod with desperation.

It’s condescending and downright degrading, but you grow wetter upon tasting his arrogance. You should feel pathetic for wanting his warmth and his comfort, yet in this very moment, he is the only thing that you crave.

Taehyung tugs his shirt over his head and drags his sweatpants down to his thighs. He slides his bare cock between your folds. It’s puffy and much too sensitive, but you love the feeling of his weight on you.

He taps your clit with the head of his cock once, twice, three-four times.

“Who does this pretty cunt belong to?” He doesn’t shift his gaze, even when your eyes roll back, consumed with blinding pleasure.

“It’s yours, Taehyung,” you whimper, melting into the sheets. “I’m all yours.”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear,” he says before tapping your bottom lip.

Instinctually, you open your mouth, and he drops a glob of spit straight down your throat.

Before you can even swallow, Taehyung is lining up his cock with your entrance until he bottoms out, leaving you with little to no time to adjust to his girth.

“My pussy’s all yours.” You manage to mutter a string of words, breathless, half coherent as he stretches you wide open.

“Mine?” Taehyung quirks his brow. His jaw clenches. “Then how about I fuck a baby inside of you, huh?”

If you had any semblance of sanity, your rationality would have spoken against it. But when Taehyung looks at you with such desperate eyes, almost animalistic, you can’t help but to wrap your legs around his waist, forcing his cock deeper into your fertile cunt, begging him to breed you.

The squelch of your heat fills the otherwise quiet room. It’s verging on pornographic ー the sound of skin slapping on skin. When he nestles his hips against yours like two pieces of a puzzle, he groans against your collarbone, resuming his mission to claim you and make you his, ravishing your skin until a deep bruise forms in its place.

He glides into you so effortlessly, his pace punishing. The slick of your arousal allows him to rut into you like you were made for him. By now, you’re certain that he’s fucked your pussy into the shape of his cock. It’s reserved for Taehyung so long as he’ll have you.

He grabs the back of your thighs, folding you in half, right into a press, perfect for breeding. But not before roughly delivering a spank to the curve of your ass. The impact leaves a temporary mark, and you thrive off of the attention that he gives you.

You’re so fucked out, you can’t think of anything other than coming with Taehyung’s name on your tongue.

He pounds into you with a force that causes your body to inch up the mattress. The bed frame rocks against the wall, but neither of you care about the repercussions. Nobody could possibly hear you whoring yourself out when the boom of the bass is so loud downstairs.

Would it really be such a bad thing if someone were to catch you?

It should be humiliating how wet you are, soaking his cock like a bitch in heat. But in fact, you’re in love with the way he prods your cervix as he finds his home nestled inside of you.

Taehyung grips the underside of your jaw, turning your head so that you can face the floor length mirror on the other side of the bed.

His lips press against the shell of your ear as he whispers sweet nothings against your blazing hot skin. “You’re such a good girl. Look at how well you take me,” he coos.

You stare into your reflection, eyes meeting your own in the mirror. Your makeup is a complete and utter mess. Your mascara runs down your cheeks from the tears in your eyes, your lipgloss stained from all the kisses you’ve shared.

Taehyung’s hips roll against yours, and your gaze shifts to the strain of his muscles. His back is so broad and so strong. His biceps flex from holding himself above your body.

From this angle, you can see the way he drives into you. Your pussy can’t help but swallow him deeper and deeper, accommodating his length as it drags against your walls with a delicious, slow burn. He fucks you so ardently, he can barely pull away for long before burrowing right back into your core, settling into the deepest parts of you.

With your eyes trained on the mirror, you can spot the faint love bite that blooms beneath his ear. Perhaps there is a small part of Kim Taehyung that does belong to you. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on your heart once again.

Taehyung props himself up on his knees for more leverage. But before he can situate himself, he notices the small crack in the doorway, slightly ajar. Through the gap, he can see the wandering eyes of his fellow fraternity brother, none other than Park Jimin. He genuinely has no idea how long he’s been standing there.

Feeling high on some power trip, Taehyung flashes an amused smirk at the man on the other side of the door, shooting him a wink as he plows his hips against yours.

There’s a small part of Jimin’s subconscious that makes him believe he should walk away and pretend that this never happened. It feels wrong to spy on his best friend splitting your sweet cunt in half, but he can’t seem to look away. The longer he stares, the harder he gets.

Maybe it’s the boost of serotonin that Jimin gets from the sight of your tits. They’re bouncing from the force of Taehyung’s thrusts, and he can only imagine how they would feel beneath his palms. Perhaps it’s the sound of your dulcet voice, begging Taehyung to fuck you deeper, spank you harder, and love you louder.

Jimin has only ever dreamt about the sound of your moans, but now, he can hear them loud and clear from the other side of the door.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Perhaps this is a dream. Or maybe he’s a little too drunk at this point of the night.

But when he looks up again, he’s met with Taehyung’s darkened eyes. Jimin’s mouth goes dry, wishing that he could be there in place of his dear friend.

In all of his dreams, Jimin has never pictured you to like it so rough. You’ve always been so kind and so sweet, offering to clean the dishes among his dirty fraternity brothers. You’re so considerate to keep him company while he builds his Lego sets late into the evening.

You’re practically the face of innocence.

Now with this knowledge of you being a dirty, little whore, he can stow it away into the back of his mind, saving it for the dark and restless nights.

When Taehyung’s thumb meets your clit, you whimper his name. It’s raw, almost painful, coming from your scratchy throat.

“Say it again,” Taehyung demands, tapping the side of your face with his free hand before gliding it down to your neck. “Say my name again. If you want me to cum inside of you, beg.”

You cry out his name as your eyes roll back, his length prodding against your cervix, bruising the soft, spongy spot inside of you. Unintelligible murmurs spill from your lips. “I’ll do whatever you want. I just want your come, I need it, please, please, please. Need you to fuck me full. I want your babies, daddy. You promised, remember?”

Something inside of Taehyung ignites whenever you call him daddy. “You need it? Need my cum? My babies?”

Taehyung picks up the pace, burying himself deep inside of you. His tone is mocking, and you fall apart to the sound of his voice. “What a needy fucking plaything.”

He pays no mind to the way you shudder beneath him, tears falling down your face. He continues to maneuver you into a different position, manhandling your body in a way that has you clenching around him even tighter, sheathing his cock deeper between your walls. He hooks his arm beneath the bend of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders until you curl beneath him.

You’re addicted to the way he fills you to the brim, splitting you in half. A ring of milky cream coats the base of his cock, revealing itself whenever he pulls out the slightest bit. It’s mixed with the saliva that he drops onto your mound, making the glide so effortless.

Had this been any other night, Taehyung would not let you off the hook this easily. Instead, he would humiliate you into begging. Your face would be pushed into the mattress while he makes a mess of your pussy. He would spill his load inside of you while prolonging your orgasm, only allowing you to come if you beg for it. But tonight, he’s being much too kind in the presence of his guest.

Taehyung brings his hand down, spanking the curve of your ass. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” He groans against your lips.

You shudder once again when he strikes your clit ー “This pussy is mine.” At this point, you would have thought you’d be used to it by now, but the impact continues to surprise you every time.

He gives a harsh thrust into your cunt, deep and rough. Rushed murmurs of “mine, mine, mine.” For good measure, he spits on your face and slaps your cheek. Kim Taehyung fully knows that you do belong to him, and he needs Jimin to know that.

Taehyung grabs your waist and flips you over so that you straddle his hips. He grips your jaw with a firm grasp, forcing your head toward the direction of the door. He doesn’t seem to forget about his dear friend. Because apparently, Park Jimin is as much of a pervert as you are.

When you lock eyes with Jimin on the other side, you clamp around Taehyung’s length.

He just knows that you love the attention.

Your legs tremble on either side of his waist, and you want to collapse into his chest to hide in embarrassment. Humiliation prickles your cheeks, but you know there’s nowhere to run.

As a reminder of his presence, Taehyung grips your waist. “Color?” All you have to do is say the word, and he’ll stop.

You’ve expressed your interest in exhibitionism before, yet Taehyung has always been the one to keep your relationship a dirty little secret. So it doesn’t come as a surprise when you nod your head in confirmation, cursing out the words, breathless. “Green.”

“‘Atta girl,” Taehyung groans, squeezing your hips. “Why don’t you show Jimin how you ride?” He suggests, clenching his jaw.

There’s an innate need to show Jimin what a pretty, desperate little toy that you are. So you bounce on your knees, fucking yourself onto Taehyung’s cock.

Jimin can’t keep his eyes off of you as your tits bounce on full display. His eyes scan your body up and down, taking note of the dress that bunches around your waist. It’s the same strawberry pattern that you wore to Sunday service the week prior.

He remembers how pretty you looked as you sat cross legged on the other side of the pew 一 when you had volunteered to pass around plates of food for the elders at the luncheon and when you had flashed him a gummy smile after pouring you a glass of orange juice. But now, the image of you in that same exact dress has tainted his memory.

Your hands rest on Taehyung’s chest as you grind your hips onto his. With each brush against your clit, you shudder, slowly losing your senses from the mind numbing pleasure.

Soon enough, you lose your rhythm, jagged and off-tempo. Your thrusts are much too shallow for Taehyung’s liking, your thighs burning. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. But you can’t help it when you’re a little too distracted by Jimin’s eyes boring into yours.

“You can do better than that,” Taehyung growls, landing a sharp slap against your ass. His fingers dig into your waist. Your flesh gives way to his grip, dimpling beneath the pressure.

“Tell Jimin how much you love being fucked like a whore.” Taehyung says, punctuating each syllable with a sharp thrust.

Because you are constantly under Taehyung’s spell, you do as you’re told, whining out Jimin’s name with tears in your eyes. “Minnie…” Taehyung grits his teeth, hating how close you are to all of his friends. At the end of the day, you’re his.

There’s no hesitation in your voice. “Love it so much 一 Love being Taehyung's slut. He fucks me so well, he’s ruined me for anyone else. I can’t- I can’t-” The sobs wrack through your body as the dirty words pool out of your mouth. “Please, Tae, I want to come so bad. I’ve been a good girl, please, please please- I promise I won’t act up anymore, I only want you.”

Taehyung has trouble believing your lies. You’ve been anything but a good girl all night. The images flash before his eyes 一 you drinking with Namjoon, leaning into Jimin’s touch, giggling with Jeongguk. Fuck, the way you came around his fingers when he flooded your pretty little head with thoughts of his friend claiming you in front of everyone like a needy whore 一 it sets a fire ablaze inside of him.

The only thing you’ve done that’s worthy of praise is making room for Taehyung’s fat cock inside of your slutty cunt.

Taehyung forces two fingers into your mouth, demanding you to suck. You swirl your tongue around his digits, making them nice and wet before he traces them down your spine. He circles the puckered rim of your ass before dipping right into your tight hole.

“Would you let Jimin fuck you here?” Taehyung asks, searching for the answer in your eyes. “You could probably come with him in your ass, no?”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head no.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t done it before, love. I know you can come as long as your holes are filled,” he coos. “Wouldn’t it feel so much better if you had two dicks inside of you? Sweet girl, I know you can take it.”

You clench at the sound of his filthy words. Taehyung has never proposed a threesome before. He hardly talks to his fraternity brothers about you, whether it is out of privacy, jealousy, or embarrassment, you can never be sure.

Drool starts to drip out of your mouth and pride swells up inside of Taehyung’s heart.

He circles his arms around your waist, bringing you down to his chest. Digging his heels into the mattress, he bends his knees to thrust into you at a merciless pace. His perfect tempo hits your soft, spongy center with such precision. The head of his cock grazes against your g spot with every stroke, and you whine into his neck.

Your eyes are threatening to close, and you find it difficult to catch your breath.

Taehyung murmurs against your skin, reminding you to breathe. Upon hearing his calm voice, your chest heaves against his.

“Come with me, come with me,” he demands, his voice breathy. “Show him that you’re mine.”

With a few deep thrusts, you come on Taehyung’s cock, pulsing around his length. You clench around him so tight as though you never want him to leave. The sound of Taehyung’s moans are muffled by the blood rushing to your head. All you can hear is the thrum of your pulse, pounding against your ear drums.

Taehyung’s hips still against yours as he grabs your waist, trying to find a semblance of self-control. He spills into your cunt with thick spurts of white, hot cum, filling you to the brim. It pours out from between your walls, coating the side of his length.

Your breath is labored as you collapse into his chest, much too weak to hold yourself up any longer.

When you look over at Jimin, there’s a dark, wet spot over the crotch of his pants. A small whimper escapes from his parted lips, his eyes screwed shut.

If you did not have a modicum of rationality in your post orgasmic haze, you would think that Taehyung would offer to invite him inside. But as you’ve come to learn, Taehyung is not a fan of sharing what’s his.

So when the show is over, Jimin is quick to step into the bathroom where he can touch himself to the fresh visual of you in your strawberry print dress. Perhaps he can conjure up the image of you on your knees, wrapping your pretty lips around his throbbing cock. He would die a happy man if he could paint your perfect tits with his cum. But for now, he’ll have to settle with the glide of his hand, imagining that it’s your tight walls sucking him into the warmth of your cunt.

And once Jimin cleans himself up, he’ll be on his merry way to tell his dear friends about the best thing he has ever witnessed in his entire life. He’d be $20 richer after Seokjin coughs up the money he bet on your relationship. And maybe Jeongguk will finally come to terms with his feelings before he loses you completely.

Surely, when all is said and done, Taehyung has cleaned up the mess that he’s made, making sure that you’re happy and well taken care of. He kisses your lips and rubs your back, taking his time to clean you up.

He’s extra gentle when he wipes a wet cloth against your swollen pussy. It’s far too sore after the rough pounding that he had put you through. Possibly bruised and broken, at least that’s how your body feels, yet you wouldn’t be opposed if he suggested another round after you’ve recuperated because you’re simply insatiable.

Yet that moment never comes because the two of you tuck yourselves beneath the covers, making small talk until the morning rises.

You never mention Namjoon nor Jimin. And you definitely wouldn’t dare to utter Jeongguk’s name. With sleepy thoughts and heavy eyelids, you simply let the night cut into the day.

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a beam across the thin film of your eyes. You’ve been awake for the last hour, keeping yourself occupied by counting the beauty marks that scatter across Taehyung’s face. You’ve done it a million times before. You could probably point them out in the dark, completely blind.

“Creep,” he mutters under his breath when he catches you staring.

A chuckle vibrates through your chest as you playfully push his shoulders. He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, but you cage him in your arms, wrapping them around his waist, molding your body to his. Your laugh tickles the nape of his neck.

Taehyung tries his best to ignore the lingering scent of your perfume on his bed sheets. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the right side of his bed where there’s a dip in the mattress ー the same shape as you.

He won’t even bring up your awful bedhead because he thinks it’s funny. He likes how he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. You’re at your prettiest when you’re beneath him, but also beside him.

Yet if he were to speak of this out loud, it would mean that all of this is his ー that he has something worth losing.

“How about I make some pancakes?” You offer, wiping the exhaustion from your eyes with the back of your hand.

Taehyung shifts in your embrace. He strains his neck to gauge your expression. “Pancakes?”

“Yeah, you got any strawberries?” They’re his favorite. He may have mentioned it once or twice in passing between soft kisses and sleepy yawns. Something about it being a reminder of his grandfather’s farm in Daegu. “Thought I saw some in the fridge the other day.”

“Don’t you have class soon?” Taehyung wonders out loud. He already knows the answer. He has your schedule memorized. How could he not?

“I could be late,” you shrug. “Remember what I told you about Professor Lee? He’s boring anyways.”

On any other day, Taehyung would have said yes without a second thought. But the fact that you’re willing to skip class doesn’t sit right with him. Suffering through medical philosophy 301 might not be that important to you, but… would you honestly prefer to spend your time making strawberry pancakes?

Taehyung clears his throat. “Before I say yes, can I ask you something?”

The air is thick.

There’s hesitation in your response, but you nod nevertheless. “What is it?”

“Are these just pancakes, or… is it something else?”

You part your lips, ready to respond, but the words are stuck in your throat. The answer should have been “just pancakes,” yet you’re certain that it’s more than that.

Perhaps it’s the casual intimacy or the domesticity. Maybe it’s an extra 30 minutes spent with the guy you’re half in love with. Is that too much? Are you too much?

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” You decide to play it safe as if you don’t want to die on the inside. As if his answer won’t have your organs collapse in on itself.

How the hell is Taehyung supposed to tell you that he wants more than just breakfast and half an hour of your time. He wants all of it and more, but it’s selfish to ask for that. You deserve the world, but he can’t give you what you need.

Time and time again, Taehyung has said that this is just casual. No strings attached. But how could he let it get this far?

There’s an adoring look in your eye that triggers his fight or flight response. He’s scared.

“I think… I just want pancakes.” There’s a dull ache in his heart and a voice that’s screaming in the back of his head. “But maybe next time. You should go to class.”

Little do you know, it took a hell of a lot of courage to say anything but “Please have me. Please hold me. I’m sorry.”

You try to push down the sting of his rejection as if it isn’t’ a reflection of the love that you deserve. “Okay, so I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Taehyung curls onto his side of the bed, retreating into himself. The heat of his body escapes yours. His responses shrink, reduced to nothing but an “I don’t know.”

You contemplate his cold tone and decide not to push any further. Yet you’re certain that you’ll keep yourself awake in the dead of the night by finding meaning in his silence.

For Taehyung, it hurts knowing that he can’t be the man for you. When his efforts fall short of what you deserve, he has a feeling that you’ll slip through his fingers once again. Would that hurt more than pushing you away?

When Taehyung asks you if you need a ride back to your place, a vile feeling bubbles up in the pit of your stomach. You can’t quite explain what it is. Anger? Hatred? Animosity? The truth is, you could never hate Kim Taehyung. Not for all the dreams you’ve shared. Not for all the wasted time. Not for the things he never said.

Taehyung thinks a ride is the best he could do if he can’t offer himself to you. If he can’t be your boyfriend.

You simply decline. “I think I wanna walk,” you mutter. Perhaps a little bit of fresh air is exactly what you need. Some time and space to clear your head and just think.

You hum, flashing him a smile that isn’t much of a smile at all. It doesn’t sit right on your face, Taehyung thinks. It doesn’t reach your eyes the way he’s accustomed to ー like when you ace your physiology exam, when two bags of chips fall out of the vending machine, or when you wave hello to a stray cat from across the street. Even if Taehyung notices the ill-fitting smile on your face, he doesn’t seem to mention it.

So you slip out the door without another word, falling apart in the usual way.

It’s chilly in the hallway outside of Taehyung’s room. You shiver at the feeling.

From the back of your pocket, you pull out your phone, drafting a text to Taehyung: “It’s cold out. You should wear a jacket.”

You contemplate hitting send, but before you can decide against it, a familiar voice brings you to a halt.

“Hey, Y/N, morning!” The sweet lull of Jeongguk’s voice resonates through your eardrums. He’s always awake early in the morning, but perhaps he never went to bed to begin with.

His hair is messy. Disheveled. He has a crumb of toast that sits pretty on the corner of his lips, and you don’t hesitate to dust it off. He flashes a warm smile at you, thankful for the action.

As he often does, you think that he might offer a ride to prevent the walk of shame. If you ever decline, he’ll just nod his head, shrug on a jacket, and walk by your side to the foot of your apartment building. In spite of Jeongguk’s frat boy status, he may be the only redeeming member of the fraternity.

But this time, you don’t decline. You tuck your head between your shoulders as you shrug. An “okay” slips from your lips, followed by a “thank you.”

Maybe you could use a friend. Maybe you could have more than that.

There’s a set of keys in one of Jeongguk’s hands and a knit scarf in the other. He wraps it around your neck so that you can brave the cold, fifteen steps to his car at the end of the driveway.

But as fixes your bedhead, pulling your hair to the side, careful to not get it caught beneath the fabric of his scarf, he chimes with yet another question.

“Are you and Taehyung serious by the way?”

You shake your head no. “No, not at all,” you murmur, sullen.

There’s a hopeful smile that affixes itself onto his lips. “What would you say if I asked you out on a date?”

#to read

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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Hyunjin: Age-Restricted

Summary: You think it’s luck when the new family you nanny for is so stupid rich that they rent you a fancy new apartment just so you can live closer to them. You think it’s luck when the guy across the hall is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your entire life and makes an effort to talk to you. But that’s just about where your luck runs out, because Hyunjin is more out of your league than you could ever imagine, and you’re just some hopeless virgin who never had good luck in the first place.

General warnings: both fluff & angst, smut (lots of firsts, but more detailed warnings/descriptions will be put in the warnings with the parts containing smut), attempted humor, mentions of mental/emotional abuse, reader has anxiety and does nothing about it lmao, reader also uses humor as a coping mechanism a lot, lots of virgin jokes (specific warnings will be put on the individual parts) minors dni!!!!

[be added to the taglist by filling out this form!]

————✧♡✧————-

❥Part One

❥Part Two

❥Part Three

❥Part Four

❥Part Five

❥Part Six

❥Part Seven

❥Part Eight

❥Part Nine

❥Part Ten

❥Part Eleven

❥Part Twelve

… [more parts will be listed as i write/post them]

————✧♡✧————-

EXTRAS

❥Part Four.5

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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Moonlit Throne | Masterlist

“do you… trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered.

“yes.”

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 45/45 words: 68k contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, romance, drama, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!

historical context/references. | fic playlist.

february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.

Keep reading

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nixierecs · 2 years ago

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Best Served Cold | Yoongi | Part I

pairing: Yoongi x afab!reader

au: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au, Yoongi is at the bottom of the organization just trying to stay alive when the story starts.

tags: SLOW BURN, eventual violence, eventual hurt/comfort, eventual smut, reformed bad boy Yoongi, he is lethal in this fic - literally, and he has neck tattoos. Reader is self conscious about her looks, so that gets mentioned occasionally, but is not a focus of the fic. (She works through it by the end.) (Part I does include a knife fight and mentions stitching a wound.)

words: 9k

a/n: Part I originally appeared on my old blog, but it's been heavily edited since then. Parts II and III are drafted. They just need to be edited.

Part I, Part II, Part III

___

Yoongi shields his eyes from the flames. Smoke coats his throat, and he pants for breath. As he lies on the wet pavement, he realizes that this Molotov cocktail, this cheap-ass, dime-store intimidation tactic currently burning through his club, is a plan to intimidate him. First, he was annoyed. Now he’s pissed.

“Boss,” Jungkook calls. “Where are you?”

“In the alley.” Yoongi’s voice is harsh. He hacks until his throat burns.

“Namjoon said there might be trouble.” Jungkook shakes his head even as he helps his friend to his feet.

“Thanks, Jungkook, that’s really fucking helpful.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

“I know you’re right, but I could just use a little time before the ‘I told you so.’”

Jungkook shrugs.

Always helpful, that kid.

“You think Namjoon will front you anymore money?”

Always fucking helpful.

“No, I don’t.”

The midlevel boss is struggling to maintain this territory for Kim Seokjin. Seokjin is so far above Yoongi, he isn’t sure he can pick the man out of a crowd. He’s never even met him.

This waterfront location, the small inroads into the neighboring gang’s territory, is far, far, beneath the boss’s notice. Namjoon barely pays attention to Yoongi, and he pays the man a generous cut. Not enough to pay off Yoongi’s debt with the interest Namjoon charges, but generous, nonetheless. Namjoon is making a name for himself, and Yoongi knows that his small establishment isn’t a priority for someone with the other man’s ambition. The Min family still means something to Namjoon, though. It burns Yoongi hotter than his establishment currently going up in flames that his father’s name got him this squandered opportunity.

Firetruck sirens ring out in the distance. At least he won’t have to worry about the fire spreading beyond his own building.

“This is a dumb question…” Jungkook says. “But do you have insurance?”

“That is a dumb question.”

“Still?”

“No, I don’t have insurance.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

Yoongi sure as fuck isn’t about to concede this little turf war to Lee’s gang. This shitty waterfront location, a small establishment where he planned to run some card games, make some money, is as ambitious as he gets these days, but he isn’t ready to let it go. He also isn’t ready to pay his debt to Namjoon in blood. Yoongi pulled himself up from less than nothing to this pathetic showing, but it’s still worth more to him than his life.

“Yoongi, what the fuck are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make a deal with the devil, Jungkook.”

&&&

You shut your laptop the moment your older sister calls your name. There are no secrets in your family. At least, none that aren’t so carefully guarded as to be entombed like a mummy.

The bedroom door bursts open.

“It’s true, our cousin confirmed it,” your sister announces. She glances at your desk. “You’re studying? Again?

“Yes,” you say, unable to think of a lie.

“You need a boyfriend.” She flounces on your bed. “Aren’t you even curious who I’m going to marry?”

Honestly, you can’t believe marriage contracts are still a thing, but she finds them romantic. You look out over the circular driveway and manicured lawn lining the entrance before giving way to the twenty-four-hour manned gate. Marriages contracts are nothing more than a way to keep this wealth among certain families.

You shiver, glad to you know you’ll never be sacrificed in that way.

“I can’t believe how long father made me wait,” she says. “You’ll be next.”

“Father won’t marry me off.”

It isn’t for nothing that everyone considered the girls to be evenly divided, one with the looks and the other the brains. You don’t begrudge your sister her beauty, but you long ago stopped wondering when your awkward phase would end.

“Please don’t talk about yourself that way.”

The front door slams.

“Where are they?” your father asks, voice booming.

You hear footsteps, and you grin at each other. As much as you hate the convention, you’re happy for your sister. She looks forward to marriage even more than the other women of your position. It means her own household, a generous allowance, and a ring on her finger that will announce to everyone that she is taken, and not just by anyone, but someone who can afford such an impressive stone. No way your father would marry your sister to someone who can’t afford to keep her. Appearances must be maintained.

“Girls, I have some exciting news,” your father announces, entering the room. “As I’m sure you’ve already heard—your mother can’t keep a thought in her head without sharing it—the marriage contract is finalized.”

“Who is it?” your sister asks.

“Min Yoongi.”

“Who?” she asks. The name means nothing to either of you, and you had pressed your mother for a list of possible bridegrooms.

“His family isn’t much anymore, but the dowry prevented any hesitations.”

“You will not make me marry some man I’ve never heard of before!” your sister protests.

“Damn right I won’t.” Your father turns to face you. “She’s marrying him.”

He’s pointing at you.

&&&

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You do not look like a glowing young woman on her wedding day. The concealer under your eyes is so heavy, it adds to the dark circles instead of taking away from them. The traditional dress constricts, and you struggle to breathe. Lowering the veil, your face disappears behind silk and lace.

No amount of pleading or crying has made your father relent. A deal is a deal, and he made a deal with Min Yoongi to take you off his hands. Before the contract, you thought he would continue to ignore you. You even tried running away, but with little savings, you didn’t make it far. Upon your return, your sister schooled you on the easily-convertible-to-cash wealth of jewelry and designer handbags. She hadn’t just prepared her wardrobe for an eventual marriage. She was much, much smarter than you had ever given her credit for. What were school smarts when it prepared you not at all for a wedding day with a man you had never met who would soon control your wealth, your education and, you realize with dawning horror, your body? You clench your fists until blood red marks appeared on your palms, small half-moons of distress.

You and your sister had found out nothing about Min Yoongi. Your mother had heard of the family before. Apparently, they used to be thought of highly, but you could discover nothing of their past or whatever made them fall from grace.

All your plans, all your dreams of fading so completely from your father’s notice in order to gain the freedom you craved, were crushed in an instant by a man who would marry a woman he didn’t know for money.

“Are you ready, dear?” Your mother calls in a sickly, sweet voice that must be second nature to her by now. She enters the dressing room where you had been hiding since your sister left. “Everyone is waiting.”

No expense had been spared for the wedding, and you knew it was all your father. There were hundreds of people outside waiting for you to walk down the aisle. Family and friends of your family, all ready to witness your humiliation. How could your father put you through this? “You look lovely,” your mother offers. “He’s very handsome, I think.”

“What do I care what he looks like? I’ve never met the man.”

The slap surprises you, and you wince from the pain.

“You should be grateful. This is the best your father could do for you.”

Humiliation burns brighter than the sting on your face.

“Do you know how long your father looked for a contract for you? Do you know how many men have refused you?”

The worst part was you didn’t. You had no idea he’d been trying to give you away.

“Get yourself together. I won’t have you humiliating your father.”

She smooths down her skirt. She hates getting emotional, hates anything impeding the picture-perfect family she’s constructed in her mind, and desperately maintains no matter how much evidence to the contrary.

“Hurry and dry your tears.” She leaves alone with your thoughts.

There’s no way out. There never was. You’ve been fooling yourself since the moment your father barged into your room. There is no escape, you can only survive.

Wiping your tears, you stand and lower the veil. You won’t raise it until your betrothed—God, the word sticks in your throat—lifts it. Well, there are no surprises for him. Certainly, he knows what he’s getting out of this bargain. It might not be the future you imagined for yourself, but you weren’t going to just give up.

With renewed determination, you walk out of the small dressing room. As you approach the main room, the music swells. The guests stand and face you. Taking a deep breath, you step into the cavernous space. You walk slowly, stately down the aisle as you’d been instructed. The silk and lace are thin enough that you can make out the ghostly faces of the guests. You don’t know most of these people, and you don’t see your sister. The whole affair is a farce, but you’ll play your part.

Your steps slow as you near the main dais. Min Yoongi waits for you. Even through the veil, you can see that he’s handsome. Your mother, damn her, is right. With each step that you take, though, you can see that he isn’t just handsome. He’s beautiful. He wears a traditional tuxedo, looking ever the part of the well-dressed bridegroom. His hair is black and falls almost to his shoulders. But it is the tattoos that take your breath away. On his neck, black roses and thorns are visible above the collar of his shirt. He seems like a man who knows how to get his hands dirty. He’s compelling, your soon-to-be husband.

He shoots his cuffs, as if getting ready for a bout, holds his head high, and gazes in your direction.

Perhaps he thought you wouldn’t come out of that small room, and he was happy to know he would get his money. You scowl. Somehow, you would survive the horror show your life had become. He wanted to marry you? Well, he would get what he bargained for, and then some.

Min Yoongi offers you a hand as you step up. He’s polite at least. Or he knows how to keep up appearances in front of a crowd. You can use either. No way this petty criminal, as your sister has taken to calling him, knows all these guests either. Both of you are lambs to the slaughter of this antiquated tradition. Before you have too much sympathy for him, you remember he faces humiliation for money—a time-honored tradition in its own right—while you gain nothing but the loss of personal freedom.

You face the officiant as the interminable ceremony begins. Min Yoongi relaxes a bit, bows his head and lets the words wash over him.

By the time the ceremony ends, your knees are locked, and your back aches from standing at attention this whole time. While you couldn’t seem to imagine the ceremony ending when you were in the middle of it, suddenly the last remarks begin.

You face each other, and your new husband places a ring on your finger. The diamond is so small as to be a chip, the band tarnished, and you wonder what pawn shop he found it in. Surely, it’s the smallest and cheapest he could find. So, keeping up appearances isn’t a priority. His hands are rough and calloused. Petty criminal is right.

The genuine revelation, though, is saved for the end. Looking back, you should’ve expected the final twist, the ultimate humiliation your father had planned.

Min Yoongi turns to face you. He’s truly beautiful in that moment, and you truly hate him. This man has taken away your future. Your husband—you want to gag—lifts the veil. You bow your head as you’ve been instructed before straightening.

He gives nothing away, not truly. You credit him for his composure if nothing else. Just a quick intake of breath, a twitch in his right eye gives away his surprise. Nothing the guests would see. But your father laughs and makes sure everyone can hear it.

Your husband’s features tighten.

In this moment, you know, as certain as you are of anything. Min Yoongi lost. Min Yoongi did not marry the sister he intended. He married you.

&&&

Yoongi stretches the collar of his starched shirt, and it does nothing to ease the pressure. Sweat trickles down his temple. Little air flows in the reception space, and he would give anything for a cigarette and a breath of fresh air, which makes no sense.

The main table is situated slightly higher and away from the others. He feels on display, and he doesn’t like it. Jungkook sits to his right, and he hopes the kid doesn’t pull a weapon. He’s so jumpy.

Jungkook had looked nervous ever since they walked in the door.

“Who are all these fucking people?”

“You think I fucking know?” Yoongi responds. “Don’t swear.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m an adult.”

“Who did such a terrible job raising you?”

“You, hyung, you raised me.”

“Oh, right,” Yoongi says, distracted by straightening his tie.

“Here, let me.” Jungkook wrenches the tie from Yoongi’s hands. “You sure this is the right choice?”

“It’s too late to back out now.”

“Still, we could make a run for it.”

But Yoongi made a deal, and he would stick to it. “I’m not backing out on her. She’s alright. I’ve met her before, but she probably doesn’t remember me.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Yoongi thought of the circumstances under which he had met the eldest sister. “Probably a good thing.”

Looking back, Yoongi should’ve realized the last twist. He’d always known your father was a bastard. The ruthless son of a bitch had stabbed friends in the back to make his life just a little easier, to put a little more money in his pocket. Yoongi expected a double cross. He made sure the money was transferred to his account directly after the ceremony. He’d gotten paid alright, but he hadn’t gotten the crown jewel. Yoongi should’ve suspected a sister switch. He knew nothing of the younger sister, but the way your smile turns to ice whenever you meet his eyes, he hoped you would give him a few hours, at least, before whatever plan you must’ve had would be put into action. Someone as spoiled and coddled as you are, you must want to return to the comforts of your father’s compound, not whatever humble offerings Yoongi could provide.

“Would you like some more wine?” Yoongi asks. He doesn’t know why he persists in talking to you.

You shake your head, barely deigning to suggest you had heard him. If only you could have a private conversation somewhere. He didn’t need you to like him. You have nothing in common. Yoongi had a restless, reckless youth and you had been pampered with your father’s wealth. He hates everything you stand for, happy to accept the money but never questioning where it comes from.

One of the older guests, a fading man with a hunched back and a bald head, walks with a cane to the main table. Guests actually speaking to Yoongi had been rare.

“I knew your father,” the man says, voice too soft for the crowd that speaks around them. “He was a great man.”

Yoongi feels that strange mix of pride and annoyance whenever anyone of the old guard remembers his father. Yoongi doesn’t know who the man in front of him is.

“He is a great man,” Yoongi insists, tired of everyone talking about his father like he was dead. Yoongi’s father isn’t well enough to attend the ceremony, a fact for which Yoongi is glad. His father had married for love, and in his better days he had wanted the same for Yoongi.

“Quite right, quite right. We aren’t all in the ground yet.” The old man puts up a hand as if to ask for forgiveness. “You are a lucky woman.”

Yoongi watches as you stiffen even more than you have already.

He tenses. He will forgive your annoyance, but he won’t be gracious if you’re rude to the one guest, an elderly guest at that, who had paid his respects to Yoongi’s family.

“Thank you,” you say, sickly sweet. “How kind of you to say.”

Yoongi prefers the glacial you. This is some kind of bizarre imitation of a radiant bride, and it’s worse than the glower you perfected during the reception.

The old man gives one more look to Yoongi. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Yoongi did not know where in hell to find this old guy, but he nodded. If he ever needed to take up this man on his offer, he would be more fucked that he was now.

“Thank you, sir,” Yoongi says, voice loud so the old man could hear him over the din of chatter.

You wince. “Your parents couldn’t bear to be a part of this farce?”

“My father is ill, and my mother couldn’t leave him.”

You glance at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I hope he improves.”

Yoongi nods his head in acknowledgement.

When would this interminable reception be over? Most of the rituals are complete, and Yoongi is surprised to find himself dead tired. It’s been a long few weeks, a long few months, and he wants to sleep without having to keep one eye open.

“Can you give me a few days before you try to murder me in my sleep?”

You choke on your wine.

“I don’t know what—”

“Look, princess, I know you’ve got plans. You don’t look like an idiot to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then give me a few days, at least.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say in the worst imitation of someone carefree. “I couldn’t be more thrilled to marry a petty criminal with this ring that looks like you won it for a quarter in a machine.”

Yoongi flinches. He would give you one comment about the ring. Just one, though.

“Would you like some more wine?” Yoongi asks.

“For the last time, no,” you say, acknowledging him with a slight tilt of your head, like a queen about to execute a criminal. “I will not get drunk into oblivion as wonderful as it sounds to forget this ever happened, and I would suggest you don’t either. My father and his friends are looking for anyway to humiliate you further, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

You turn to look at him, and you may not have the obvious beauty of your sister, but you have a steely determination he respects. Again, Yoongi reminds himself to prepare his own meals.

“On the other hand, I don’t care what you do. Make a fool of yourself.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh, really?” you say with a glacial smile. You turn your gaze to where your sister dances with another of her admirers. “How did that bargain work out for you?”

Fuck, you noticed. Yoongi prided himself on giving nothing away. It would’ve worked if it wasn’t for your father’s laughter.

“Listen, I’m sorry—”

“Spare me your pity. You should make sure you got paid.”

“I did,” Yoongi responds. He may have been fooled, but he knew to get his end of the bargain.

“Well, how wonderful for you.”

You don’t speak to him again for the rest of the reception.

&&&

Sitting in the back of the limousine, you force yourself to stay awake. This farce is almost over, and then you can take off this dress and breathe again. You just want to sleep, but that raises an issue.

“Where are we going?”

Yoongi jerks his head in your direction. “You’re talking to me.”

“For now.”

“We have a hotel room.” He looks down at his hands. “It’s not the nicest, but it keeps up appearances.”

“Unlike other things,” you retort, staring down at the ring.

“I’m tired, princess, and I’m going to have to ask you not to make any more comments about the ring.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Yoongi leans his head back. “We have adjoining rooms. I won’t disturb you, if you promise not to disturb me. Double doors with locks on either side. It seems as good as any other way to start our marriage.”

You exhale. You don’t know what to say. Of course, it is the only reasonable resolution, but you weren’t sure. You know nothing about your husband, and you can’t afford to let your guard down. Look where your naivete had gotten you? You would never let down your guard again.

“That sounds fine.” You will not thank him for basic decency.

A few minutes later, the limo stops. The driver opens the door. He helps you out of the car, and Yoongi follows. Yoongi looks as tired as you feel, and you are certain you look worse than him. Even exhausted, he is truly handsome.

Yoongi offers you a hand, and you don’t refuse as much as you want to. The path is rocky, and you need extra help to navigate in these shoes and this dress. You’ve driven across the bay to a small hotel on the water. The view of the downtown lights shines in the distance. The fresh salty air breezes across your face, and you feel renewed. You’ve made it this far, you’ll continue.

This hotel had been something back in the day. Your parents had probably stayed here at one point, and the thought doesn’t cheer you. The attendant behind the counter treats you kindly, and he mentions that your bags have already been carried to your rooms. He gives Yoongi two keys, and Yoongi passes you the key in the elevator. The hotel is so old that it uses actual keys with room numbers on them.

You’re staying on the third floor, the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the bay. You walk to your door. With a short wave, Yoongi disappears into his room, and you disappear into yours.

The room must be one of the largest. There is a sunken sitting room where you look out past the floor to ceiling windows to the bay. Your luggage sits at the foot of the bed. Without turning on a light, you sit on the couch and stare out at the view. You don’t cry. You’ve spent too much time crying to have any tears left. Now you want to sleep like a sleeping beauty to be woken from this nightmare by a kiss, but there are no fairytales, no honorable knights, no handsome princes. Just this strange path your life has taken. In a few weeks, your dreams of having something for yourself disappeared to be replaced by the man sleeping two locked doors away. You slip off your shoes and tuck your feet under your dress. A knock comes from the double doors.

You shuffle to the other side of the room, dragging your dress on the ground. You open the door.

Min Yoongi stands on the other side of the threshold. His jacket is off. His tie is loosened, and he’s rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows. An unlit cigarette dangles from his lip. In the face of his beauty, you wonder what he thinks of you. Straightening your shoulders, you remind yourself that he is just another criminal, a man like your father who will use anyone to get what he wants. He has already used you. His opinion doesn’t matter.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

He pulls the cigarette from his lips, holding it as if to take a drag.

“No, this room is… adequate.”

He huffs, a sardonic smile on his face. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to your father’s house, princess.”

She thinks of the high walls and guards surrounding her family home, thinking she had been safe. She had been a fool. Never again.

“You know nothing of my father.”

“I’m learning.”

“What do you need?” you ask, eager to get this tête-à-tête concluded.

“No need to come out swinging.” Yoongi puts up his hands. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t want for anything.”

“I will ask you if I do, since all my money is now yours.”

At your words, he glances out at the window as if captivated by the view. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Wait,” you say. “I do need something.”

He doesn’t answer, just waits for you to continue.

“Can you unzip this gown? I can’t reach it.” You turn around before your cheeks turn red. This entire night is humiliating enough. There’s no reason to add to it.

Without a word, he lowers the zipper. His fingers drag against your skin, and you suppress the shudder that threatens to rake your body. How many women has he unzipped like this? Probably more than he can remember. He pauses when he reaches your lower back. You wonder what it would be like to be wanted by him until you remember he was paid to take you.

“Anything else?”

With one arm, you hold up the bodice of your gown over your chest. He’s looking right at you, but you avert your gaze. The first time a man has undressed you and it’s on your wedding night, and he couldn’t be less interested in you. With a shock, you realize he prepared this extra suite, the late-night meal delivery, and the gift on the bedside table for your sister. Any thoughtful gestures were for her. Not for you.

You shake your head.

“Goodnight,” he says, turning around and shutting the door behind himself.

You do the same.

&&&

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, twisting the sheets into a crumpled heap. Has he done the right thing? He needed the money, but has he done the right thing, making a deal with one of the worst men in town?

Certainly, Yoongi had been out of options. There had been no question. If he had any other avenue to rebuild the club, help his parents, and keep a roof over his head, he would’ve taken it. He needs more money than he can make at a respectable job, as if anyone would hire him with these tattoos.

No, nothing respectable is left to him. He won’t abandon his parents, and he will make whatever deal is necessary to keep going.

Yoongi gets out of bed. The sun has risen over the water. He lights a cigarette—a terrible habit he hasn’t been able to break.

A knock sounds from the other side of the double doors. So, you haven’t left him in the night. He wonders if you have any money of your own. Probably not, if the rumors about your old man were true, and they had turned out to be more than fucking accurate.

He throws on a robe, one of the cheap, thin robes provided by the hotel, but it was that or wrapping a towel around his waist. He isn’t ready to show you the rest of his tattoos. There has to be some mystery left in this marriage.

He opens the door to reveal his bride. You wear an ill-fitting dress, drab and looking like something a mother would pick out for her daughter. It’s awful. What would your sister have worn this morning? Your sister, he knows, has long ago lost her innocent beginnings if the rumors about her are true—he doesn’t judge. It honestly would’ve been easier to marry the sister he expected. He can handle tantrums and drama, all of which she would’ve provided. This sister, though, what does she provide?

You look down at your feet.

“I do have a plan to poison you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“But it seems too complicated, and I will be the first person they suspect.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m sure there are some other suspects in town.”

“Lots of people want to kill you?”

“Well, it’s only Sunday, so maybe, like you, they’ve decided to take a rest.”

“Can I, uh, come in?”

“Make yourself at home.” Yoongi gestures to the room behind him, and he quickly wonders what it looks like in your eyes. Just the one small suitcase, and a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. No room service set up. Your meal had been expensive enough. He needs to economize if he’s going to make a go of it.

You walk past him into the room, wringing your hands. “What are your plans for me?”

“We just met, princess. I don’t move that fast.”

“Please stop that ridiculous drawl. Clearly, you must have some plan. Oh god, if you’ve married me to gamble away my dowry there is nothing I can do, but…”

He resists the desire to call you princess. You don’t look like much of one in that dress. You look distinctly lost.

“I won’t gamble it away.”

“Small mercies.”

“It’s invested.”

“Where?”

In myself, he wants to say, but that is ridiculously cocky, and he has nothing to show for it. “In my club.”

She raises her eyes to the ceiling. “What kind of club?”

Yoongi clears his throat. “I’m starting small. It’s by the waterfront, some tables, some drinks, nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s all of it, what he paid you for me?”

It took Yoongi a moment to realize what you meant. You must’ve calculated in your head how much he got from your father. He wants to tell you the truth. Would it be better or worse to know your dowry was large, but that men still hadn’t wanted you to get it?

"There was more but I had some debts to pay off."

“Gambling?”

“I borrowed money from Kim Namjoon to get started, and he doesn’t like late payments.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, you at least know how to save your own neck.”

“That’s dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t slip up next time.”

You wring your hands again, and he resists the urge to reach out and calm you. You are probably just looking out for your own neck and used to a large allowance. Maybe not, he considers, if that dress is anything to go by.

“Is there any left?” you ask in the smallest voice he’s heard yet.

“Just enough for this hotel and the first month’s rent on our place. That… technically, I haven’t found yet because I’ve been so busy with the club.”

“We’re spending money we don’t have on this hotel because you don’t know how to run a club?”

He doesn’t quite like the way you phrase it, but he appreciates you cut to the chase. Before he can respond, you supply your own answer.

“There’s nothing left.”

“We’re all tied up in investments.”

“Is Kim Namjoon paid back? With whatever interest he charges?”

You sound offended he doesn’t have a rich father backing him.

He shakes his head. “I still owe him the vig, but I bought some time.”

“Why not forget about the club and pay it all to him?”

“Because then I’ve got nothing but a burned-out hole.”

“You lost your club to a fire? Who came after you?”

“Faulty wiring.”

“I’ll bet.”

He wants to reassure you. He doesn’t like this side of himself. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Clearly.”

“Why did you want to know? About the money, I mean.”

“It was nothing.”

But Yoongi is sure it was something. Might as well clear the air. “Look, I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. If you’re discrete, I don’t care what you do.”

“Is that your plan?”

Yoongi had no such plan. Women were trouble and the few who had been interested in him lately were more trouble than they were worth. He hadn’t been interested in anyone in a very long time.

“Of course,” he says.

You nod.

“Why did you ask about the money?”

“I wanted to know how much trouble we were in.”

Yoongi still doesn’t believe you, but he lets it go.

“Do you care if I get a job?”

Yoongi winces. You have to know none of the wives in your position work. It would further convince everyone of his family’s fall. His parents, especially, as old-fashioned as they were, wouldn’t understand.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your voice turns glacial once again.

“Just give me some time. I can turn things around.”

You stare at him, and he wonders if you’ve truly given up your plan to poison him.

“Let’s find an apartment today. There’s no reason to stay at this aging hotel that’s about to fall into the sea if we can save money without it.”

“I thought it might be easier for you to have separate rooms for a few weeks before we moved in together.”

“I’m a big girl. Like you said, as long as you know how to be discrete, you won’t have a problem with me. I know how these things work.”

Yoongi realizes you very desperately do not. What an asshole your father is.

“Okay, there’s two places I found we can afford. Not elegant, but not run down either. The club should be open in a few weeks and then the money will come in.”

“Right.”

He ignores your tone. “Do you want to look at them with me today?” It’s the least he could offer.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Any quip dies on his lips when he sees the look in your eyes. You look pleased to be asked. He isn’t sure if he is more afraid of you poisoning him or that look of quiet surprise when anyone is nice to you.

&&&

“We should get the first place,” you say.

“The second had a view of the ocean.”

“It costs too much, and we don’t need that much space.”

Yoongi drives expertly down the narrow, crowded streets. Occasionally, a horn honks at him or a pedestrian yells, but he ignores them all. He doesn’t even feel the need to respond. Impassive behind his sunglasses, he occasionally acknowledges their ire with a nod of his head, but you figure he has heard worse. Your husband wears black pants and a black button-down shirt. You wear one of your better dresses this morning. In this, you look the part of a young couple house hunting.

“Are you sure you don’t want the space?”

“You’re going to be spending most of your time at the club, right? I’ve already said I won’t make a fuss. Let’s at least save some money.”

You hope he will be gone most of the time. A smaller, older building without a doorman and pretentious neighbors would be better for you. Less chance of prying eyes, and easier to find a job.

“If you insist, princess.”

“I insist.”

“Then, it’s done.”

&&&

You check your watch again. It’s almost closing time. You ring up the only customer in the florist’s shop.

It hadn’t been easy finding a job with no references and less experience. You are lucky that the florist will pay you less than the going rate under the table. The arrangement fits both your purposes. You wipe your hands on the apron, ever careful not to soil your clothes.

Luckily your husband keeps regular hours. He comes and goes with the precision of a banker. You’ve hidden your job from him. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He says the club is doing well, but it isn’t like he shows you the books. You won’t be caught without your own money again.

You have a well-appointed if small apartment in a perfectly respectable building, as much as he complains about the loss of the view. As far as arranged marriages go, it could’ve been much, much worse. He gives you an adequate allowance, and you hope it isn’t putting too much of a dent in the monthly finances. You spend some of it. Isn’t that what wives do? Buy clothes and eat at restaurants? You save as much as you dare, because your husband seems to notice minor details.

You flip the sign to closed and lock the door behind you. There are no more customers in the shop, and you want to get home before your husband leaves for the club. So far, he doesn’t seem to suspect you have a job, and you want to keep it that way.

You walk the five blocks back to your building—close enough to be convenient, far enough away that you won’t run into him. You check the mail, opening the antiquated box in the lobby and then climb the three flights of stairs to your apartment. Good, you had made it back before he woke.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, while you yelp in surprise. Your husband wears his usual black suit and drinks his ever-present cup of coffee.

“Just out shopping,” you improvise, realizing belatedly you have no bags.

“Didn’t find anything you liked?”

“Maybe next time.” You wonder if all newlyweds have such mundane conversations, you are guessing they don't. He looks as if he wants to say more, but refrains. You really have very little to say to each other. Other than polite inquiries, you stay out of each other’s way. You are roommates more than anything else.

“How’s Kim Namjoon?” you ask.

“He got paid this month,” Yoongi replies, just as he had done every time. “I really do know what I’m doing.”

“Except with the wiring.”

“Well, you got me there.”

You relax when he leaves. Your deception worked for another day. When you walk to the bedroom, you take your earnings from the pocket of your dress. You unscrew the cover of the vent and put your day's earnings inside.

Making a quiet dinner, you realize you spend more time alone since you got married than before. You don't mind. It’s given you time to think about all that’s happened. It could be far far worse you know. He gives you much more freedom than anyone of your father’s set would. You may be tied to a man that you don’t love but, unfortunately, your life could easily be much worse.

You sit down to dinner when a knock pounds on the door.

You stand abruptly. No one comes here. Both of you have few friends and less interest in socializing with the class of people who saw the circus that was your wedding.

"Mr. Min Yoongi," someone calls through the door.

It wasn't Jungkook. You know that much. He was one of the few people Yoongi had introduced you to.

"I'm sorry to disrupt your happy abode, but you'll see I had little choice."

"Yoongi isn't here," you say, not opening the door. You know it isn’t any of his enemies. They wouldn’t show up at his home.

"Ah, you must be his lovely bride," the man says, a thump sounding as if he must've crumbled to the floor.

You open the door, and the man falls backward, landing on the floor at your feet. Handsome, with a stunning profile and brilliant eyes that sparkle even given the state he’s in, you can’t take your eyes from him.

“Jung Hoseok,” he says. He lifts a hand to shake yours, but it’s covered with his own blood. “Pleasure to meet you.”

&&&

Yoongi walks into the club. It is early enough that the place is mostly empty. Jungkook is behind the bar. Jimin and Taehyung are having a drink. Yoongi nods his head in acknowledgement and moves to the back office.

“Jenny, what are you doing here?”

The girl sits in his leather chair with her bare feet propped onto the desk in front of her. She’s dressed to entice. He likes her confidence, but he’s told her before he’s not interested.

“You know I always wait for you to get here?”

“You know I’ve asked you not to.” Yoongi strides into the room. She’s lounged all over the accounts he needs to reconcile. Running a club had seemed glamourous in his youth, but now it was just work. There was very little that was actually glamourous about it, trying not to get cheated, making sure the numbers balanced at the end of the month. This had become his life.

A door slams in the main room. He guesses the crowd must be early this Friday night.

“I told you, I’m not interested.”

“I told you, I’m persistent.” She reaches for his collar.

“I’m married, Jenny.”

She scoffs. “Some frigid princess.”

“Do not talk about my wife that way.”

She flinches from his tone.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook calls, “you better get out here.”

“I’m needed on the floor.”

Jenny rolls her eyes. She doesn’t miss the opportunity to stand a little closer, to remind him of what he is missing.

“I need you here,” she says.

Before Yoongi can think of a response, the door opens.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you say. “A friend of yours stopped by.”

Yoongi turns. Your dress is covered in blood.

“Did someone hurt you?” Yoongi says, striding toward you.

“No… this isn't mine.”

Yoongi closes his eyes in relief. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

“Hello Yoongi,” Hoseok says cordially. “Looks like I missed you at home, so your clever bride agreed to bring me here.”

“He wouldn't let me bring him to a hospital.”

“Terrible places, hospitals. Full of germs, disease.”

“Also, they have to call the police if someone is injured like this. He said only you could help.”

“Idiot,” Yoongi says. “Put him on the couch.”

You help him to sit, and Jenny slips out of the room. All thoughts of the other woman flew from his mind when he saw you covered in blood. The old rules aren’t as strictly followed as they used to be, but the ruling families still frowned upon going after the wives and children.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi calls. “Get the supplies. I’ll sew him up here.”

Your eyes grow wide at the admission. Wringing your hands, you take it all in.

“I’m going to pass out soon,” Hoseok admits, glancing down at the wound in his side.

“Aren’t you too old for a knife fight?” Yoongi asks, inspecting the wound while Hoseok winces.

“You know how it is,” Hoseok says, unconvincingly. He pauses. “It was one of Lee’s men.”

Damnit. Lee should’ve been satisfied with the damage to the club. When will Yoongi be strong enough that no one will come for him or his friends?

Jungkook hands Hoseok a shot of amber liquid. Hoseok swigs, grimaces and passes out.

Yoongi looks at the curved needle and thread that Jungkook brought him. You stare in horrified fascination as he cleans the wound. Luckily, it isn’t deep.

“You don’t have to stay,” he says, suddenly self-conscious to be watched.

“You can really do this?”

Yoongi nods. He’s had plenty of experience. “Jungkook, get back to the bar. I can handle this.”

The younger man leaves without another word.

He is glad to have an excuse not to see the blood on your clothes. He should’ve done a better job protecting you.

Sitting on the couch beside Hoseok, you watch him work. It’s unsettling. The lessons of his youth were hard-earned. He supposes it is better to have you know the truth than to pretend otherwise. You must’ve been removed from the realities of this life, living in your palatial house, staff ready to do whatever you ask.

“I bet you’ve never seen this before,” he says flatly.

You shake your head. “I’ve seen very little of anything.”

“I believe that.”

“My father would never deign to get his hands dirty.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Too far beneath him?”

“You care for your men.”

“They don’t belong to me,” he retorts.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

He finishes stitching the wound in silence. There is very little else to say. He guesses you’ve been, rightly or wrongly, initiated into some truths of his life. He would rather you not know, frankly.

You walk around the desk, looking at the papers he’s been ignoring for the past few weeks.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, eager to get out of this room even for a moment. There’s something unsettling about your presence.

“Please.”

He leaves for the bar, letting Jungkook know Hoseok will be okay. He’ll be in a hell of a lot of pain when he wakes up, but they’re lucky it isn’t worse. Yoongi hates the fact that luck is the only thing keeping him afloat at this point. Luck and your dowry.

He returns to see you sitting at his desk. Your hands are clean, but the bloodstains on your dress leave him with a queasy feeling. You’re someone else he needs to protect.

“Have you set up a shell company?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I haven’t. I’ve been too busy getting things set up here.” He’s been ignoring it, is what he’s been doing. “At this point, I’m going to have to stash cash in the walls.”

“That won’t work with your wiring problems.”

He sets the drink on the desk, and you take a sip. You continue to investigate the papers on his desk, sorting through the bills and statements.

“You need to create several shell companies. It is going to get harder to hide the returns, and you’re doing well this month.”

“How much do you know about this?”

“A little. I was getting an online business degree before…”

“Your father know?”

You laugh. “Do anything other than shop or get married? You must have him confused with someone else.”

“Why didn’t you continue?”

You glance up at him, a note of caution in your eyes. “I dropped out.”

“Why?” He asks, like an idiot.

“I didn’t expect such a tolerant husband.”

He can only imagine the horror that you must’ve gone through in the weeks between the contract and the ceremony. His attempt to reach out was rebuffed by your father, but maybe he should’ve tried harder. “You want to set it up?”

“The shell companies?”

“Yeah, you know this better than I do.”

You look down at the pages in front of you, biting your lip. He can see the play of emotions across your face, and he hopes you’re never asked to hide your feelings. It would be impossible for you.

“Only if I start with something small. I don’t want to be responsible for the whole thing.”

“Sure.”

“Just like that?”

“It’s a good plan. Look, I don’t know what I’m doing and the longer I wait, the more difficult it’s going to get.”

The smile dawning on your face is something to see. He hears the door open behind him and gets annoyed with the interruption.

“Yoongi, Jungkook needs you at the bar.”

At the sound of Jenny’s voice, you freeze. The smile on your face quickly shutters as you take an intense interest in the pages in front of you. Jenny leaves.

“I should go,” you say. “I need to change, and I need to think how to best deal with this.” You gesture to the pages in front of you.

“Jimin and Taehyung can give you a ride.”

“I drove. It’s no problem.”

He puts a hand on your arm to stop you. “I would prefer they give you a ride home.”

This night has been stressful enough. He doesn’t want to think about something happening to you.

You meet his eye. “Okay, thank you.”

He hands you his suit jacket. The blood stains on your dress are prominent, and he doesn’t want to see them anymore than he wants you to be exposed to the stares of others.

You follow him out of the office. The club is getting crowded now. He introduces to you to Jimin and Taehyung They know what it means to be asked this favor, and he knows they won’t let him down. This marriage may be a farce, but he will protect what’s his.

You leave without a backward glance.

&&&

Over the next few weeks, you spend time at the club doing the books. Jimin and Taehyung take you home most nights when Yoongi isn’t ready to leave. True to your word, you start small. Even this nominal amount feels immense. Yoongi has trusted you, and you don’t want to betray him. It’s the first time you’ve been asked to do anything important. You don’t want to screw it up.

Yoongi doesn’t leave any details to chance. The club had an excellent reputation, and soon it attracts more than just the waterfront crowd. He also keeps his bargain. If he’s with other women, he’s discrete. Apart from the first night you arrived unexpectedly, there was never a hint at the club from the other girls. If he is with someone there, she’s discrete too.

There is one mystery left. It doesn’t seem like your entire dowry went into the club. What did he do with the money? He doesn’t have a drug habit, he doesn’t gamble, there is no obvious vice. He has a penchant for designer clothes, but that would hardly take up the substantial amount you hadn't been able to find. Maybe he was just holding it for a rainy day.

The door opens, and one of the club’s many girls walks into the office. You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her around. You didn't begrudge them their presence or their living. Everyone has to make it in this life, but you wonder about the one you had seen Yoongi with. Could that be his mistress?

"Do you know where Mr. Min is?"

"He’s taking inventory with Jungkook at the bar."

The girl nods and retreats to where she came from.

You look down at the spreadsheets in front of you. The revelation comes to you like lightening. What an idiot you’ve been. The missing money was clearly going to Yoongi's mistress. He had kept his promise and been discrete, so why do you feel let down? What he does is none of your business.

Yoongi walks into the office with a drink for you. He’s kind, this arranged marriage husband. You wonder if you would've gotten along if you had met under different circumstances. But no, he would never be interested in you. You are decidedly not his type. His type is like the girl you saw him with. Someone who takes away from troubles, not someone who adds to them. You wonder what it would be like to be cared for by him. A blush creeps over your cheeks. The last thing you want to do is have a crush on your husband. He had made it clear he wasn't interested. Of course, he wasn't interested. He could probably have anyone he wanted, and the last thing he wanted was his naïve bride.

"We really need to pay all these bribes?" you ask.

"We're doing better. Everyone wants a piece." Yoongi shrugs.

You defer to him in the more illegal aspects of the business. You do not know what the going rate was for bribes.

"A few of them are getting in deep at the tables, so it won't be long until writing off their IOUs instead of paying them cash."

“You don't play.”

“Not anymore.”

He didn't drink to excess either. Everything about him was carefully contained. The only hint of his rebellious youth was his tattoos. You’ve learned very little about his family. His parents hadn't come to the wedding, and he said they were too ill, but you wonder if it is something else. If he didn't want them to witness his bargain.

“Why did you stop?” You sit back in your chair and wondered if he would answer you honestly.

Yoongi looks up from his phone. "I grew up."

"You make it sound like you're an old man."

He huffed. "I'm old enough. Come on, let's get home. I don't need to be here at closing tonight."

It was rare the nights he took you home. You liked the simulacrum of domesticity, you realize. Another revelation on this night that you weren’t looking forward to investigating. Yoongi opens the door for you, helping you on with your raincoat and following you outside. His phone rings. Was it a woman?

Yoongi swears, hanging up the phone.

"What is it?" you ask. He looks worried. Just how much of his life is he hiding?

"We need to make a stop on the way home."

#to read

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