supernoonanyc

[supernoonanyc]

This is so good! 100% worth the patreon!

Softcore - JJK [Preview]

✨ Patreon Membership Exclusive Drabble Series ✨

[New to Patreon? using an iOS? Read this to save extra money]

Pairing: Prostitute!Jungkook X Inexperienced!Reader

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, angst, tiny smut with tons of feelings

Summary:

In this society where losing virginity is a sport, you are a late runner. After being made fun of being a virgin at 27 at an office party, you decide to stop believing in fate and take things in your own hands. Enter 'softcore' - an illegal yet polished company that provides help to people like you by letting you take a quiz and suggesting you a prostitute based on the results. That's how you meet Jungkook - the person you lose your virginity to. He is everything you find attractive in a guy, hence, you fall in love soon after a few encounters. However, Softcore has one strict rule for its prostitutes - 'no dating while you are under contract' and Jungkook needs his job more than he needs love.... or you for that matter.

Warnings: prostitution, sex job, More will be mentioned in each chapter.

A/N: This is a patreon exclusive series, which will only be updated in Patreon every Friday.

Chapter Index: -

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Entire Collection

Scrolling down his profile, you see 100+ reviews and every single of those are positive. Someone even called this guy their dream man. Now that piques your interest. 

Taking a sharp inhale and trying to calm your nerves down you click on the “Book an appointment” option. Miraculously, tomorrow’s slot opens right away. 

Your finger stops. Are you really ready? Are you confident? Can you do this? But wait, you paid for this. As long as you prepare yourself mentally, this should be fine. 

Inhaling again, you book the appointment. 

A confirmation notification and email reaches your device right away. 

You did it. You really booked your first fuck appointment. A great load is lifted off your shoulder. 

Just when you think you are done and you are ready to go to sleep, your phone dings with a text. 

When you check it, you see it’s the guy. He sent you a dm through the internal chatting feature of softcore. 

“Hello. It’s JK. Thanks for choosing me. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow, Y/N. Good night. Sweet dreams.” 

You know.. You know it’s just courtesy. It can also be an automated message but the guy addresses you by your name and wishes you good night! All of it flutters something inside your chest. 

Are you really ready to meet this JJK????  

You don’t know. You really, really don’t know.

Read the full chapter

[supernoonanyc]

Jung Hoseok! I will fight you!

[supernoonanyc]

This this THIS. I love all of it!!!

Hello! Hope you're doing well. Love your work! Can I request something slightly.. Maybe confusing?

Idk why but I've always felt that Yoongi and Namjoon have the potential to be attracted to similar people, given their ideologies and personalities. So what happens when they meet reader organically and feel drawn towards them?

I am not envisioning a love triangle per se, but only the illusion of one. Where both grow closer to reader but with namjoon, it indeed is just a solid friendship. Lovestruck but in denial Yoongi doesn't see it that way necessarily. At least initially. Maybe some angst there.

Therefore despite the reader showing interest back, it takes our honey boy a minute to get there, and finally it's all sorted. Yoongi and reader end up together and all their friends are happy for them!

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Archivist!Reader (slow burn), Platonic Kim Namjoon x Reader Rating: R (M) Genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff Warnings: alcohol use (whiskey), emotional confrontations (themes of self-doubt, fear of artistic irrelevance), mild language, jealousy, kissing (non-explicit) Word Count: ~ 3k

Description: As HYBE’s archivist, you’re a keeper of ghosts - demos, coffee-stained lyrics, and the jagged edges of artists’ past selves. But when Min Yoongi starts haunting the archives to resurrect his old mixtapes, his obsession with the boy he used to be collides with the man he’s become. Between debates about Rilke, Camus, and the stains on his notebooks, you’ll learn that some wounds outlive the knife… and some hearts only thaw in the cold.

💌 Reply:

Hi love! 💜 First off - THANK YOU for this brilliant request (and your kind words, my heart 🥹). I hope you don’t mind that I spun this into a full imagine/fic — your concept of Yoongi and Joon’s parallel pulls and the “illusion” of a triangle hit me like a TRUCK. As a Yoongi ult (he’s my first/last/always 🐱) and Namjoon bias-wrecker, I vibrated at the idea of their dynamic clashing over someone who challenges them - god, I wish I could thank you enough (you scratched my brain) I kept your vision sacred: no real triangle, just Yoongi’s honey-coated denial, Joon’s platonic muse vibes, and the angst of two artists fearing too much vulnerability (at least in my mind). Also, the others teasing Yoongi? I couldn't NOT do it If this isn’t what you pictured, I’ll happily tweak, but I hope it gives you that slow-burn, you deserved. Thank you for trusting me with this gem. Now go feed your brainrot, legend. 🖤 – c – 💜

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Prologue: The Quiet Before the Storm

The archives room at HYBE was a cathedral of silence, if silence could hum.

You liked it that way; the steady whir of climate-controlled servers, the faint tang of aged paper clinging to your fingertips, the way dust motes drifted like static in the blue-tinted dark. Here, in the belly of the iconic building where music went to hibernate, you were more archaeologist than archivist. Unearthing demos from 2013 felt like brushing silt from fossils, each lyric sheet was a bone fragment of who BTS used to be.

You’d taken the job for the anonymity. Artists came to you as ghosts, through track lists scrawled in Sharpie, voice memos buried in hard drives, the occasional coffee ring staining a producer’s notes. They rarely came in person.

Until today.

The Catalyst

The door hissed open at 3:47 PM. You didn’t look up, fingers skating over the spine of a 2014 lyric journal. “If you’re here for the Dark & Wild masters, they’re digitizing in Bay 6.”

“Not here for Bang PD’s old angst,” a voice drawled. Dry, low, lacquered with a Daegu rasp. “Looking for mine.”

Your head snapped up.

Min Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was all angles under the archival LEDs. his sharp jaw, sharper eyes. You’d seen him before, of course. In hallways. Through the frosted glass of Studio 4, in the practice rooms... Never here, where the past was kept under lock and humidity controls.

“Am producing D-3,” he said, pushing off the frame. “Ten-year reissue. Need the raw stems. And the notebook I used back then. The black one.”

You blinked. “The one where you wrote ‘I want to scream but my throat is a cemetery’?”

His eyebrow twitched, he seemed impressed for a second. “…Yeah.”

You stood, chair screeching. “Physical copies are in Cold Storage. Digital’s accessible if you...”

“Want the physical.” He crossed his arms. “Need to see the… stains.”

Ah. The coffee spills, crossed out words - rewritten a hundred times, whatever sins of sentimentality survived a decade. You nodded, turning toward the steel vault door.

The archives chose that moment to spit out Kim Namjoon.

He materialized between shelves like a philosopher-king misplaced by time, hair tousled, glasses smudged. “Hyung? What’re you...”

“My mixtape’s getting a facelift,” Yoongi said, not taking his eyes off you. “You?”

Namjoon hefted a dog-eared copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. “Preparing speech on art as resilience. Need more Camus. And… something that doesn’t sound like a TED Talk.” He grinned, dimples cratering. “Help?”

You snorted. “Camus is a TED Talk. 1942 edition.”

Namjoon’s grin widened. “Then give me the director’s cut.”

Yoongi cleared his throat. Loudly. “Cold Storage?”

“Right.” You led them deeper into the archives, fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat monitor. Yoongi’s shadow loomed over your shoulder; Namjoon’s fingers trailed the shelves, dislodging years of dust.

The vault door groaned open. Yoongi stepped into the 12°C chill like a soldier entering a trench.

“Box S-13,” you said, gloved hands lifting a battered container. Inside lay the notebook, the pages warped, edges singed. “Handle with care. Literally.”

He took it like a relic. For a moment, his mask slipped, lips parted, eyes soft and startled, as if meeting a ghost. Then he sniffed. “Nostalgia’s a scam. This…” He flicked a page. “Kid was an idiot.”

You tilted your head. “Or you’re scared he’s smarter than you now.”

Yoongi froze.

Namjoon coughed; badly hiding a laugh.

“Growth isn’t a diss to who you were,” you continued, pulling a crate of Camus essays for Namjoon. “Just proof you survived.”

Yoongi’s gaze cut to you, calculating. “You psychoanalyze all the artists, or just the ones who peaked in 2014?”

“Only the ones who leave burn marks on their notebooks.” You nodded at the charcoal smudges on his thumb.

Namjoon burst out laughing. “Oh, I like her.”

Yoongi didn’t laugh. But his lips quirked, brief and begrudging. “Whatever. Thanks.” He turned to leave, then paused. “…Kid me. You think he’d hate me now?”

The question hung in the frozen air.

You considered the man clutching his past like a grenade. “He’d pity you.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed.

“For thinking you had to choose between him and who you are now.”

For a heartbeat, the vault hummed with unsaid things. Then Yoongi huffed, tucking the notebook under his arm. “Tell Cold Storage to chill less. It’s fucking arctic in here.”

He left.

Namjoon lingered, thumbing through Camus. “‘The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart,’” he read aloud. Then, softer: “You believe that? That art outlives the artist?”

You handed him a first-edition Rebel. “Depends. What if the artist wants to fade? To let the work breathe without their shadow?”

He stilled, eyes narrowing behind smudged lenses. “…Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only to philosophers who quote dead Frenchmen at me.”

Namjoon’s laugh echoed off the vault walls. “Noted. But fair warning...” He leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “Yoongi-hyung’s gonna be back. He hates losing debates.”

“Not a debate. A fact.”

“Even worse.” He winked, tucking the book under his arm. “Thanks, archivist.”

You watched him leave, unaware of the eyes burning into your back from the security feed in Studio 4... Yoongi, rewinding the footage, pausing on your smirk.

On the desk, his old notebook lay open to a scribbled line: I want to die - I want to live.

He hit replay.

The Dance

The HYBE cafeteria at midnight was a liminal space, flickering vending machines, the scent of stale coffee, and the ghost of Jungkook’s laughter echoing from a meme video left playing on a tablet. You sat hunched over a dog-eared Rilke collection, blue-light glasses slipping down your nose as Namjoon paced, reciting draft lines like incantations.

“Art as… a rebellion against entropy,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “No, too clinical. Art as... shit, what’s the equivalent for ‘intergenerational dialogue’?”

You tossed him a chocolate bar from your bag. “Try 유산 (legacy). Or 대화 (conversation). Depends if you want your audience to weep or nap.”

He caught it, dimples flashing. “Why not both?” Collapsing into the chair across from you, he ripped the wrapper with his teeth. “Help me murder this paragraph. It’s got three metaphors and zero soul.”

You leaned over his notebook, red pen slashing through a convoluted analogy about “sculpting time.” “Camus would disown you. Keep it raw. Like your ‘My heart was filled with straight lines only’ line in Trivia: Love.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “You know that song?”

“I archive your old journals. You wrote that lyric after spilling green tea on Hegel.”

He barked a laugh, loud enough to startle a passing cleaner. “Okay, archivist. What’s raw but profound?”

You scribbled in the margin: “Art isn’t a relic... it’s the wound that outlives the knife.”

Namjoon stared, then slowly grinned. “…I’m stealing that.”

Yoongi found you two days later, arguing over the pronunciation of “Schwere” (heaviness) in Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.”

“It’s sh-veh-reh,” you insisted, slamming a German dictionary on the archives desk. “Not shuh-wear. You’re butchering the Schmerz (pain).”

Namjoon leaned back, smug. “Hyung, back me up. It’s about feeling, not grammar.”

Yoongi hovered in the doorway, a box of 2015 demos under his arm. His black sweater rode up slightly as he shifted, frowning. “Why’s Rilke in my studio?”

“Speech,” you said, not looking up. “He’s romanticizing existentialism again.”

Namjoon tossed a crumpled post-it at Yoongi. “They’re ruthless. Tell them schwere (heaviness) is subjective.”

Yoongi caught it, squinting at the scribbled lines. Art isn’t a relic - it’s the wound that outlives the knife. His jaw twitched. “Sounds like a  D-2 B-side.” He dropped the demos on your desk. “Need these scanned. And the notebook from last week.”

You frowned. “You’ve requested that notebook three times.”

He met your gaze, unblinking. “I like the stains.”

His visits became clockwork.

Tuesdays at 4 PM

“The 2016 tour schedules. For… chronology.”

Thursdays at 7 PM

“Original First Love lyrics. The ones with the coffee rings.”

Each time, he lingered; arguing over tracklists, scoffing at your critiques, circling back to debates about his old self.

“Reissue Track 5 should be The Last pt.2 ,” you said one evening, sliding the old demo across the desk.

Yoongi stiffened. “Too raw. People won’t get it.”

“Or you’re scared they will.”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out, a silent confession. “You think you know me because you’ve digitized my angst?”

“I think The Last saved someone once. Maybe you.”

He held your stare, the air thickening like storm clouds. Then he snatched the demo. “Track 5 stays Agust D - WHO?.”

But the next day, the tracklist update included The Last pt.2.

It was Namjoon who shattered the détente.

You’d met him in the cafeteria again, debating the ethics of AI-generated art. His laugh, warm and booming, carried across the room as you mocked his “algorithms can’t cry” argument.

Yoongi walked in just as you tossed a sugar packet at Namjoon’s chest.

“ So if a robot writes a love song,” you said, grinning, “...is it plagiarism or progress?”

Namjoon caught the packet, eyes crinkling. “Depends if it’s got soul. Like your Rilke edits., but probably not.”

Yoongi froze, tray in hand. His knuckles whitened around a cup of bitter black coffee.

Of course it’s Joon.

He left without a word.

That night, Yoongi stormed the archives.

“Seesaw,” he demanded, slamming a hand on your desk. “The original first-demo. Now.”

You didn’t flinch. “...it’s 11 PM.”

“And?”

“You’ve listened to Seesaw a thousand times. Why now?”

His throat bobbed. “Need to remember why I wrote it.”

You swiveled to the server, pulling up the file. The demo played, raw, unpolished, Yoongi’s voice cracking on “I’m afraid I’ll get used to this pain,” - a line that didn't make it too the final track.

He stood rigid, back to you.

“You wrote it because you were tired of balancing pride and regret,” you said softly. “Because vulnerability felt like failure.”

Yoongi spun, eyes blazing. “You don’t...”

“Know you?” You stood, meeting his glare. “I know the boy who scribbled ‘I need u’ in margins. Who still comes here to argue with his ghost when noone is looking, but I see.”

He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. “And what do you get from this? Playing therapist to fucked-up artists?”

“Maybe I like the company.”

A beat. His gaze dropped to your lips.

The door creaked.

Namjoon poked his head in, blissfully oblivious. “Archivist! Need your take on Nietzsche’s ‘eternal recurrence’ for the speech... Oh. Am I interrupting?”

Yoongi jerked back, cheeks flushed. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

Namjoon glanced between you, smirk blooming. “I’ll… come back.”

Yoongi left without another word, but not before you spotted the tremor in his hands; the same tremor from the day he’d first held his old notebook.

The Fracture

The air in Studio 4 was always sterile, a vacuum sealed against the outside world. But tonight, it felt like a tomb.

Yoongi had been playing his  The Last pt.2 draft on loop for hours, the demo’s jagged bassline gnawing at the soundproof walls. His fingers hovered over the mixing board, tweaking the same three-second clip - “I built my pride from broken glass”, until the words lost meaning.

He didn’t hear the door open. You were one of the few people in the company with keys to almost every room.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your voice cut through the noise. Yoongi’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn. “Busy.”

“Bullshit.” You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. “You haven’t answered a single text. Skipped the archives all week. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong. The track pulsed, raw and unpolished. “The Last pt.2” was supposed to be a sequel, closure for the boy who wrote “I want to die” in smudged ink years ago. Instead, it felt like a relapse.

“MIN YOONGI.”

He spun, chair screeching. “Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be helping Joon craft his precious speech?”

The venom startled you. “He asked me to rehearse. That’s all.”

Yoongi scoffed, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Saw you. Foreheads touching, hands all... whatever. Looked cozy.”

You blinked. “I was stopping him from clicking his pen. He does it when he’s nervous. You know that.”

“Do I?” He stood abruptly, knocking over a half-empty glass of whiskey. The liquid seeped into his notebook, blurring the notes as he shoved past you. “Doesn’t matter. Got a producer meeting.”

“At midnight?”

“Yes.”

You blocked the door. “Talk to me.”

His laugh was brittle. “About what? How you’ve got Joon wrapped around your finger? How he looks at you like you’re his damn muse?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He stepped closer, the whiskey on his breath sharp and sour. “You quote his lyrics, fix his speeches, laugh at his jokes... fuck, you even know how he takes his coffee. What’s next? Translating his diary?”

You flinched. “It’s not like that. Also you only drink decaf, iced...”

“Sure.” He yanked the door open. “Have fun crafting legacies.”

Rooftop, 1:14 AM

The wind bit through Yoongi’s sweater as Namjoon found him slumped against the guardrail, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

“You look like hell,” Namjoon said, settling beside him.

“Feel like it.”

A beat. The city below hummed, indifferent.

“They quoted The Last in my speech today,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi stiffened.

“Not the lyrics. The… feeling. Said it reminded them that art isn’t about permanence. It’s about…” He paused. “'The courage to shatter what you’ve built.'”

Yoongi’s throat tightened.His line, from the 2016 notebook, unreleased.

Namjoon turned, gaze piercing. “They’ve been stealing your words to fix mine this whole time. Not because they’re mine... because they’re yours.”

The glass trembled in Yoongi’s hand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “They’re not my muse, hyung. They’re yours. Always have been.”

Yoongi stared at the amber liquid, the reflection of his own fractured face staring back.

“You gonna keep hiding in demos?” Namjoon stood, clapping his shoulder. “Or write a new verse?”

Studio 4, 2:03 AM

The door creaked open again.

You froze, breath catching.

Yoongi stood in the threshold, The Last pt.2 still looping. His eyes were red-rimmed, hair a mess, but his voice steadied the storm.

“I’m… shit at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Feeling. All of it.” He stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click. “But I’m worse at pretending I don’t.”

The track swelled - “I built my pride from broken glass” - as he closed the distance.

“Joon’s right,” he muttered, gaze dropping to your lips. “I’m an idiot.”

The space between you crackled.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

He didn't, not yet...

 The Harmony

The archives hummed with the static of a thousand dormant stories, the air thick with the scent of ink and longing.

Yoongi stood in the center of the room, his back to you, shoulders tense as he rifled through a box of 2018 demos. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out beneath his tank top, a silent testament to loyalty, and fear.

“You left this in Studio 4.”

He froze at your voice.

You held up his old notebook, the one with the warped pages and coffee-stained edges. It fell open to “I need u”, the words circled in red, your own scribble bleeding into the margin: “I need you too.”

Yoongi didn’t turn. “Thought you’d be with Joon.”

“Stop.” Your voice cracked. “Stop pretending you don’t see me.”

He spun, eyes dark and stormy. “See what? You quoting my lyrics to fix his speeches? Laughing at his jokes? Holding his damn hand...”

“To stop him from clicking his pen!” You repeated and stepped closer, the notebook trembling in your grip. “You think I care about his speeches? About legacies? I’ve been here every night, waiting for you to look up from your damn demos and see me!”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

You thrust the notebook at him. “You want to know why I memorized The Last notes? Why I stayed late every time you asked for another mixtape? It wasn’t for the music, you idiot. It was for you.”

The archives fell silent, save for the whir of servers.

Yoongi stared at the notebook, your confession etched beside his oldest wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I thought… I was just another track to you. Something to analyze and shelve.”

“You were never just anything.”

He looked up, vulnerability stripping him bare. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured between you, the air crackling. “Wanting someone who… who knows all the broken parts.”

You closed the distance, your fingers brushing his. “Then stop hiding in your demos.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “What if I ruin it?”

“You won’t.”

The kiss was a crescendo; slow at first, tentative, then desperate. Yoongi’s hands cradled your face like you were the last fragile tape in the archives, his lips soft but insistent, tasting of whiskey and unsung verses. The shelves pressed into your back, demos scattering like imperfect notes around your feet. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, a silent plea for more, more, more...

“Took you long enough,” a voice drawled.

You broke apart, breathless. Namjoon leaned against the doorway, tossing a USB drive at Yoongi. It landed at your table, labeled “Hyung’s Love Song (Finally)” in Sharpie.

Yoongi glared, cheeks flushed. “How long were you...?”

“Long enough to know you owe me 50,000 won.” Namjoon smirked. “Jin-hyung bet on tonight. I said you’d chicken out till dawn.”

Yoongi flipped him off, but his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to his side.

[Bonus] Epilogue: One Month Later

The OT7 group chat exploded at 8 PM.

Jin: [photo of Yoongi feeding you kimchi jjigae in the cafeteria] “Grandpa’s first date since 2014!!! Transfer payments, children.”

Jungkook: “WAIT THEY'RE REAL???”

Hobi: “I TOLD YOU ALL IT WAS THE ARCHIVES. PAY UP!!!”

Taehyung: [Screenshots of Yoongi’s Spotify wrapped] “Since when does hyung listen to Rilke ASMR??”

Yoongi: “Fuck off.”

You: [photo of the USB plugged into Yoongi’s laptop, titled “Love Song (Draft)”] “Track 1: ”Not Yet” 👀”

Namjoon: “Finally.”

END

[supernoonanyc]

Their Crush Likes Them Back

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: What would happen if the members were so deep in their belief that their crush is one-sided that they're oblivious to the fact that the feeling is very much mutual

Warnings: lil angst, suggestive, swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @coffeedepressionsoup for this request! This honestly was so fun to write, and really helped me beat back my writer's block. I hope y’all like it! Based on this post

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin:

He’s been so focused on trying to hide his feelings and just being a good friend to you, that he doesn’t realize that you’ve not only caught onto his feelings, but that you’re also very into him and are actively flirting with him😫

You keep trying to subtly tip him off, giving him extra compliments and calling him petnames that make his ears turn bright red, but he just keeps brushing it off as you’re just being a really sweet friend.

You even tried triggering his jealous streak in an attempt to get him to speak up, like “If they’re not good enough, then who is, hmmm!?” but it always just ends with him mumbling something you can’t understand and him driving you home in frustrated silence.

It’s after one of these such nights that you end up blurting out your own feelings, since he won’t do it! 

When you finally tell him how you feel, he just sits there for a solid minute completely dumbfounded before managing to speak. “...are you sure? Like you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” “ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”

Honestly not that much changes after you’ve talked everything out and made things official, at least at first. He’s very gradual in his shift into ‘boyfriend mode’, starting with smaller but sweet gestures like bringing you flowers.

The one thing that changes immediately tho is he now holds your hand/arm/waist everywhere you go. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he has to be holding onto you. You’re the most valuable thing in the world to him, and now that he has you, there’s no way he’s letting you go.

Yoongi:

As good as Yoongi is at hiding his feelings, you're the complete opposite, showering him with compliments and praise at every opportunity, turning him into the shyest lil meow meow, but you can’t help it, he deserves to know how amazing he is

You know you’re one of the only people that he feels fully comfortable being vulnerable and open with, which is why it hurts so much when he pulls away or gives the silent treatment after fights or gets too into his own head. 

This leads to more than a few arguments between you where you all but spell out how you feel about him, but he somehow still manages to twist it around in his head to be platonic.

It becomes abundantly clear that anything short of straight up kissing him on the mouth is just gonna be met with ‘oh, they didn’t mean it like that.’ Like mf I said you were ideal husband material! Get your head out of your ass!

When you finally do get him to understand that you like him, he gets soo quiet(you know that lil confused look he does where his eyes just go everywhere? that) like Yoongi.exe has stopped working, please reboot.

Once he’s had time to process and y’all talk everything out, he becomes the softest and most dedicated boy. Liike, now that he can actually show his feelings, he’s a fucking SIMP, constantly surprising you with little gifts and gestures, and just always staring at you with the softest heart eyes.

Hobi:

Very much like Jin in that he’s soo focused on being a good friend and not making you uncomfortable that he somehow misses how you’re very much simping over the man. Like it’s not even subtle, you’re always looking at him with literal stars in your eyes.

He tends to mirror your energy/behavior to match your vibe tho, which becomes a bit problematic bc you end up acting a lot more ‘couple-y’ than either of you initially realize. Like, it’s totally normal for him to snuggle and kiss you on the cheek, pay no mind to the fact that he doesn’t do it with anyone else but you.

(Jungkook thinks it’s hilarious tbh and keeps finding ways to put you two in forced proximity situations in the hopes that y’all will finally get a fucking hint and confess already!)

He kinda realizes he’s pushing the boundaries of what’s ‘okay’ for just friends, but he can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you, wanting to be as close to you as possible, even if he thinks it will never go anywhere, not realizing that you’re doing the exact same thing.

When you finally talk to him one night about how you actually feel, he doesn’t even think and just tackles you, kissing you until you both forget how to breathe

Instantly the most devoted boyfriend in the world. Texts you constantly, brings you flowers for every date or snacks when you hangout at each other's places. He kisses you constantly, always mumbling about “making up for lost time” when you tease him about it.

Namjoon:

I totally see this happening to him tbh. Like as in tune as he can be sometimes, he’s kinda oblivious when it comes to your relationship, even if it’s obvious to everyone else in your friend group..

He never really questions why you always happen to be free when he wants to hangout, or the fact that you always answer his texts regardless of the time of day/night.

What he does see however is how much it hurts you when he tries to pull away when he starts to get too into his own head about everything, making his will crumble almost immediately and coming back to you soo apologetic.

He doesn’t understand why you’re always so forgiving and willing to stick beside him through everything, no matter how many times you tell him it’s because you love him

I see telling him how you actually feel going one or two ways: you sitting him down and talking everything out super calm and maturely. or-

You blurting it out in the heat of the moment during a fight, resulting in a brief stunned silence and then you getting pinned to the nearest surface and kissing each other till you can’t breathe and then dragging each other to the bedroom…

You don’t really address it anymore after that night, you’re just dating now and thats it. (Tho, you may have forgotten to notify the rest of your friend group and so they don’t realize you’re together until you kiss him goodbye in front of them and Hobi drops glass in shock, lol)

Jimin:

It would be almost funny how oblivious he is, if it weren’t soo fucking frustating.

Like usually he’s the one flirting up a storm, flustering and confusing people left and right, but with you he’s turned into a complete mess, trying(and failing) to hide how shy and blushy you make him with just the smallest gestures.

Which you would think would help the two of you to realize that you’re both into each other, but nope, you’re just dancing around the obvious and driving everyone else in your friend group insane(Tae and Yoongi have a bet on who will actually make the first move)

Like he notices some of the little cues that you’ve been dropping that you might be into him too, but he honestly just feels like he’s imagining things because that’s what he wants to happen

(tbh he thinks you’re trying to kill him with how close and touchy you get sometimes because he wants to kiss you soo fucking bad)

When you finally get the courage to tell him, it’s quiet and intimate, at one of your apartments in the middle of the night while you’re laying on the couch or bed together talking about whatever, and he goes so still and quiet for minute you think he fell asleep or something before he suddenly rolls on top of you, grinning like an idiot and wrapping you up in the tightest hug ever and kissing you breathless.

You two dating isn’t that much different than when you were just friends except you’re somehow EVEN MORE CLINGY with each other(who knew that was even possible?! lol) constantly touching or holding onto each other or stealing kisses when you think no one’s looking

Taehyung:

Honestly? He’s lowkey aware of your flirty behavior, but he keeps trying to brush it off as “they’re just being cute” because he doesn’t want to accidentally misread things and fuck things up between you by trying to make a move that’s not wanted.

Nevermind the fact that you are very openly making your interests known. Like there’s nothing to misread here my dude, everyone and their grandma can see that I am absolutely smitten with you.

Notices your more jealous/clingy moments, but doesn’t quite recognize them for what they are or the reason for them. All he knows is that you’re hanging onto his arm and giving him attention, which he soaks up like the happiest lil sponge. Who cares if you’re a little overprotective of him? He thinks it’s cute.

Similar to Hobi in that he worries sometimes that he’s overstepping what’s okay for just friends for his own benefit, even though multiple friends have pointed out that you were actively initiating those moments with him too, it’s not just a one-sided thing

He fully refuses to believe it tho until one night as he’s walking you home and you admit to him that you wished that he was your boyfriend. He turns into the smiliest bean ever at your confession, latching onto you like a giant koala bear and refusing to let go for the rest of the night as you talk and share how you’ve both really been feeling.

Instantly shifts into teddybear boyfriend mode, super cuddly and calling you every petname he can think of. He jokes that he’s just catching up on all the stuff that you missed out on before, but he’s lowkey always been like this with you, he’s just free to finally give into those impulses and kiss you anytime he wants😊

Jungkook:

God bless this boy, he’s soo fucking blind it’s absolutely infuriating

Like neither of you are exactly subtle about your feelings towards each other, but he somehow always manages to miss your hints or flirtations. Like you could be walking around wearing a neon sign that says “I’m in love with you” and he would just be like “oh cool necklace Y/n!”😑

He notices how you tend to stick close to him whenever the two of you hangout together, which he loves, but somehow he misses the gooey-eyed looks you keep giving him.

He also doesn’t realize that one of the only reasons you put up with his possessiveness is because you keep hoping that he’ll fess up and admit his feelings, but he never does, always backing off at the last moment because he’s terrified of fucking things up with you.

Meanwhile you’re practically beating your head against the wall because he’s driving you insane.

Man literally doesn’t catch on fully until you grab him by the face and kiss him one night after an argument, freezing in shock for half a minute before reciprocating very enthusiastically.(everyone immediately knows what happened the next day tho because you’re both fucking covered in hickeys like 👀)

Refuses to leave your side from that point on, he’s now your personal bodyguard/house husband/assistant/ etc. Anything you need, he’s on it immediately. Always finding little excuses to touch you until you point out that he doesn’t actually need a reason anymore, and then he’s just touching/kissing you every time you’re in arms reach

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[supernoonanyc]

Platinum Hoseok is my favorite Hoseok

♡

[supernoonanyc]

My little round gumdrop sweetie boy, I miss you so much

[supernoonanyc]

[supernoonanyc]

Oh my god....this series was so damn good!

OFF-LABELS | 11

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: March 24th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Quiet moments of realization, aftercare that proves something deeper, gentle revelations between sheets, understanding what being taken care of really means, and the kind of comfort that only comes from complete trust. | motional intimacy, aftercare dynamics, caretaking, trust building, domestic moments, shared vulnerability, relationship development, emotional resolution, comfort scenes, deep connection, vaginal penetration, protected sex, praise kink, ‘good girl’ mentions, sweet talk, wearing his shirt, slight restrains (wrists), size kink (big dick).

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 6,4k

→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS

→ A/N: And that's how it ends, folks! Started this thinking it would be a quick one-shot about a med student crush and somehow ended up writing an entire saga about trust, care, and finding someone who knows exactly what you need (even when you're too stubborn to admit it). Thanks for coming along for the ride—especially to everyone who's been here since that first couch scene. Special shoutout to my writing playlist that's now basically just "songs that remind me of these two idiots figuring out they're perfect for each other." I really debated on how to end this, because I like it as it is now, but also felt like it’s not fully resolved. But at the same time, I feel sometimes actions speak louder than words and nothing can convey intimacy deeper than what these two just shared. Also gives me an excuse to write volume 2 if I ever feel like it. For now I’m closing this series like this, and feeling quite proud overall, because I have finally managed to finish a writing project. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. See you in the next story! ♥

PLAYLIST

You don’t realize you’re still crying until Hoseok gathers you into his arms.

Your body melts against him immediately—shaking, overwhelmed, wrecked beyond belief—but his arms wrap around you tight, pressing you against him, shielding you from the world, keeping you close.

You’re barely aware of movement, barely aware of anything but the warm press of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rasp of his breath against your temple.

One arm hooks beneath your thighs, the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly.

You cling to him instinctively.

Arms curling around his neck.

Legs locking around his waist.

A desperate, unconscious attempt to keep him closer.

Hoseok hums against your skin, smoothing one palm up your spine, fingers tracing slow, steady circles between your shoulder blades.

"Shh, baby," he murmurs, lips pressing into your hairline. "I’ve got you."

Your throat shudders.

Your body is still trembling, pleasure still fluttering through your core, nerves still firing in the aftermath of everything he’s done to you.

And yet—

His hands keep soothing.

Warm, steady palms dragging down your back, up your ribs, over your arms, everywhere, mapping every inch of you with a softness that makes you ache.

"You did so well," he whispers, tilting his head to press a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "So well for me, Chip."

Your fingers fist into his shirt.

He hums, shifting you higher, cradling you closer, keeping you pressed against his chest as he moves.

The air changes.

Cool sheets brush against your bare skin.

And then—

Softness.

Your back meets the mattress, sinking into plush comfort as Hoseok lowers you, setting you down like you’re something fragile.

Like you’ll break if he lets go too fast.

Your breath shakes.

But his hands never leave you.

They stay—palming your waist, smoothing over your thighs, grounding you, soothing you as your body trembles in the aftermath.

Then—

A kiss.

Featherlight.

Pressed gently against your damp cheek.

You whimper.

Another kiss, placed just beneath your eye, tasting the remnants of your tears.

Then another.

And another.

Hoseok follows the path of your sobs—kissing them away, lips brushing over wet lashes, soft and slow, until every single tear is gone.

"You’re so beautiful when you cry for me," he murmurs.

Your chest tightens.

His lips move lower—pressing warm against the bridge of your nose, the tip of it, letting his breath fan over your face.

Another kiss.

Your forehead this time.

Slow. Lingering.

Like reverence.

Your fingers shake where they rest on his chest.

His voice dips to a whisper. "Such a sweet thing."

His lips brush yours.

Not taking. Not demanding.

Just there.

Waiting.

Soft. Warm.

Patient.

And then—

A kiss.

Gentle. Barely there.

Just the softest press of his lips to yours.

A breath, shared between you.

Your whole body shudders.

Hoseok smiles.

His fingers trace down your cheek, down your jaw, dragging slowly down the column of your throat.

"Rest a little, baby." A kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Then I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been begging for."

Your fingers fist into his shirt.

Weak. Trembling. Needy.

Hoseok stills above you, breath warm against your lips, his body heat pressing into yours.

Your throat burns.

Not from pain.

Not from exhaustion.

From want.

From him.

"Baby—" His voice is soft, careful, but you shake your head frantically.

"No." Your fingers tighten, pulling harder, tugging him closer. "Want now."

A slow inhale.

His head tilts, lips curling in quiet amusement.

"Do you?"

Your breath shudders.

"Yes," you sob, tilting your chin up, mouth chasing his. "Want you now, Hobi—"

A pause.

Then—

"Water first."

Your stomach plummets.

A whimper claws its way up your throat. "No—"

"Yes." His voice is firm, patient. "Water first, Chip."

Your lip trembles.

His thumb strokes along your cheek, soothing, warm. "I won’t fuck you if you pass out on me, baby."

Your stomach flips.

His voice is so gentle, so calm—like he isn’t fully clothed and hard as steel against your thigh, like he hasn’t spent the last hour dragging you through the most unbearable pleasure of your life.

But his eyes—

Oh, his eyes.

They gleam dark above you, swallowing you whole, already measuring, already planning.

You swallow thickly.

"Water," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Then I’ll give you what you need."

And fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You believe him.

You nod frantically.

Too eager.

Too obvious.

But you don’t care.

Because you want. Because your thighs are still trembling, your pulse still racing, your entire body still humming in the aftermath of—

Oh God.

That happened.

That really happened.

Your breath hiccups in your chest, a little wrecked, a little overwhelmed, but—

But you giggle.

You giggle, delirious and exhausted and gleeful, because—

You pulled this from him.

Hoseok.

Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok who wears neatly pressed scrubs and glasses and smiles politely when he enters a patient’s room. Hoseok whose hands are steady, whose voice is calm, whose expression is always gentle when he’s listening to someone’s symptoms.

Hoseok.

Who just spent the last hour tearing you apart.

You shudder.

The mattress shifts beneath you as he pulls away, and you whimper at the loss—weak, pathetic, needy—but he just presses one last, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Be good," he murmurs. "I’ll be right back."

Then he’s gone.

You blink.

Oh.

The warmth of him disappears, the sheets rustling as he rises from the bed. You barely catch a glimpse of his back—broad, steady, his white dress shirt still wrinkled from your hands on him—before he disappears down the hallway.

A glass of water.

Because he’s him. Because he still has to do things properly. Because he just spent an hour ruining you but God forbid he let you dehydrate.

A breathless little giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Your hands twitch against the sheets.

You stare at the ceiling, still hiccuping a little, still throbbing between your legs, and—

Oh, God.

Oh, fuck.

This happened.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms into the mattress, a quiet little thrill running up your spine.

You’re still here. Still in his bed.

Your fingertips draw tiny circles against the sheets.

A habit. A little nervous tic.

Your brain is spiraling, fast and sharp, flipping through everything at once—

(You came fifteen times. Fifteen.)

(You sobbed into his mouth, and he just laughed.)

(He made you squirt. You didn’t even know you could squirt, but of course—of course—Hoseok knew.)

A breathless little whimper slips from your throat.

And fuck, it should be embarrassing, it should be humiliating, but instead—

Instead—

Your fingers tighten in the sheets.

Because you like it.

Because it’s him.

Because he’s still Jung Hoseok, the perfectly put-together, golden-boy intern at SNUH, but he’s also—

He’s also this.

Not just gentle. Not just kind. Not just the careful, competent doctor your brother trusts, the one whose name gets murmured fondly in hospital hallways—

But this.

The man who dragged you through fifteen orgasms just because you lied to him.

The man who made you earn every single one.

The man who called you sweet while he broke you open.

Your thighs clench.

The distant sound of the faucet runs in the kitchen, steady and calm, like this is all normal, like this is just another part of his routine.

Like he didn’t just turn your body into his own personal science experiment.

You hiccup again.

Still lightheaded. Still soaked between your thighs.

But you giggle, dizzy and gleeful, tiny fingers still tracing circles into his sheets.

The bed dips beneath his weight.

Warm fingers press into your scalp, soft and soothing, stroking over your sweat-damp skin. A gentle pat, the kind meant for comfort, meant to steady you.

You shudder.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

The praise lands hot in your belly.

Your lashes are still wet, damp with the remnants of your overwhelmed sobs, but your fingers cling to the sheets as he presses the cool rim of a glass against your lips.

"Slow sips," he instructs.

You obey.

Your throat works, taking in the blessed relief of water, the cool liquid easing some of the rawness there. You swallow once, twice, lips parting around the rim, letting him tilt the glass just enough to let you drink properly.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

"That’s it," he murmurs, voice soft, pleased.

Your fingers twitch.

When you’ve had enough, he pulls it away, placing it carefully on the nightstand, moving like he has all the time in the world, like he hasn’t left you bare and aching for him.

And then—

A rustle of fabric.

A shift of movement beside you.

Something warm and soft drapes over your shoulders, settling over your bare skin like a second layer. The scent of linen and faint cologne engulfs you, fresh but familiar, threaded through with the faintest trace of sweat.

You blink down at yourself, slow, disoriented.

It’s his shirt.

His white dress shirt, still warm from his body, sleeves too long, hem pooling at your thighs.

Your breath catches.

You hadn’t even noticed him unbuttoning it. Hadn’t registered the way his fingers had moved so easily, slipping it from his shoulders, rolling it off like it was nothing—like it wasn’t everything.

Your fingers lift, tentative, touching the fabric.

Hoseok just watches. Amused.

His head tilts, gaze dragging over you—soft now, lazy, pleased.

“Much better,” he muses.

His knuckles brush under your chin, tilting your face up. When he sees the look in your eyes—wide, hazy, still wrecked—his lips twitch.

A smirk.

And then, fingers slipping beneath the hem, brushing against your bare thighs—

“Now…” he murmurs, his palm flattening over your stomach, pressing just lightly.

“You’re covered, just like you wanted.”

The bed shifts as he moves, settling his weight beside you, one knee nudging between your thighs, parting them effortlessly.

“But since you seem to love my shirt so much…” His voice dips, smooth and teasing, hands already working the hem higher.

“I think I’ll fuck you in it.”

Your stomach flips.

You whimper, legs squeezing together, but—

Hoseok moves.

Not toward you.

Not immediately.

Instead, he shifts toward the nightstand.

Slow. Torturously slow.

Your breath catches.

He knows what he’s doing.

Of course he knows.

His movements are deliberate—each action drawn out, stretching the moment, letting you feel the weight of every second, every inch of distance between you.

Your fingers clench uselessly at the sheets.

He opens the drawer.

A pause.

His fingers rummage through—calm, methodical, as if he isn’t about to fuck you senseless, as if this isn’t the thing you’ve been begging for—

You whimper.

Hoseok smirks.

He takes his time, sifting through things that do not matter—his watch, a stray pen, his glasses case, something that isn’t a condom, because he’s cruel, because he likes this, because he likes making you squirm.

You do squirm, thighs pressing together, breath uneven, and—

Finally.

Finally, he pulls out a box.

The cardboard rustles between his fingers.

Your whole body locks.

The box is pristine, sharp edges, clearly unopened.

And yet—

The way he holds it.

The way he examines it, tilting it slightly in his grip, lips pursing slightly as if he’s considering something—

You hate him.

You hate him.

You whimper, shifting restlessly against the sheets, and—

Oh.

Oh, he loves this.

You can see it.

The way his mouth quirks at the corner. The way his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek. The way his fingers drum lightly against the box before—

He flicks it open.

Your breath stops.

His fingers slip inside, slow, searching, before finally, finally—

He pulls one free.

Holds it between his index and middle finger.

And smirks.

The foil packet gleams in the dim light.

Your stomach flips.

Your fingers twitch.

But then—

Hoseok fixes his hair.

A casual, nonchalant movement.

Like this isn’t anything to him.

Like he’s not about to be balls-deep inside you for the first time.

Like this is just another part of his routine.

Your whole body shakes.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

The smirk lingers as he moves back to the bed, glass left forgotten on the nightstand.

And then—

He sits.

The bed dips.

Your whole body tenses.

Hoseok tilts his head.

"Wanna put it on me?"

His voice is smooth, just barely teasing, but underneath—underneath, there’s something else.

Something dark.

Something patient.

Something waiting.

Your breath hiccups.

You nod, fast, eager, wetness still clinging to your lashes.

Hoseok’s smirk deepens.

"Then go on, Chip."

He leans back on his hands, stretching out, voice dropping to a murmur—

"Earn it."

Your fingers fumble at his zipper, eager, shaky, desperate to get to him, to feel him, to finally have him the way you’ve been begging for.

Hoseok chuckles.

The sound is warm, soft, fond—which only makes your stomach twist harder, makes your fingers tremble worse.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs, his hand covering yours, stopping you before you can tug him free. "Need to take them off properly first."

Your face burns.

You whimper, shifting impatiently against the sheets, but he just smirks, brushing a lazy kiss over your forehead before standing up.

The loss of his warmth makes you ache.

You barely have time to mourn it before—

He starts undressing.

Your breath catches.

Hoseok moves unhurriedly, stretching out his elbows before reaching for his pants.

The button pops open.

The zipper glides down.

Your mouth dries.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, pulse pounding, throbbing between your thighs as he shoves the slacks past his hips, letting them pool at his feet.

Then his briefs.

He hooks his thumbs under the waistband, pushing them down, and—

Fuck.

Your lips part.

Hoseok is…

Big.

You knew that.

You knew.

You remember the struggle of fitting him in your mouth, the way he barely fit past your lips, the way you had to work to take him.

But seeing him like this?

All of him?

Eight thick, aching inches, flushed and leaking, the veins pulsing up his length, the sheer size of him standing rigid against his stomach—

Your throat closes.

Hoseok notices.

Of course he notices.

The corner of his mouth quirks, amusement curling through his gaze as he reaches down—

And caresses your lower lip with his thumb.

Your breath shudders.

Your tongue peeks out instinctively, barely brushing his fingertip, and his smirk deepens.

"So eager," he murmurs, thumb pressing down just slightly, making you feel the weight of it. "Didn’t even wait for me to sit back down."

Your face burns.

Hoseok just chuckles.

The warmth of his touch disappears as he moves, settling himself back onto the bed, stretching out—legs wide, arms resting loosely at his sides, body completely bare for you now.

Then—

He raises the condom between his fingers.

A silent invitation.

Your stomach flips.

You reach for it, still breathless, still shaking slightly, but when you try to tear it open—

Clumsy.

Fumbling.

Your fingers don’t quite grip the foil properly, slipping against the edge, failing to find the right angle, struggling with something that should be so simple—

Hoseok doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t tease.

Doesn’t smirk.

Just… watches.

Quiet. Patient.

His gaze is soft, steady, waiting.

You feel it.

Feel the weight of his attention, feel the way he’s watching you, not mocking, not correcting—just looking at you.

And for some reason—

That’s worse.

Your fingers tremble harder.

You glance up, cheeks burning, lips parting before you can stop yourself—

"Stop looking at me."

Hoseok grins.

Slow. Amused.

Like he expected that.

Like he knew you’d say it.

But he doesn’t stop looking.

Just tilts his head.

"Can’t."

Your fingers pause, the condom still clutched in your grip, and you glance up at him—confused, breathless, waiting.

He’s still watching you.

Still looking.

Still letting you feel the weight of his gaze, unshaken, unbothered—completely at ease while you sit there, bare and flustered and desperate for him.

Your pulse skitters.

Then—

He smirks.

"You’re doing it again."

Your brows knit. "What—"

"Your cheeks."

Your breath catches.

He leans in, voice dropping lower, softer, teasing.

"Like a chipmunk."

Your entire body locks up.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Your chest tightens.

Because—

Because that’s—

The first time.

The first time he called you that. The first time he marked you, the first time he turned something innocent into something that belonged to him.

The first time you became Chip.

Your heart races.

Something deep inside you thrums, something unbearably warm, unbearably good, something that snaps—

You kiss him.

Your hands shoot up instinctively, grasping at his jaw, your lips pressing to his without thinking, without waiting, without hesitation.

Hoseok freezes.

Just for a second.

Just for a breath.

Just long enough for you to panic, for your stomach to twist, for you to think—oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have done that—

Then he responds.

His lips move.

He kisses you back.

Slow. Steady. Measured.

But warm.

So warm.

So good.

Your whole body melts, pressing closer, needing more, fingers still tangled in his neck as you sigh against his mouth.

Hoseok chuckles.

Soft. Fond.

"Sweet thing," he murmurs against your lips.

You whimper, pressing deeper, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you cling to him, lets you pour yourself into the kiss until your lungs burn, until you’re gasping, until you remember—

The condom.

Your breath shudders.

You pull back, fingers clumsy as you tear the foil open, still shaky, still breathless from the kiss, and—

Hoseok just watches.

Smirking. Amused.

But he doesn’t say anything.

He just lets you try.

You slide it over him carefully, hands unsteady, still wide-eyed at the sheer size of him, still feeling the way your pulse thuds at the sight.

He’s…

He’s huge.

You knew that. You remember that.

But now—

Now you’re about to—

Your breath hiccups.

You shift onto your knees, thighs spreading as you move to straddle him, hovering just above him, body trembling, still dizzy, still soaked from everything he’s done to you—

And he still lets you try.

But then—

The moment your fingers press against his chest, the moment you try to steady yourself, the moment your thighs trembleas you hover—

His hands clamp down on your waist.

"Woah, Chip—"

A sharp exhale, his fingers firm, steadying you in place, holding you still before you can sink down too fast, before you can hurt yourself.

"Steady."

Your heart races.

His grip tightens slightly, thumbs smoothing over your ribs, keeping you held, keeping you anchored as he looks up at you.

His voice is lower now. Softer.

"Baby," he murmurs, something warm curling behind his words. "You have to take your time."

His hands slide up your sides, palms warm over bare skin, smoothing over the fabric of his dress shirt where it hangs loose around you. The sleeves slip lower as he adjusts his grip, dragging the soft cotton against your ribs, against your overheated skin.

Your thighs shake.

Hoseok smirks, eyes glinting.

"You think you can take me just like that?"

Your breath shudders.

Because—

Because no.

Not really.

Not all at once.

He’s too big. You know that.

But you’re—

You want it so bad.

You’re so ready.

You need it.

You shift slightly, pressing down just a little, feeling the head of him brush against your soaked entrance, and—

Hoseok groans.

His fingers dig into your hips, grip tightening, controlling the movement before you can force it, before you can rush it, before you can hurt yourself trying to take something that isn’t meant to be taken fast.

"Slow, baby," he murmurs, voice thicker, deeper.

You whimper.

Hoseok’s grip softens slightly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin.

"Let me help."

You nod frantically, fingers gripping at the open lapels of his shirt, still draped over your frame. The movement makes the fabric shift, slipping off one shoulder, baring more of your skin beneath his touch.

You feel desperate. Breathless.

And then—

Hoseok smiles.

Slow.

Dark.

Steady.

Then he guides you down.

Your breath shatters.

The first inch stings.

Not painful—not quite—but tight, an ache so deep and slow it makes your thighs tremble.

Hoseok feels it.

Of course he does.

His grip tightens, fingers firm at your waist, holding you still, keeping you from taking too much, keeping you from sinking down too fast.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This—

This is so much.

He’s thick, stretching you in a way that makes your walls clamp down, muscles fluttering, your body trying to pull him in while also fighting to accommodate him.

You whimper.

Hoseok hums, pleased.

His hands soothe over your waist, warm palms stroking up your sides, dragging slow, steady circles over your skin.

"That’s it," he murmurs, voice gentle, but the words still send something dark curling through your stomach. "Just like that, Chip."

His thumbs stroke slow circles into your waist, fingertips grazing over the smooth cotton hanging open around you. 

The fabric barely clings to your body now, slipping further apart with every movement.

Your walls pulse.

Hoseok notices.

His smirk deepens.

His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to hold you down, just enough to keep you where he wants you—halfway, stretched around the thickest part of him, not moving, just feeling.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

Your breath shudders.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses against your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you whimper, shifting slightly—

His fingers dig in.

"Stay still."

Your whole body locks up.

Your walls clench around him at the command, and he groans, deep in his chest, head tilting back for just a second before he regains control.

Then his mouth finds you again.

Lower.

Lips brushing against the tops of your breasts, warm and wet, tongue flicking over sweat-damp skin.

"You feel so good, baby."

A kiss over your sternum.

"So tight around me."

Another over your clavicle.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, hips twitching, but he doesn’t let you move.

"Shh," he soothes, voice low, patient, mocking.

His tongue flicks over your nipple.

The loose fabric shifts with the motion, dragging over your ribs, brushing against your stomach—just another sensation layered over the unbearable stretch of him inside you.

Your whole body jerks.

"Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, sucking slow, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world—

And he does.

Because he’s keeping you still.

Because you can’t move.

Because he won’t let you move until he decides you can.

Your walls flutter, squeezing tight around the thick, unmoving length of him, and he moans, breath hot against your skin.

His hands soften at your waist, but only slightly.

Still firm.

Still controlling you.

His lips drag lower, tongue swiping over the curve of your breast, down the center of your ribs, kissing, licking, letting the wet heat of his mouth distract you from the pressure, from the way he’s still so deep inside you, still so thick, still holding you exactly where he wants you.

"Tell me how it feels," he murmurs, lips pressing just above your belly button.

His fingers trace absent shapes against your waist, brushing over where the shirt is still barely covering you, ghosting over the open hem. 

He exhales, amused, eyes flicking up as he tugs at the fabric, letting it fall further apart.

Your breath stutters.

You’re so full.

So stretched.

It’s too much—but it’s not enough.

You need more.

Your thighs tremble. "Big."

Hoseok chuckles.

Low. Deep.

He likes that.

His tongue flicks against your skin, a soft hum vibrating through his chest as his hands knead over your waist.

"That’s right," he murmurs.

His thumbs tilt your hips, adjusting you slightly, just enough to make the pressure shift, make the stretch deeper, make you feel him more.

You whimper.

Hoseok groans.

Then—

"Take the rest, baby."

And his hands push you down.

Your breath shatters.

The last few inches burn, your walls stretching around him, struggling to take him, struggling to make room for the sheer size of him, and—

Oh, fuck.

Your head falls back.

Your entire body clenches, every muscle tight, your thighs trembling where they frame his waist, your breath coming fast, uneven, struggling to process just how deep he is.

Hoseok groans.

Low. Guttural.

A sound that comes from deep in his chest, vibrating against your ribs, making your walls clamp down around him in helpless, pulsing flutters.

"Fuck, Chip."

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects again, but his voice wavers this time, mouth parting on a sharp inhale as his fingers tighten at your waist.

Because you’re squeezing him.

Because you’re so tight.

Because he can feel your walls still trying to adjust, still struggling to accommodate him, still fluttering, still soaked from everything he’s done to you—

And fuck.

Fuck, you knew he was big.

You knew.

But this—

This is too much.

Too deep, too thick, pressing against something inside you that makes your entire body tremble.

Your voice is wrecked. "I—I c-can’t—"

"Shh."

Hoseok’s fingers slide higher, smoothing up your spine, pressing into the knots of tension there, keeping you anchoredagainst him.

He leans up slightly, mouth ghosting over your shoulder, lips brushing soft against damp skin.

"Relax, baby." A warm kiss to the base of your throat. "Let me stretch you out."

Your pulse skitters.

His hands stay at your waist, holding you still, keeping you down, keeping you full.

And then—

His mouth moves.

Hot lips press against your clavicle.

Then lower.

Then lower.

Then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His tongue swirls around your nipple.

Your breath hiccups.

A sharp little jolt of pleasure spikes through your stomach, the contrast overwhelming—the deep, aching stretch of him inside you paired with the gentle, teasing flicks of his tongue against your skin.

You writhe. "H-Hobi—"

His teeth scrape lightly, lips sucking, slow, measured.

"You’re doing so well," he murmurs against your skin, voice low, warm. "So tight around me."

A sharp exhale against your breast, warm and teasing.

"Like you were made to take me, baby."

Your walls pulse.

Hoseok groans, dragging his lips back up your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse.

"Just a little more."

Your stomach flutters.

His fingers press into your hips, keeping you down, keeping you still, making you feel every inch, every stretch, every impossible, aching depth of him—

And then—

You feel it.

The moment your body gives in.

Your walls accommodate him, adjust, mold around his thickness, taking him completely, letting him settle inside you—

And Hoseok feels it too.

A sharp inhale.

His fingers twitch against your waist.

Then—

A low, wrecked "fuck."

Your breath shudders.

You feel the weight of him, feel the stretch, feel the deep, unbearable fullness of being seated fully on his cock.

It’s—

It’s so much.

But also—

It’s so good.

You exhale shakily, fingers trembling where they rest on his chest.

Hoseok’s lips press into your temple, soft, grounding.

His voice dips lower, quieter.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod frantically.

Because—

Because yes.

Because you’re so full, but you don’t want to move.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Not when it feels like this.

Hoseok smiles.

"That’s my girl."

Then—

His fingers tighten.

"Now," he murmurs, smirk pressing into your jaw, "stay still while I ruin you."

His hands slide up your sides again, slow, deliberate, palms pushing the shirt further open, exposing more of your body to his touch. But he doesn’t pull it off. Doesn’t let you be fully bare. He keeps you like this—half-dressed, swallowed in his shirt, draped in his fabric—while he sinks deeper inside you.

Your breath catches.

Because you believe him.

Because he’s still so deep, still so thick inside you, and you can feel the way your walls flutter around him, feel the way your body is trying to adjust but still clenching down, still so tight, still not used to him yet.

And yet—

His fingers tighten at your waist.

And then—

He moves.

The first drag is slow.

Not a thrust, not a pull, not a sharp snap of his hips—just a shift, a deep, rolling movement, barely anything at all—

But you feel it everywhere.

Your walls clench at the stretch, the drag, at the way his cock pulls against every sensitive spot inside you before pressing back in again, seating himself fully inside you again, making sure you stay full, making sure you stay stretched around him.

Your whimper is shattered.

"Oh my god—"

Hoseok groans.

His hands hold you down, keeping you trapped in his lap, forcing you to take it, forcing you to sit with it, forcing you to feel every single inch of him as he rocks into you.

"Good girl," he praises, voice warm, deep, slipping into your hair as his lips press against your temple. "Taking me so well."

Your whole body trembles.

His hands move up your back, palms flat, warm, steady, keeping you anchored against his chest.

Then—

Another slow thrust.

Deeper this time.

The drag of him burns, the stretch still so tight, but it feels good, feels like something your body is learning, something it’s adjusting to, something it’s craving now.

You writhe. "Hobi—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects, lips dragging down the side of your throat, voice thick, teasing, mocking, and your walls clencharound him at the sound—

He feels it.

Of course he does.

He groans, grip flexing at your hips, fingers pressing harder, making you sink onto him, making sure you stay stuffed full of him.

"Fuck," he murmurs against your skin. "This tight little cunt." His teeth scrape against your jaw, breath hot against your ear. "Gripping me so well."

Your hips jerk.

A sharp little movement—too fast, too eager, your body trying to chase the friction, trying to take more—

Hoseok stills you immediately.

His grip tightens.

His fingers dig in.

He stops you completely.

Your breath shudders. "H-Hoseok—"

He exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Then—

"Don’t rush me, baby."

Your stomach flips.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You thought he was taking it slow for you.

Thought he was helping you adjust.

But—

But that’s not it, is it?

Hoseok is pacing himself.

For himself.

Because he’s still in control.

Because he’s still making you wait, still making you suffer, still teaching you what it means to take him properly.

Your thighs tremble.

You whimper, voice small, and—

Hoseok groans, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, fingers massaging at your hips.

Then—

He moves again.

Slow.

Measured.

Deep.

Rocking you into it.

Letting you feel it.

Letting you drown in it.

And fuck, you do.

The next roll of his hips is sharper.

It drags something new out of you—something sweet, something helpless, something hot that makes your fingers clenchinto his shoulders, makes your walls pulse around him in a way that makes him groan.

"There it is," Hoseok murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. "That's my girl."

Your stomach flips.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, you love this.

You love how good he is, how skilled he is, how precise he is with every movement. You love the way he’s picking up the pace now, the way his hips are guiding you into it, the way he’s still holding you still while he moves, making you take it.

You whimper.

Hoseok hums.

"So cute," he murmurs, voice thick, teasing, lips pressing softly to the corner of your mouth. "So eager for me."

Your walls clench down at the praise, and he groans, feels it, lets his hands tighten at your hips.

"H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects again, but this time—

This time, he smirks when he says it.

Your cheeks burn.

Because you know what he’s doing.

And he knows you love it.

His hands shift—one slipping from your hip to cup the back of your neck, holding you close, keeping you right there, breath mingling, bodies melded together.

Then—

He thrusts up.

You gasp, eyes going wide, mouth parting, and—

Hoseok laughs.

"That’s it, baby," he exhales, delighted, shifting his grip at your waist, holding you down now, keeping you in place while he moves.

He picks up his pace, guiding you into deep, steady rolls, each one pressing him harder into that spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble.

Your head falls forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and you whimper, overwhelmed, breath catching with every movement.

Hoseok groans, his lips pressing to the top of your head, voice warm, fond.

"You’re so sweet like this."

Another snap of his hips, and you wail.

His fingers splay over your back, holding you there, keeping you wrapped around him.

"So pretty when you take me so well," he murmurs, voice soothing even as he fucks you deeper, even as he makes you writhe.

Your thighs are shaking, your whole body melting into his hands, and Hoseok just smiles.

"Good girl," he breathes, kissing your temple. "You love this, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, breath hiccupping out of you, and he laughs, pleased, his hips rolling harder, making you feel it, making you understand how good he is.

"You love me taking care of you, don’t you, baby?" His fingers press into your waist, shifting you just right against him. "Love being my good girl?"

Your moan is wrecked, and he groans, pressing his lips softly to your cheek, voice warm, teasing.

"Such a sweet thing."

And then—

He really starts fucking you.

Hoseok moves before you can even process it.

One moment, you’re wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders, gasping into his mouth—

The next, your back is hitting the mattress.

Your breath shatters.

He never leaves you.

Never disconnects.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his cock still seated deep inside you as he shifts, as he sprawls you out beneath him, as he spreads you wide across his sheets.

You whimper. "H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, breath hot against your throat.

His fingers slide up your arms, pushing the fabric of the sleeves further back, exposing more skin.

The movement pulls the shirt even wider open, leaving it hanging loosely around your frame, framing the wrecked state of your body beneath him.

Then—

He thrusts.

Hard.

Deep.

Your head tilts back, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips, and—

He pins you down.

His hands grab your wrists, pressing them above your head, keeping them trapped against the pillows.

Then—

His other hand slides down.

Down your waist.

Down your thigh.

And then—

He presses it down.

His palm flattens against the inside of your thigh, forcing it against the mattress, spreading you wider, opening you up even more for him.

The shirt slips further apart with the movement, fabric barely clinging to your shoulders, gaping open, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Your moan is shattered.

You can’t move.

You can’t do anything.

He has you pinned, held open, fucked into the mattress.

And then—

He starts moving.

Deep.

Fast.

Sharp.

His hips slam into you, cock driving into that spot inside you that makes your whole body lock up, makes your walls clench around him, makes your thighs tremble against his sheets.

"Oh my god—"

Hoseok groans.

"You can take it, baby," he murmurs, voice thick, his fingers tight around your wrists, his hand pressing your thigh flat against the bed.

His hips snap into you, faster, harder, and you wail, body helpless beneath him, body opening for him, body taking everything he gives you.

"That’s it," he breathes, voice soothing, lips brushing over your jaw. "Take it, baby."

Your whole body writhes.

His fingers tighten at your wrists, his hand firm at your thigh, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Then—

A soft kiss to your cheek.

"You feel so good like this," he murmurs, voice warm, like he isn’t currently fucking you into the mattress, like he isn’t making you take it so deep you’re practically seeing stars.

"So sweet for me," he breathes, lips dragging down your neck, tongue flicking against your pulse. "Such a good girl, letting me ruin you."

The weight of his body presses you into the mattress, the soft linen of his shirt bunching beneath you, trapping heat between your bodies. 

The scent of him lingers in the fabric, surrounding you, filling every breath as he fucks you deeper.

Your moan is wrecked.

And Hoseok just smiles.

Then—

He snaps his hips even faster.

The pleasure builds too fast.

Too deep, too sharp, too much at once.

He’s fucking you open, pace relentless, cock slamming into that spot inside you over and over and over—

And your body can’t fight it.

Your thighs shake.

Your back arches.

Your walls clench down so tight around him that he groans, deep and wrecked, his grip bruising at your wrists, his hand pressing your thigh, keeping you trapped beneath him.

"H-Hoseok—"

"I know, baby," he pants, voice low, thick, his lips dragging over your jaw. "I know."

And then—

You break.

Your orgasm tears through you, a white-hot detonation that rips a shattered wail from your throat, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down on him, your thighs trembling.

But it doesn’t stop.

Your body keeps going.

The pleasure keeps pulsing, keeps cresting, one wave crashing into the next, your walls still fluttering, still milking his cock, still wringing him out—

And it destroys him.

Hoseok groans, voice breaking, hips jerking, pace turning erratic, messy, as he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing the unbearable tightness of you, the way your body won’t stop squeezing him.

The sweat-slick fabric sticks between you, damp at your lower back where the shirt has ridden up with the intensity of his thrusts.

But he barely notices—too focused on fucking you apart, on making sure you take everything, on keeping you wrapped in him.

"Fucking hell—"

His grip tightens on your hands while he spreads your legs wider, letting him drive in even deeper, harder, rutting into you with sharp, needy thrusts.

Your breath splinters.

Your back arches.

And then—

He curses, voice wrecked, pace losing rhythm completely, his body shuddering as he slams into you one last time—

And spills inside you.

His groan is low, broken, forehead dropping against your shoulder, muscles tensing as his cock pulses, warmth flooding deep inside the condom.

His breath hiccups against your skin.

Your walls flutter around him, aftershocks still shuddering through you, body still milking him, pleasure still lingering.

A beat.

A slow, heavy inhale.

Then—

His grip on your wrists loosens.

His hand on your thigh softens.

And then—

Hoseok laughs, breathless, voice low, wrecked.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Chip," he murmurs, exhaling shakily against your cheek. "You're gonna kill me."

Hoseok doesn’t move at first.

Just stays inside you, buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder, chest rising and falling steadily against yours.

His breath is warm against your skin, soft little exhales against the slope of your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close.

Then—

A deep, satisfied hum.

"You’re trembling, baby."

His voice is thick, smooth and soothing, and—

Oh.

Oh, you are.

Your whole body is shaking, weak and wrecked, nerves still firing from overstimulation, muscles useless beneath the weight of him.

Hoseok smiles against your skin.

"So precious."

Your face burns. "Shut up—"

But the words slur together—breathless, wrecked, voice barely functional—and Hoseok chuckles, amused, because—

Oh, he loves this.

Loves seeing you like this.

Loves knowing he’s the reason for it.

His lips press to your temple.

"Think you can move, sweetheart?"

You try, but the oversized fabric shifts against your skin, a reminder of how wrecked you are beneath it, how ruined you are in his clothes, how you’re still wrapped in him even now.

Your breath hiccups.

You try to shift, try to sit up, try to do anything—

And fail completely.

Your limbs don’t respond.

Your legs feel like lead.

Your thighs twitch, weak and useless, and you whimper, realizing you are—

Entirely.

Completely.

Boneless.

Hoseok grins.

"That’s what I thought."

Hoseok exhales, shifting above you, and the movement drags the loose cotton against your overheated skin, the open edges brushing against your ribs as he adjusts his grip. 

His eyes flicker down, taking in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, drowning in the fabric of his own damn shirt—and something dark glints in his gaze.

His arms tighten around you—secure, steady—before he moves, rolling both of you until your back meets the mattress and he’s hovering above you, still inside, still deep, still making you feel the stretch of him.

Your breath catches.

His smirk widens.

"So cute," he murmurs, voice low, hands smoothing down your waist, fingers tracing over every twitching muscle, everywhere he’s left his mark on you.

Then—

"We’re gonna shower."

You barely process the words, too dazed, too sensitive, but then—his hands are on you again. 

Slow, steady, smoothing down your thighs, adjusting the way his shirt still drapes over your body, as if debating whether to peel it off or leave you in it a little longer.

You whimper at the thought—warm water, his hands on you, his help—and the way he says it makes something deep in your stomach curl.

Because—

It’s not a suggestion.

It’s a decision.

A statement.

Like it’s already happening.

Like he’s already made up his mind.

And you—

You love it.

You love that he’s still taking care of you, still controlling the situation, still making sure you’re okay.

His smirk is slow. Amused.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the loose fabric where it pools at your waist.

Your stomach flips.

“Hobi—”

“Dr. Jung,” he corrects easily, shifting back, peeling himself away from you—but not before tugging the shirt closed over your chest, fastening one single button near your collarbone.

Just enough to cover you.

Just enough to keep you in it.

Just enough to remind you exactly who you belong to.

You hum in response, lips parting—

But then—

A thought.

A very bad thought.

"Oh, shit—" Your voice is hoarse, throat still raw from moaning his name, but you panic, trying to move, trying to reach for your phone, trying to—

"Caleb—"

Hoseok snorts.

His fingers press into your waist, holding you down, keeping you still, making you look at him.

His smirk is lazy, amused.

"Already handled, baby."

Your stomach drops.

You blink. "What—"

He reaches for his phone, showing you the text thread with your brother from hours ago:

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚎𝚢, 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝙽𝚄𝙷. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚈/𝙽 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍?

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙽𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜’ 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛: 𝙾𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚛𝚘.

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖. 𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙.

"You..." You stare at him. "You planned this? Before—"

"No. I texted him after I gave you the 20 minute warning." His thumb traces your lip. "Before that, I called in a favor from one of the nurses that know Kiara. Managed to get out early as soon as I knew you were drunk in that club. Got there, saw you; texted you."

"But you were mad. You blocked me—"

"I was." He kisses your temple. "Still am. But I was worried. Couldn’t help keeping an eye on you. And I wasn't letting you go home with that intern."

Your heart flutters. Because this is peak Hoseok—calculating every detail, ten steps ahead, making sure you're taken care of even when he's furious with you.

"How did you know I'd—"

"Misbehave?" His laugh is soft. "Because I know you, Chip. Know exactly how to make you chase what you want."

You should be annoyed at his confidence. Instead, you're melting further into his sheets.

"Now." He finally slips out of you, making you whine at the loss. "Shower. Then sleep. You have approximately—" He checks his watch. "—fourteen hours before you need to be at Kiara’s for brunch."

You blink. "What?"

"She's covering for us." He lifts you effortlessly. "Telling Caleb you crashed there after drinking. You'll show up tomorrow, properly hungover, full of stories about girls' night."

Your head spins. "You arranged all that while driving?"

"While fingering you, actually. In the elevator." His smile is smug. "Multitasking is a valuable skill in medicine."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." He carries you to the bathroom. "You love that I think of everything."

He's right.

You absolutely do.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @hobis-sprite0218 @mcflurry-220 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[supernoonanyc]

“No Time Like The Present”

Namjoon x Plus Size Reader

Summary: You and Joon have become close friends, there’s just two problems: He’s in love with you, and you’re completely clueless

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: slight angst, swearing, suggestive at the end, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely @bethanysnow for this request! I had so much fun writing this, it really helped me claw my way out of my writer's block. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

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“There’s no time like the present.” That's what his friends kept saying every time he would complain about his discontent with his current dating status, or rather lack thereof.

He was fresh out of his mandatory military service, or as he’d not-so-jokingly referred to it, “hell time”, and with that nowfound freedom came a fair bit of self reflection, as most things did with Namjoon.

There were lots of things he had been reasessing in his life, from minor things like workout regimes, to bigger plans like the artistic direction he wanted to take his work in, but amongst all those things, one thing was clear, he wanted to be with someone. 

He hadn’t exactly said it in so many words, but it was clear to those closest to him. 

He’d struggled in the past to figure out what he wanted out of relationships; at first he wanted marriage and kids, at various other points he’d given up dating entirely. He still didn’t fully know what he wanted, but he was done trying to figure it out exactly and was trying to lean into his friend's advice and just embrace whatever opportunities came his way.

Which is why Hobi had abruptly decided one afternoon that they should go have lunch at his favorite cafe. He’d become a regular there following his discharge the year before and had quickly become friends with a few of the staff, including one who he was rather eager for Joon to meet, Y/n.

He’d been charmed by you from day one, with your easy-going attitude, Hobi knew the two of you would hit it off immediately if given the chance. You had a lot of similar interests and personality traits, and also the fact that he knew that you were very much Namjoon’s type, with your full curves and piercing eyes, he knew Joon would instantly be a goner.

Joon followed Hobi into the cafe on the fateful afternoon, not paying much attention at first, mostly admiring the design choices of the space, the light colors and simplistic furniture style giving the space a relaxed, cozy vibe. 

“Next- Hobi!” Your sudden enthusiastic tone of voice drew his attention back to the present, turning to see you and Hobi happily chatting together, freezing slightly as he took you in.

It was for just a couple seconds, but it was still long enough for you to tilt your head quizzically as he realized Hobi was introducing him and was waiting for him to say something.

"Sorry, uh, nice to meet you.” He said, fumbling his words slightly.

You smiled warmly. “You too.” 

You turned back to Hobi as he asked you about something, but Joon didn’t hear any of the conversation, his eyes fixed on you as you spoke and moved about, making orders with an almost hypnotic fluidity and grace.

Hobi elbowed him lightly, snapping him out of his daze. “You good bro?” He asked, handing him his drink with an amused smirk.

“‘M fine…” Joon mumbled, following him to the table, his eyes still flickering back to you now and then.

Something about you had caught him, he couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but it had taken less than five seconds for you to seemingly bewitch him. He barely even registered what Hobi was talking about, or the knowing look he kept casting his way with a smug grin, his attention being repeatedly drawn back to you for the rest of lunch.

Trying to play it off as they got up to leave.

“Bye, Y/n-ah, see you on friday, right?” Hobi called 

“I’ll be there, don’t worry.” You grinned at his reminder.

Joon perked up at that. “Friday?” He mumbled as they ducked out the door into the mid-summer drizzle.

“Yeah, my party? The one I’ve been talking about for weeks?” Hobi raised a brow at him.

“Oh yeah, right!” He nodded quickly.

“...You forgot?” He squinted at Joon.

“No, of course not.” Namjoon denied immediately.

“Mhm sure.” Hobi nodded.

Joon played it off, making a mental note to be there on friday, quietly hoping you were being sincere and would also be there and would get another chance to talk with you without embarrassing himself.

Friday came, and Joon found himself sat in the corner of the party, nodding along as Hobi was  telling a story from tour, only half listening if he was being honest, when his friend suddenly shot up out of his seat.

“Y/n-ah!” He squealed, weaving off through the crowd, returning a moment later half dragging you over to where he and Joon were sitting, instantly looping you into his and Joon’s conversation.

After a few minutes, Hobi quietly excused himself, leaving the two of you to talk amongst yourselves. 

He had expected to feel a little awkward with you, but he was finding it almost shockingly easy to talk to you, eagerly listening as you told him about your life.

You had taken the big scary plunge of moving to Seoul on your own, renting your friend's spare room while you worked at a cafe. It wasn’t exactly a dramatic, elaborate life, but it made you happy, and he found himself drawn into your stories with growing intrigue and amusement. He loved hearing you talk, the way you told stories with your hands, the way your face lit up as you spoke.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening together talking, completely oblivious to the rest of the world around you.

Following that night, he started coming by the cafe whenever he could, without being too obvious that he was only there to see you. The two of you clicked almost instantly, laughing easily during your short conversations. He couldn't help the little jolt in his chest every time he came through the door and spotted you, the feeling only intensifying when he saw how you perked up as you caught sight of him.

"Your usual?" You asked before he even got to the counter.

"Am I getting too predictable?" He asked with a grin.

You chuckled. "Eh, consistency's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Maybe, but still, I'll try something different today. What's your favorite?" He asked

"Ah, well now we have a problem." You say, causing him to raise a brow.

"Why?"

"Because I usually just get the same thing that you do," he couldn't help but grin at that, "or one of our flavored drinks that I know you won't like. "

"How do you know I won't?" He raised a brow.

"Because I always take your order and I know what you like." You smirked.

"Just tell me what it is."

"The mocha mint frappe." His nose scrunched up involuntarily, making you laugh. "See! I knew it!" You said. "You never order anything mint flavored."

He watched you for a moment, a faint smile pulling at his lips before he spoke again. "I'll try it."

What the fuck did I just say? It was hard to say who looked more surprised at his statement, him or you.

You blinked. "Seriously?"

He nodded, shrugging. "You like it, so I'll try it."

You eyed him for a moment, trying to ignore the way your heart did a tiny flip in your chest at his words, before nodding slowly. “Okay then.”

He went to his usual table while you made his drink, his eyes continually drifting back on you as always, only this time you caught him.

“You know if you’re having second thoughts, just say so.” You teased as you brought him his drink, thinking that that was why he was watching you.

He let out a huff of laughter. “I’m good, thanks.”

You turned and went back to the counter, glancing back just in time to see him take the first tentative sip, the nose scrunch from earlier coming back in full force and you couldn't stop the snicker that escaped your lips, drawing his eyes back to you, a fond look spreading across his face.

God, he wanted to make you laugh like that every chance he could.

He turned back to his laptop, working quietly until an americano was suddenly sat down in front of him.

He looked up to see your teasing grin.

“Stick with consistency.” You said simply, turning and going back to work without another word, oblivious to his goo-eyed stare following your every move.

Fuck, he was in over his head…

Things went much of the same way for the next couple months. The two of you hung out almost constantly in your free time, You wouldn’t lie, you had your moments of silently freaking out because ‘holy shit Kim Namjoon is my friend, this is soo fucking cool!’, but you’d reigned that in and as the two of you had gotten closer, it was surprisingly easy to forget that side of him. With you, he wasn’t some ultra famous rapper and artist, he was just your sweet friend, Namjoon.

Meanwhile, Joon had been having a much different experience.

While you were happily riding on the friendship parade, he had been having to fight his demons every day to avoid openly gawking at you because, “holy shit, god and karma are real and this girl is the proof, this is my reward for the past two years that I spent in hell” as he’d so eloquently phrased it to Hobi one drunken evening, who had been watching all of this unfold from the sidelines with the most shit-eating grin, because anybody with eyes could tell that his friend was down bad for you.

Everyone, apparently, except you.

You’re the perfect match for him, smart, funny, cute, loves music, argues with him in ways that make him think, not to mention he thinks you’re the living embodiment of Venus. 

You seemed more than content to just traipse through life, misconstruing his increasingly obvious gestures of affection as those of just a friend.

He would go out of his way to bring you lunch on your break, he would always compliment your outfit or if you changed your hair,  he would look out for you whenever you went out together to make sure nobody messed with you, he’d answer your texts at all hours of the night. The clues were there if you were paying attention, but you very clearly were not.

"Are you okay?” You asked, breaking him out of his revere.

“Huh? Y-yeah, ‘m fine.” He said quickly. “Why?”

“You were kinda zoning out there a bit, didn’t know if something was on your mind…"

It was late, the cafe was technically closed, but Joon had gotten into the habit of staying late while you closed up so he could walk you home.

You’d already shut part of the lights off, leaving you in a cozier, dim light as the two of you finished your drinks.

“No, it’s nothing, just tired I guess.” He mumbled. ‘Just wondering what your lip balm tastes like-’

You weren’t entirely convinced, but you let it slide for now. “So are you going to Hobi’s thing this weekend?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He sighed, leaning back in his chair with a groan. “I bailed on the last one, he’ll have my ass if I miss another.”

“Sweet, then at least I’ll have someone to talk to other than Jimin.” You replied. “Maybe I can play wingman for someone.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised a brow at you. “And who would that be?”

“I dunno, maybe someone incredibly sweet and caring, and handsome, and who despite writing love songs for a living has about as much success in the dating field as I do.” 

He let out a huff. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked in mock offense.

“It means I’m tired of watching you mope around here every night when you could be out with someone who makes you happy.” You said

“You make me happy.” He mumbled.

“That’s not what I mean.” You said. “I mean like romantically.” 

So did I… He sighed. “It’s not that easy.”

“It could be though, I mean look at us.” You gestured between the two of you. “You’re good with me, we just need to find you something like this with someone who’s your type.”

‘You mean like you!?’ He pressed his lips together tightly to keep from blurting out.

“What about you?” He asked, spinning the question around. “Why aren’t you seeing anyone?” 

“Ha! Yeah right!” You scoffed. “You know my dating pool is a puddle.”

He frowned at your words. He hated anytime you thought about yourself in any sort of depreciating light.

“What are you talking about? Don’t say that, you’re gorgeous!” He said, looking at you.

“Yeah, okay…” You said quietly, trying to ignore the warmth that his words caused to rise up in your cheeks.

“I mean it,” He said sincerely. “Anybody would be lucky to have you, and anyone who makes you feel otherwise should go fuck themselves. You’re smart and beautiful and funny and… nice…” He paused, a flush appearing on his cheeks as he realized how he probably sounded.

“‘Nice’?” You quirked a brow at him. “What does ‘nice’ mean?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, averting his eyes as he realized he’d caught himself up in his own words. 

“You know what I mean,” He said, trying to brush it off. “You have a nice figure. You’re… well-proportioned. ”

“‘Well-proportioned’.” You repeated, watching his flustered state with amusement. “Damn, if this is how you flirt, I think we’re starting to understand why you’re still single.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, smart ass.” He said, trying to brush your comment off, but he could feel the warmth in his cheeks.

“No, c’mon, Mr.Songwriter,” I pressed, trying to get a rise out of him. “I’ve read some of the stuff you’ve written in that notebook, you can be a smooth motherfucker when you wanna be, where’s that guy?”

He deliberated, staring at you for a long moment before speaking again. 

“Aright, fine.” He said, giving you a cocky smirk, leaning in close so that you were now trapped between him and the wall.

“Do you even know how much you drive me crazy? Everytime I look at you, I lose my train of thought. There’s just something about you that just draws me in like a moth, I can’t look away. With those gorgeous eyes, those perfect lips...” He leaned in ever closer, his breath ghosting over your face as he murmured. “And those fucking curves that make me wanna fall to my knees everytime I look at you…”

You stared up at him wide eyed, his smooth sultry words causing your brain to cease functioning for a moment before you managed to blink, clearing your throat nervously.

“S-see? That was-, that was good.” You stammered. “If you just do that at the party, I know you’ll win over any girl…”

You turned away abruptly to finish closing up, trying to calm the frantic pounding in your chest, hoping he didn’t notice how flushed and heated your face had become.

Joon dropped his head in frustration. “... yeah, thanks Y/n…”

“You’re hopeless, you’re absolutely goddamn hopeless.” Yoongi exclaimed the next day as Joon sulkingly described what had happened. 

He was sitting with him and Hobi in the genius lab, trying to work on an upcoming song while also trying to understand Joons inability to make you see what was glaring you right in the face.

“Seriously, dude, you should’ve just said something right then last night.” Hobi said.

“The timing wasn’t right.” He argued weakly.

“The timing’s never right!” Yoongi exploded. “I swear to God, I bet you could stand in front of her and just straight up say “I love you”, and she'd call you a good friend…”

Hobi let out a laugh in spite of himself, trailing off as he saw Joon’s pained expression.

“Wait, really?” he asked, causing Joon to bury his face in his hands with a low groan.

“Last week.” He mumbled through his hands.

“Shit…” Hobi shook his head, stunned at just how oblivious you were to Joon’s infatuation. “I’m sorry, man, I had no idea.” He said sympathetically. 

“Neither does she, apparently!” He shot back, still muffled by his hands. “What do I doooo?”

“You’re just gonna have to be blunt.” Yoongi said. “Because she’s either clueless or playing dumb to avoid making things weird by turning you down. But you’re not gonna know either way unless you put it out there, point blank.”

“He’s right…” Hobi nodded. “I know you’re waiting for a better time, but there’s no time like the present, bro…”

Joon sighed, staring down at his shoes, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, maybe…” 

He excused himself quickly, deciding to head home early, cutting through the park as he walked to try and help clear his head, thinking over everything that had happened and what the guys had said.

As he was walking along near the river, he was hit by a few spiteful raindrops, a late summer downpour threatening its arrival overhead, the low rumble of thunder reminding him of how you mentioned once how you liked watching the storms out the window of your apartment.

Everything seemed to remind him of you.

Dammit

He stopped, turning on the spot and taking off in the direction of your building, not paying the rain the least bit of attention. If he didn’t say it now, he didn’t know when he would ever get the nerve again.

By the time he turned up at your friend’s door, he was in the middle of a torrential downpour, soaked to the bone, but he could not care in the least..

“Joon? I- what the fuck are doing, you’re soaked!” You asked in alarm as you opened the front door..

“I’m an idiot.” He blurted out, out of breath.

“Excuse me?” You blinked at him, baffled.

“I’m an idiot, and you’re blind as fuck!”

You stared at him. 

“...Okay, this had better be going somewhere-” You started.

“I’ve been trying to pour my heart out to you and find any way I could think of to make you understand how I feel, but nothing seems to get through your thick skull and I can’t take it anymore!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” You shot back in confusion.

“I. Am. In. Love. With. You!” He spelled out, exasperated. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. You’re all I think about and I can’t stand not being near you, because you… You’re it, you’re… you’re everything…” He tailed off, 

You stood there shock still, your brain struggling to process his words. Suddenly every weird moment between you, every little gesture over the past few months, it was glaringly obvious, and all you could manage in that moment was a small, dumbstruck "Oh..."

“Yeah...”

The two of you stared at each other, the silence deafening as you both struggled to figure out what to do now.

He wanted to hide, to run away, to scream, just something, but he stayed rooted to the spot, staring at you, praying that he hadn’t just absolutely destroyed everything between the two of you.

You blinked, at a loss for words, before stepping forward slowly, doing the only thing you could think of in that moment, taking his face gently in your hands, holding his gaze for a loaded second, giving him the chance to pull away, before pressing the softest of kisses to his lips.

The faint brush of your lips on his was enough to break him out of his frozen state, his arms immediately wrapping around you, the intensity of his feelings taking over his rationality as he leaned in, chasing your mouth with a near desperate need, crushing your lips together in a nearly frantic kiss, the past months of pining after each suddenly pouring out in a single moment as he held you tight in his arms.

He forced himself to pull back, meeting your eyes with a wild intensity, his restraint holding on by a fucking thread.

"Are… are you sure you want this?" His breath came out in ragged pants as he spoke softly, his gaze dark, desire and love mixing into an expression that sent a shiver down your spine. 

Nodding frantically, you closed the gap again, claiming his mouth eagerly.

He groaned loudly against your lips, his body responding immediately to your touch, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close as desire took over his rational mind, pressing you against the nearest wall.

"You don’t know how long I've wanted to kiss you, touch you, hold you like this..." He whispered, his voice almost a growl.

"... then do it..." You whimpered against his mouth, tangling your tongue with his as you pressed even closer, one of your hands slipping into his hair and giving it a sharp tug.

He moaned at the feeling of your hand in his hair, the sound low and primal. He was losing himself in you, completely intoxicated by your touch and taste. his hands roaming your body, exploring every luscious curve and contour as he kissed you with an intensity that was almost feral.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, and his lips moved to the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking and licking at the area, leaving a mark as he mumbled against your skin.

"I want you. I need you. right now." He spoke between kisses, his voice rough and needy.

"Joon…" You panted, brain struggling to form a coherent thought, already so overwhelmed by him, his touch.

He let out a low moan at the sound of his name on your lips, it was like music to his ears. He continued to kiss and suck along your neck, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to touch the soft, warm skin of your waist.

"Say it again..." He whispered, his voice ragged and husky. "Say my name again."

"J-joon… please…" You whimpered out, hands coming down to clutch his arms as his hands explored under my shirt, shivering from the contact.

He felt his heart clench at the sight of you, so gone for him already from just his touch. He felt almost overwhelmed himself, undone by your words, your moans, hell just your presence.

He could feel your body pressed against him, your glorious softness against his hardness, and it was driving him wild.

He growled softly, the last of his control snapping as he crushed his lips to yours, claiming your mouth in a rough kiss, pulling you close and steering you backwards towards the bedroom.

He kicked the door shut with his foot, backpedaling you to the bed, hands working frantically at the buttons of your shirt, trying to get it off you as quickly as possible.

“God, I-, fuck!” As he pushed you back onto the bed, he tried to climb on after you, missing the mattress with his knee and toppling to the floor next to the bed.

“Are you okay?!” You asked, scrambling to sit up, out of breath, staring down at him in concern.

“Yeah..” He groaned, sitting back up onto his knees.

You both stared at each other for a long moment before slowly dissolving into laughter, Joon crawled closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning his head against your chest as he laughed, his face red with embarrassment.

“So much for the moment.” You giggled, stroking his hair gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He chuckled, nuzzling your neck softly, kissing your skin tenderly.

The two of you sat there quietly, just leaning on each other, savoring the simple intimacy of the moment.

“Soo, does this mean that we’re dating, or was this just like a one time thing for the dramatics?” You asked, with a look of genuine curiosity. 

He pulled away, gaping up at you.

“I’m just kidding!” You laughed, hugging him tightly to your chest.

Lord give him the strength…

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[supernoonanyc]

Patiently (?) Waiting for part 3!

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Alpha! Hyung line x Omega! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."

OR  

The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.

✿ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.

(Fanfic masterlist)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 - 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

(<<< part one)

Namjoon couldn’t sleep. He twisted and turned, tangled up in his sheets, his once comfortable bed feeling too large now.

Y/N. That name echoed and ricocheted around his brain like a prayer or a curse. Something had shifted when you locked your scared eyes on him and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it pulled him out of his bedroom and into yours, onto your bed, on top of you…

He shook his head, willing the intrusive thought away. He felt out of control, skin itching and too tight. Could it all be caused by his body reacting to the presence of an unmated omega? Could he blame his current state of distress on the trembling girl hiding under the covers of a hospital bed? 

He should keep his distance, allowing Hoseok to follow through with his security protocols without intervening. That was the wise, responsible thing to do.

Then why did the thought of staying away made his skin crawl? Why did the idea of letting Hoseok, another alpha, alone with you brought violence to the front of his mind, urging him to punch a wall and fight his way to you?

Morning came and rest still escaped him, eyes bloodshot as he started to ready himself to his many obligations, going through the motions of his day as his thoughts wandered towards where you slept, his inner wolf clawing at the inside of his chest, howling for something he could not name.

Namjoon curled his fist on the way to his office, holding back the urge to resent you for crumbling his self control and starting a riot within him. Maybe that was why omegas were rare, he mused: they held too much power.

He sighed, already exhausted even barely at the break of dawn - he wished Yoongi were there. The level-headed alpha would surely know the best course of action and nudge him towards the right direction. Alas, his friend had been sent away on some diplomatic  mission or another and wouldn’t be back until the later end of a fortnight or so. He supposed he still had Hoseok and Jin, but Jin…

Jin was sat on a corner chair when he arrived at his office. nursing a cup of tea in one hand while picking at his nails with the other, mindlessly staring into nothing. Namjoon knew Jin would have no interest in the frightened omega as he had no interest in anything at all - not since Nira.

“Morning” Namjoon greeted him carefully, as they all had in the past couple of months “Have you seen Hoseok?”

Jin blinked, as if waking up from a trance, moving his dark hair from his face and saying “He’s with the omega.”

Namjoon nodded, holding back the unreasonable beast roaring inside him once more at the idea. “What do you think we should do?” he asked his advisor, not really expecting a helpful answer.

The other man curled his lips in distaste “Send her away, for all I care.”

Namjoon nodded again, having seen that reply coming. Jin’s hatred for omegas had only risen in Nira’s absence and no soft looking lips or big scared eyes would change that so swiftly. 

If he could not count on Jin, Hoseok would be then.

---

When Hoseok arrived in the hospital wing, you were already awake, picking at the buttered bread the maids brought you, pulling the smallest of pieces and munching on them. 

Made to provide and protect, alphas in general did not react well to an unfed omega, the sight unsettling and downright wrong. Even though it was not his place, Hoseok could not help but to say with the smallest of barks “You should eat more”.

The sound of his voice caused you to jump slightly, voice strained as you said bowing slightly from your bed “Sir Hoseok, I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

He frowned. “I sent a message beforehand informing you I would be coming” he pointed at a piece of paper on top of your breakfast tray “Is that not it?”

“Oh” you picked the note and examined the beautiful cursive writing in it before admitting casually “I can’t read”.

Hoseok blinked. Once. Twice.

“What do you mean, you can’t read?” 

You tilted your head sideways, owlish and confused and Hoseok had to pinch his own leg to resist the urge to coo at your expression. 

“Why would I know how to read? I’m an omega.”

And just like that, whatever fluttering feeling Hoseok had evaporated, replaced by dread and disbelief “You… What?”

“I’m an omega” you repeated, a tinge of edgeness and sass slipping into your voice “Why would I know how to read? Why would someone waste their time teaching me?” 

Hoseok was speechless, brows furrowed as a new emotion burned its way through him. He took a deep breath to settle himself, his inner alpha fighting against him to snarl and protect you from some invisible danger. 

“Wh-who” he coughed, trying to hide the growl that threatened to sneak into his speech “Who told you that?” 

“Father” you promptly answered.

Father. Your father had told you that educating omegas was a waste of time. Hoseok struggled to process the information, hatred adding to ever growing turmoil in him building up to an inferno. 

He took another deep breath. Was this the effect of an omega? If so, he could understand why alphas bent themselves backwards to their wills, built and laid waste to fortresses and cities for them. He would too, if his defensiveness and sudden sense of protection was indicative of anything.

5 minutes in a closed space with a (scentless, mind you!) omega and he was losing his mind. 

“We’ll come back to that later.” he said at last, unable to deal with your explanation when he had other pressing matters “His Majesty said he found you in the back gardens. How did you end up there?” 

You gulped, burrowing further under the blanket, eyes glazed with fear. “I ran” you answered, body tense as if you were preparing to run once more. 

“You… Ran?” you had answered his questions but somehow every reply just confused him even more. The nearest road leading to the back of the castle would be a day away by foot. If you were running, what were you running from?

He didn’t have to verbalize his wonderings, as you clarified yourself, voice progressively shakier “Father… Father was going to sell me. Fifteen million to a lord from the next town over. But…” Your eyes filled with tears “But I don’t want to get married. Please, sir, don’t make me go back!”

Hoseok’s hands were shaking. He didn’t know when it started nor how to stop and this out of control  feeling left him breathless in his anger. He could tell you were scared of him but didn’t know how to reel back.

He needed to remove himself from the situation.

Without another word, he turned around and stormed out of the room, door slamming behind his back as he left you alone in stupefied silence. 

Would he send you back, you wondered from your bed, feeling the walls closing in on you. Would he force you back to your father’s claws, dooming you to the life of a sold omega? 

You stood up, weak but resolute. You couldn’t let that happen. You had come too far to be sent back, freedom once more stolen from your hands by some alpha. You had run away once and surely you could do it again.

You waited with baited breath for Hoseok’s thundering steps to disappear in the distance before opening the slightest bit of the door, peering at the hall. Finding it empty, you sneaked outside, silent and feather light, holding still for a second before bolting.

You followed the brick wall to what you assumed was the east wing, cutting through winding halls and empty stairways. You could do this, you told yourself, listening around for another presence, you could find your way to the outside again…

A choked sound escaped you as your body slammed into something hard, hitting the floor with a soft and pained thud. You barely had time to process the burning feeling in your tailbone before the smell of syrup and every sweet thing invaded your senses. 

Your mate. Another one.

You inhaled shakily as you looked up and up, your mate tall with larger-than-life shoulders and handsome features that were twisted with the deepest of frowns. 

Already your mate hated you and somehow that knowledge twisted a deeper knife into your heart. You didn’t know if you could handle anymore disappointments. 

“You must be the omega” he sneered.

You remained silent and stiff while still on the ground. Your scent was enough of an answer.

Your mate made no move to help you, nor did he introduce himself. Instead, he stared down at you for a moment longer before saying in a cold, flat tone “If it were up to me, we would’ve already sent you back to wherever you came from” you heart ceased beating, stilling in fear for a few seconds “But, for some reason, His Majesty wants you here. So you’ll go back to your quarters and I’ll pretend I didn’t witness this pathetic attempt of escaping.

You nodded, standing up and bowing your head in taught submission.

He spared you one more hateful glance before turning away and walking down the hall. “Stay in your room” he called without looking back “and stay out of my way.”

---

Dinner was a tense affair. Despite his many meetings and obligations, Namjoon  usually held the right to dine amongst his friends instead of attending to some boring lord or another and his meals were often light events filled with stories and laughter.

That evening however, a cloud of unsettled silence hung above the room while the three men poked around their plates, quietly daring the other to speak first.

At last, Namjoon spoke, eyes fixated on the cutlery and fine china “How is she?”

Hoseok clenched his fist under the table “Scared” he answered “Apparently, her father…” he closed his eyes, trying to fight the image of you that seemed to be stuck to the back of his eyelids “Her father was trying to sell her. So she ran.”

Although not unheard of, the practice of selling omegas was very much still a taboo topic, considered a despicable thing by most. And even so, that particular market, which Namjoon had fought against many times in his ruling, mostly consisted of kidnapped omegas. The idea that her own father could be behind such a disgusting act had even Jin shifting in his seat, feeling uncomfortable and even the tiniest bit guilty.

For a moment, no one said a thing. The air sizzled with concealed aggression. “Do we know who her father is?” Namjoon asked, craving the sight of this unknown man behind the bars of his dungeons. 

Hoseok winced “I didn’t ask” he admitted shamefully “When she told me, I lost control of my alpha and had to leave.” he looked down at his white knuckled fists, confused and upset “This never used to happen and now I’m…”

“I understand” the king intervened, the same conflicted expression on his face “I feel the same. I don’t know, something about her…”

“You are both getting too attached to this girl” Jin interrupted harshly, eyes at last filled with something other than vague disinterest - Jin was concerned “And you shouldn’t.”

“You’re not suggesting we send her back, are you?”

“Of course not” he snapped. “She can stay until you two figure out what to do. I’m just reminding you that that girl’s mate is out there somewhere and bound to show up at some point, so it would do well for the both of you to keep that in  mind before letting your out of control alphas cloud your judgement. That omega is not yours. Trust me on this.”

---

Hoseok did not come back to visit you again, nor did the king, although you expected that. In fact, none of them showed up in the next couple of days, not even when you were moved from the hospital wing to a guest room. 

The room was bright with large stained glass windows that opened to the back gardens of the castle. It also came with a lady in waiting - a tall beta girl named Sophie, You did not pose much of a hassle for her as you didn’t eat much, still focused on maintaining a strict diet to delay your own coming of age, nor did you leave the room.

Still, Sophie did make for great company. You didn’t have any sisters and the maids back home were too scared to talk to you and incur your father’s wrath, so the young woman’s presence and spirited curiosity were a breath of fresh air.

She stayed in your room for most of the day, fussing over pillows or your hair, filling your minutes with gossip from the maid’s quarters and questions about your life as an omega. Although most often than not the questions were invasive and a little crass, the carefree feeling of it all entertained you endlessly.

“So,” she started one morning while combing your hair “Are there any differences to your body as an omega?” 

Confused, you asked “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I’ve never met an omega” she kept going with braiding your hair carefully, ignoring your rising blush “Is there anything different in your lady parts? Like, when you’re with an alpha…”

“I’ve never!” you interrupted before she could embarrass you any further “I’ve never been with an alpha or anyone really!”

There was an awkward cough from behind you. Both you and Sophie turned in a fright to find the king himself shuffling his feet uncomfortably by your door. 

“I’m sooo fired” Sophie muttered quietly.

“Excuse me ladies” he said in a stifled manner “Could I have a moment of Y/N’s time?” 

Sophie put down the brush, face pale as she left the room with a squeaky “sorry!”.

You wished at that moment that you could leave too, but Namjoon closed the door behind her and leaned against it, keeping his distance while you bowed your head to try and hide your rising shame.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your, uhm, conversation” he said, the tips of his ears burning to an unusual red. 

“It’s alright, Your Majesty, please don’t apologize.”

He coughed again, unable to shake his unease. “How have you been faring?”

You blinked, surprised by his question “Me?” you stupidly asked “I’ve been fine.”

Truly, you had not been fine. You had been driving yourself insane, locked behind the walls of your bedroom, caged again but in a different, fancier prison, taunted by the knowledge that your mates, who you had dreamt about every night back in your old home, were only a few feet away and still untouchable. You allowed yourself to cry in the dead of night, haunted by the fact that your child-like fantasies of a true love were now buried under the weight of the alphas you could never have and the one that hated you for no apparent reason.

You were not fine. You were falling apart. But when weren’t you? 

The king must’ve sensed your lie, clear from your twitching eyelids and fragile frame, but chose not to comment on it. Instead he approached you slowly, sitting on a velvet couch a couple feet away from you, his scent filling your senses and leaving you light headed as the omega inside you whined and cried for you to climb up on his lap and burrow your face in his neck.

Instead of doing all of that, you tried your best to breathe through your mouth as he said “I apologize for not coming to you earlier.”

“No need to apologize, Your Majesty. You must be very busy. Ademas can’t be a very easy place to rule.” 

He snorted “I’d say. Have you been to the capital?” 

“Oh, no, I wasn’t allowed outside my father's estate. But I’ve seen the illustrations on the books and it looks like quite the bustling place! I’ve always dreamed of…” you stopped yourself, hiding your enthusiasm and bowing again. The king would have no interest in listening to your musings about the city you only ever hoped to meet “No, I’ve never seen Adamas.”

“A pity” he said, eyes looking for yours “It’s a very lovely place with endless options of entertainment for a young girl such as yourself. How old are you again, Y/N?”

“22, Your Majesty. Almost 23.” 

“And your… Scent?”

You paled at the question “Oh, I-I suppose it just… Never happened for me. Something must be wrong with my omega.”

“Perhaps we could send a doctor-”

“No! I mean -” you coughed, calming yourself as the king stared inquisitively at your outburst “That’s not necessary, but thank you”.

If he thought your denial was strange, he did not mention it. Instead, he continued “Hoseok told me about your situation” you froze, scared of the next few words that would dictate your future “and I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second. “Your Majesty?”

“No Omegas should be viewed as merchandise, mistreated and denied simple pleasures such as reading.” he said, a fiery certainty behind his eyes that left you weak in the knees “I know you must’ve been taught otherwise, but know that under my ruling omegas are to be respected and protected like any others.” 

Respected. Protected. 

You had never thought you’d hear those words being applied to you. And to hear it from your mate, your heartbreakingly beautiful mate that was worlds beyond your reach, sent a wave of emotion through your body, bringing tears to your eyes at his kindness. 

“Oh, no, please don’t cry, Miss Y/N” Namjoon said in a panicked voice “I’m not the best at dealing with crying ladies. Much less omegas.” 

You laughed shakily at his remark, tears still streaming down your face “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, it’s okay. One cannot be king for long without seeing some amount of tears but I do try to not make a habit of making girls cry.”

“You must be a great king then.” 

Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but for a moment you could’ve sworn you saw a splash of red on the king’s face. 

“Anyway” he coughed, “you are welcome to stay in the castle while we figure out the best course of action and as soon as you feel ready I urge you to give your testimony against your father’s actions to Hoseok so he could be handled appropriately.”

The thought of bringing your father to justice was a foreign concept to you, as up until a few days ago you didn’t quite understand that his views on omegas were terrible, much less illegal. Up until your conversations with Sophie, you believed all omegas had gone through what you had - the sneering, the threats and all the mistreatment. 

“I understand, Your Majesty. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. But would you allow me one selfish request?”

“Yes?”

“Please, do not fire poor Sophie” you asked, earning yourself a laugh from the king. “She has made for such great company in this room. Please do not punish her for her curiosity.”

Namjoon stood up, still smiling at your request “Very well. No punishment shall be handed. I’m sure you must get lonely here. I’ll ask Sophie to give you a tour of the castle tomorrow so you can get acquainted with the grounds. But for now, I must go.”

“Thank you again, Your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Namjoon.”

You smiled shyly and nodded “Thank you, Namjoon.”

---

Thank you, Namjoon.

Thank you, Namjoon.

Namjoon.

Namjoon.

Nam… Joon…

Would he ever be able to get the sound of his name coming from your lips out his mind? Namjoon groaned, once again unable to find rest all because of you. He had believed that if he kept his distance for a couple of days, maybe he would be free from all the torment your first appearance had caused him and be able to face you and remain level headed.

Needless to say, he had been proven wrong. 

And your little confession surely had not helped. I’ve never been with an alpha or anyone really! Goddesses, why must you say something like that? Why did his alpha purr at the thought of no one ever touching you, for once pleased and satisfied? 

If Jin knew of his thoughts, his friend would give him an earful. Hel, even his own mother would be sure to smack him in the back of his head if she ever caught wind of his less than appropriate thoughts. 

Alas, he could not stop nor understand them and for his own peace of mind he decided to just chalk them up as basic Alpha/Omega attraction. It’s just biology, he told himself whilst lying on his bed that evening. It’s just a passing interest that would blow away in a few days. Your alpha was probably out there looking for you and sooner or later you’d leave his life and estate.

That did not help sooth his purring alpha. Mine, the stupid beast roared inside his chest, I won’t let anyone take my omega away.

Not your omega, he reminded himself, even though the words left a bitter taste behind them. 

He would just have to distance himself again. Just until the memory of his name leaving your lips stopped sending shivers down his spine like a siren’s song. A few days without contact would do him good. He should just leave you alone, after all.

Still, the next morning when you woke up there was a pile of illustrated books on Adamas waiting for you outside the door.

°•. ✿ .•°

✿ The next chapter called "Breathless" is already available on my ko-fi to Calcifer Crew, my membership tier, and will be posted here soon! Click here if you want early access to all my updates :)

✿ My taglists are open! Click here to be added <3

[supernoonanyc]

Petition to have this man wear a tank top everyday

😳😳😳

[supernoonanyc]

Both? Both...BOTH!

Nerd & Nerdier | Chapter 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, You might 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: Not betaread! Really horrendous freestyle rapping! Yoongi and Wonwoo are actually quite fond of each other despite being competitive…

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.5k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 22, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Okayyy so I did not expect to find my people, but I am glad I did and we are here because I am really loving writing this story on a deeply delulu level. Publishing this on my way to a concert so sorry if formatting seems off for whatever reason.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Roommate Rule #2: If You Must Compete for Your Roommate’s Attention, Do It In Stealth Mode. - Jeon Wonwoo

It started with a bookstore.

Technically, it started with Wonwoo casually suggesting the bookstore like it was nothing. The very moment Yoongi left to use the bathroom.

“Noona, you said you wanted something new to read,” he said. “There’s this small shop in Sinsadong. I can take you.”

You, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, had only managed a distracted nod as you shoveled cereal into your mouth. Sure, you thought. A casual bookstore trip. No big deal.

You should have known better.

The bookstore was exactly what you’d expect from a hidden gem: narrow aisles, overstuffed shelves, and the faint smell of old paper. The kind of place that practically whispered stay awhile as you wandered through.

And Wonwoo? Wonwoo fit into the space with unsettling ease.

He moved through the aisles like he’d memorized the layout ahead of time, occasionally pausing to pull out a book and glance at the synopsis before either handing it to you or quietly sliding it back into place.

It was… kind of impressive. In a nerdy, what-the-hell way.

“You’d like this one,” he said at one point, handing you a novel. “It’s got that slow-burn tension you like.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Since when do you know what kind of tension I like?”

He shrugged like it’s nothing, but his ears are pink. “You mentioned it once. When we watched that terrible drama with the fake arranged marriage plotline.”

That… was over two months ago.

You took the book from his hands without a word, hoping he didn’t notice the heat rising in your cheeks.

When you reached the register, you instinctively reached for your wallet. Wonwoo beat you to it, smoothly sliding his card across the terminal without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Hey!” you protested, as you watched the machine read: payment approved. “I can pay—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, handing you the bag.

“Wonwoo.”

“Noona.”

“I could have—”

“You can just owe me,” he cut in smoothly.

Your eyes narrowed. “Owe you what?”

He smiled, slow and almost smug. “I’ll let you know.”

You left the shop with a new book under your arm and a weird feeling in your chest that had nothing to do with plot twists or romance tropes.

You were halfway home when it hit you like a brick to the face.

Wait.

Was that a date?

Your steps faltered, and you turned to Wonwoo, who strolled beside you like he hadn’t just shifted the axis of your entire existence.

“Did you just take me on a date?” you asked, mildy accusingly.

Wonwoo’s head tilted slightly, mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “No…?”

“Are you sure?”

“Did I call it a date?”

“Well… no.”

“Then it wasn’t.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced at you, eyes glinting. “Unless you want it to be.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You stared, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Wonwoo gave you one last, knowing look before turning into the building.

You stood there for a full ten seconds, processing, before stomping after him.

Yoongi was already in the kitchen when you walked in your apartment, the book from the bookstore still tucked under your arm. He clocked it immediately. His eyes flicked to the bag, then to you, then to Wonwoo then back again. His jaw shifted.

“I had fun, noona…” Wonwoo turned to you, then nodded to Yoongi. “Hyung.” Before he skipped happily to his room.

“Bookstore trip?” Yoongi asked, voice casual.

“Yeah,” you replied, setting the bag down on the counter. “Wonwoo invited me.”

Yoongi hummed. He didn’t look at you as he reached into the fridge. “You said you wanted to try that new ramen place, right?”

“Uh… yeah?”

He straightened, shutting the fridge with a soft thud. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a question.

The next day, you found yourself sitting across from Yoongi in a nice Japanese restaurant, trying to figure out what the hell you’d just walked into—and why is Yoongi wearing cologne?!

Yoongi, of course, looked completely unfazed. He flipped through the menu with one hand while lazily drumming his fingers on the table with the other. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing his forearms, and your eyes trailed the veins towards his ringed fingers. Oof. This is bad.

After ordering, he was quiet as usual but he keeps giving you these charged gazes. When the food was served, you called him out. “You’re being weird.”

“You always say that,” he replied.

“Because it’s always true.”

He smirked slightly. “Eat your ramen.”

You were halfway through your bowl when Yoongi casually pushed a piece of gyoza towards you with this chopsticks.

“What?” you asked.

“It's good.”

You leaned forward to take a bite. The filling was rich and the skin soft but had a crispy underside, and you hummed in approval.

“Good, right?” Yoongi asked.

“Mmhmm.”

When you glanced up, he was already watching you, his eyes dark and steady. Your eyes dropped to his lips, glazed slightly, plump as ever.

Your stomach flipped for reasons that had nothing to do with the food.

And then—

“Yo.”

Your soul left your body. Because standing at the entrance of the restaurant, glasses fogged slightly from the cold, was none other than Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo bowed to the receptionist quickly as he walked closer. “Wow. What a coincidence.”

Yoongi’s face darkened. “You followed us, didn’t you.”

Wonwoo slid into the chair beside you, completely unfazed. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

He reached for your water glass. Yoongi’s eye twitched.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

This was getting out of control.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you were exhausted from the nonstop one-upmanship.

So you made the mistake of suggesting a low-stakes game of Uno. Something chill, you thought. Something easy.

You were an idiot.

What followed was an hour-long exercise in passive-aggressive warfare.

“Draw four,” Yoongi said, slamming the card onto the table.

Wonwoo barely blinked. “Reverse.”

“Draw four,” Yoongi repeated, his eyes glinting.

“Reverse.”

“Draw four, motherfucker.”

“Reverse, asshole.”

Meanwhile, you sat there with seventeen cards fanned out in your hands, questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

“Guys,” you tried, voice strained. “It’s just Uno.”

“It’s never just Uno,” Yoongi muttered, playing another +4 card.

“This is war,” Wonwoo agreed, eyes narrowing.

You groaned and threw your cards onto the table. “I can’t with you two.”

And then, as if the universe decided to add insult to injury, the Bluetooth speaker shuffled to Epik High’s “Born Hater”.

The opening beats filled the air.

You closed your eyes. “God, no.”

“What?” Yoongi asked, glancing toward the speaker.

“Nothing.” You rubbed your temples. “Just… you two should have a rap battle or something to settle this.”

You laughed. It was a joke.

But when you opened your eyes, they were both staring at you.

Wonwoo adjusted his glasses. “A rap battle?”

Yoongi’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk. “You scared?”

Oh no.

The next minute, your living room has become the site of the most unnecessarily dramatic rap battle in history.

Yoongi stood on one side, cracking his neck like he was preparing to defend his underground rapper title. Wonwoo stood on the other, stretching his wrists like he was prepping for an MMA fight.

You sat on the couch, blanket clutched to your chest, already regretting your life.

“Alright,” Yoongi said, voice low. “You started it. You go first.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, eyes locked on Yoongi.

“Yoongi-hyung, writer, producer, always at the cusp of fame,

The only thing ‘bout your lyrics is they all sound the same,

Stop with the sad boy shit, hyung, betta switch up the game.”

You pressed a palm against your gaping mouth.

Yoongi’s nostrils flared. He exhaled slowly. Then:

“You said game? Wonwoo, you think you got game?

Nah bro, you is kinda lame.

Missin’ shots like a broken-ass joystick,

I’m player one, bitch, you’re just my fuckin’ sidekick.”

The tension spiked.

Wonwoo adjusted his glasses. 

“Oh, that’s real cute. But lemme put you on mute.

Thought that shit's gonna bring me down.

Hey hyung, has she seen your fanfic account?”

“I—THAT WAS PRIVATE!” Yoongi roared.

You collapsed into laughter, wheezing as they devolved into personal attacks:

“You record voice memos like a psycho—“

“You write on your books like a child—“

“You alphabetize the spice rack—”

“You think chopsticks go in the dishwasher—”

“Alright, that’s enough!” you gasped, leaping to your feet and planting a hand on each of their (surprisingly toned) chests. “Jesus Christ.”

They froze, breathing hard.

“So?” Yoongi asked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Who won?”

You stared at them. Then shook your head. “You both lost.”

You walked toward the kitchen, grabbing your phone. “I’m ordering pizza.”

Behind you, there was a pause.

Then:

“…Fair,” Wonwoo muttered.

“Yeah, okay,” Yoongi agreed.

But as you scrolled through Coupang, you felt it:

Their eyes, both locked on you.

And if you didn’t know better, you’d swear they were both thinking the same thing.

This isn’t over.

Chapter 3 >

A/N: sooo? Team Yoongi? Team Wonwoo? Team K- for writing that stupid rap battle?! Hahaha

Tell me what you think! Thank you for reading ✨💜

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[supernoonanyc]

Reminder that internationally, this man will be 33 this year 🥰

♡

[supernoonanyc]

Ahhhh how cute is this!!!!! I don't even "do" Valentine's Day but this just made me mentally kick my feet and swoon!

Honey & Citrus | an myg drabble

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Meet-cute coffee shop!au, to be confirmed if Yoongi is an idol or not

✎ ˎˊ˗  Summary: You haaate your job, but at least there’s this sexy eye-candy at your favorite cafe to distract you from your miserable 9 to forever grind. Your simple, casual nods with him, turn into a silent caffeine war when, after his small act of kindness, you buy him his coffee—and he refuses to let the favor go unanswered. Suddenly, you’re locked in a daily battle of who pays first, and just when you think you’ve reached a stalemate, fate (and a very nosy barista) throws in a twist you never saw coming.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: None ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.6k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 13, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Welcome to another unplanned story. Just a little something I whipped up for the boss babes and corporate girlies working in their city's business districts, desperate to find a semblance of happiness in their robotic working days–did I mention this was really self-indulgent? I am not sure if this stays as a one-shot or a series of drabbles? Idk. Anyways, enjoy!~

More Yoongi stories this way > Masterlist

There’s a rhythm to your mornings. The kind that makes life feel like a well-oiled machine—predictable, efficient, sharp. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway, as you sidestep a finance bro barking into his phone to push open the door to Honey & Citrus cafe.

Not Coffee Bean. Never Starbucks. Not even Compose—even though Kim Taehyung’s face could certainly make you wanna come (in).

But you don’t need the soulless corporate grind in your caffeine routine when you already live it from 9 to god-knows-when. Honey & Citrus has the good beans, the real baristas who actually know your order and don’t try to be fake-friendly with you, and the quiet that lets you inhale a moment of peace before stepping into the battlefield of bullshit board meetings.

And then there’s him.

“Iced Americano for Yoongi…” 

He’s always there at the same time as you. Every. Single. Day.

A handsome stranger with sharp, feline eyes and an ever-present air of quiet confidence. The very first time you see him, he was wearing a suit. A medium gray set with an interesting burgundy tie. He held a small suitcase, fit for a macbook air, maybe a thin stack of paperwork. Definitely some VC vulture or hedge fund guy, gifted with the face of a luxury brand model.

But then one day he was wearing… a hoodie and black slacks with headphones slung around his neck, the expensive kind audiophiles swear by. 

Hmm. With this look, your previous assumptions did not add up. Now, you couldn’t quite place his profession. 

Since then, it becomes some sort of game you play in your mind. To discover what this dude’s job is.

One day, he holds a notebook filled with messy, poetic scrawls—you catch a glimpse as he flips the pages, and your mind spins wild theories. Another morning, he reads a printout of a Shareholder Meeting report as he awaits his coffee. Then the next day, you spot a vinyl tucked under his arm, and something about that sends your curiosity spiraling further.

Music Executive? Writer? Producer? Who is this mysterious artsy type in a sea of wolves? But maybe is a wolf. Lawyer, City Prosecutor, some Start-Up Founder… who likes to dabble in poetry?

You’re fascinated. Man has aura. And on top of that, he sure looks like he can fuck.

Unlucky for you, your interactions so far are limited to polite nods, the occasional small smile exchanged as you both wait for your respective coffees. Maybe the universe has a sense of humor, slotting you into the same ten-minute window every day with a stranger who intrigues you far more than your own coworkers do. But of course, he is not interested in you.

You wake up with a migraine, and instantly, you know—it’s a morning from hell.

Your alarm didn’t go off. Your inbox is already on fire. Your boss sends a cryptic “let’s talk” email before you’ve even left your apartment, which is never a good sign. You forgot about the afternoon presentation you’re supposed to give, and your deck isn’t even half-finished.

The thought of quitting—of walking into that glass tower and tossing your resignation onto your boss’s desk like a dramatic K-drama lead—has never been more tempting.

This morning has no rhythm. More out of tune than drunk-you in a Coin Karaoke.

By the time you drag yourself into Honey & Citrus, it’s already a god-forsaken Friday. You’re barely holding it together, probably leaving a trail of smoke in your wake. Your hair is frizzy, your face frazzled—it’s just a fucked-up day all around. And it’s barely 8 a.m.

You’re so deep in your own misery that you don’t even clock the fact that your favorite stranger has been looking at you since you walked in.

Not until—

“Fighting~”

You blink.

He’s looking right at you, his dark eyes warm with quiet amusement as he mouths the word again, this time with double closed fists, like a cartoon character summoning energy. And then, just for good measure, he smiles.

A real one.

The disbelief must be all over your face because suddenly, you’re giggling—actually giggling, something you didn’t think you were capable of before noon.

Yoongi—the mysterious, unreadable stranger you’ve been quietly fascinated with for weeks—just gave you the world’s softest pep talk.

And then, as if realizing what he’s done, he quickly looks away, pulling a face mask over his mouth, his pink-tinged cheeks disappearing behind black fabric.

A second later, he’s heading for the door, stepping out into the cold like he didn’t just single-handedly save your morning.

Your eyes follow him until he disappears around the corner, but the warmth he left behind lingers in your chest.

Maybe because you needed to hear it. Maybe because no one’s said it to you in a long time. Maybe because he said it.

You take a deep breath, square your shoulders. And somehow—somehow—you make it through the day.

You survive. Without handing over your resignation letter.

Small wins.

The next Monday, you get to Honey & Citrus first. You don’t even think about it—you just do it. You buy his coffee.

And then you sprint out before he can react, because suddenly, the idea of watching his expression feels too embarrassing to bear. You tell yourself it’s just a small gesture. A thank-you for a kindness he probably doesn’t even think much of.

The next day, though, he beats you to it.

You walk in, and the barista just hands you your usual order with a knowing smile. “It’s covered.”

You blink, turn, and find him already at his usual spot, sipping his drink like he didn’t just declare war.

Because it is so obvious he did this just to one-up you.

You narrow your eyes. He lifts his cup in a silent toast, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

And so it begins.

For a week, you play the game.

One morning, you bribe the barista to let you pay first. The next, he somehow convinces them to refuse your card. 

You show up earlier to get ahead, but the next day he shows up even earlier.

Your schedule is screwed. You’re suddenly up way earlier than you like, but you like it.

It’s ridiculous. It’s fun. It’s completely unlike anything else in your day.

Until, finally, one morning, you both arrive at the exact same time.

You grab the door handle—he does, too. His palm brushes against your knuckles. Both of you freeze, eyes locking, realizing at the same time:

Shit. No winner today.

You swear you see his lips twitch, like he’s holding back a real smile. And then—before you can overthink it—you finally, actually, talk to him.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “we could just both buy our own coffee like normal people.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” His voice is deep, lazy, laced with amusement.

“Are you always this competitive?”

“Are you?”

You huff, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your neck. He leans in slightly, and it’s the first time you’ve really, truly studied him up close—the sharp cut of his jaw, the quiet intensity behind his eyes, the scent of something subtly musky clinging to his coat.

“Since we’re doing introductions before the next round,” he says, “I’m Yoongi.”

Of course, you already know it. You give yours in return, and he nods like it makes sense. Like he already knew it as well. Which makes sense.

As you walk in, the barista snickers, clearly entertained by whatever weird silent war you and Yoongi have been waging for the past week. You’re about to step back, let him go first when the barista clears her throat.

“Actually,” she says, way too pleased with herself. “It’s on the house today.”

Both you and Yoongi blink in unison.

“What?” you ask.

“Why?” Yoongi adds, looking just as skeptical.

The barista leans on the counter, grinning like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Valentine’s Day promo.”

Your stomach drops. Your brain stalls. You look around and Honey & Citrus has little cherubs hanging from the ceiling.

“First couple to walk in together gets free drinks,” she further explains.

You feel the heat crawl up your neck, your face burning so hot it could brew the damn espresso yourself. Beside you, Yoongi makes a tiny sound—like an exhale caught in his throat—and when you turn your head ever so slightly, you see it.

His ears are bright red.

The barista just smirks. You are going to die here.

You should correct her, actually. You should explain. But words? Language? Coherent thought? We don’t know her.

But that’s when Yoongi does something absolutely insane.

He clears his throat, thanks the barista, and then—looking at one of the booths of the cafe, still not looking at you—he says, casually, like this isn’t the most absurd moment of your life,

“How about we have that first date right now?”

Your head snaps toward him, and he finally meets your gaze, and oh, he’s serious. 

Your heart stumbles over itself, but you manage a tiny, shy smile, and a quip, “…you mean this coffee? Here?” Because that’s all your pea brain can compute.

His lips twitch. “Mm. Unless you wanna go somewhere else?”

Huh.

You hate that he’s smooth about this. You hate that you kind of really, really like it. 

You swallow hard, shifting on your feet. “This place is fine.”

His smile curves, small but victorious. “Good.”

The barista practically vibrates behind the counter as she hands over your drinks, joyful even though two drinks are getting docked from her pay that week. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

With Yoongi, it feels like it's definitely going to be...

:)

A/N: To you, my dearest reader. I hope your heart is filled with joy today and forever. You deserve it!

Want more for our coffee shop couple? Let me know if you’re interested in me turning this into series of drabbles?? Look at me adding more stuff into my WIP list. 

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human! xo

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[supernoonanyc]

Very boyfriend of him.

Hello sir. What do you want from me sir? What is it that I can do for you sir!?

[supernoonanyc]

He came back from service with a whole new level of confident energy!

hello gorgeous 🥰

[supernoonanyc]

He just gives me husband and daddy vibes, especially after the run with the little boy.

i'm bored so i'm starting a debate on the dash

i want you to vote and reblog with your reasoning please