#have some angsty kim/big

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Kimhan Theerapanyakul is, by far, the worst of the young heirs. This is a fact universally, quietly, agreed upon by all of the bodyguards. 

Tankhun is… odd. Eccentric. His moods are unpredictable and his punishments unorthodox. He’s vindictive but never truly cruel. Not the way Vegas is, some will whisper, trading horror stories about what they imagine may go on in the Minor family compound. Tankhun is also a safe assignment; he never leaves the tower, meaning whatever guards are on his rotation have a relatively cushy life, as long as they can put up with him. Most of them can’t, and ask to be reassigned within two weeks. You don’t become a bodyguard for the mafia because you want to be safe. 

Kinn, despite being the middle brother, is the true heir, the one being groomed to lead the family. He is serious but kind, firm but fair. It is an honor and a privilege to be placed on his detail. An honor that Big worked very long and very hard for, sacrificing his life and his body to earn the right to stand at Kinn’s side always. 

And then Tawan came into the picture. 

A conniving, jealous little creature, who had Kinn wrapped so tight around his finger, it’s a wonder he could even breathe. Big, loyal guard that he was, tried his best to protect Kinn from himself. He overstepped. He urged caution in this fledgling relationship. Of course, Kinn was young and in love, and Tawan could do no wrong, right up until he was caught selling information to a rival gang. 

Big was the one to reveal Tawan’s schemes. He wishes, deep down, that he had been the one to kill him, too. That he could have spared Kinn that pain. 

Big is dismissed from duty after it’s over. Reassigned. He has been with the family for years at this point, worked his way up as a personal guard to the heirs; he expects he will be reassigned to Tankhun. Instead, he receives orders to report to Khun Kim, who’s recently moved out of the tower and into an apartment across town. 

It’s best if Khun Kinn doesn’t see you right now, Chan had told him. That hurt worse than the dismissal. Big was only doing his job, looking out for his boss—his charge, his responsibility—and here he is, punished for it. Thrown away. Banished from Kinn’s presence entirely. It aches. But Big only nodded and bowed, and accepted his orders, because he is a good and loyal guard, and he will do as he is told. 

Despite Big’s years with the family, he has had little contact with the youngest son. The next six months show him exactly why his coworkers call him the worst assignment.

[cheolhub]

WORTH THE WAIT — KIM MINGYU ࿐

summary. mingyu forgets about the date you’ve had planned and he wants to show you he’s sorry in a rather unconventional way.

wc. 1.8k

warning. unprotected sex, couch sex, dumbification, lots of apologizing, big d!ck!gyu (ofc), kinda angsty but it’s all resolved, creampie — MINORS DNI 18+

note. this idea was sent by my beloved 🌵 anon… like…. literal months ago lol— it was a drabble at first, then it got a bit too long, so enjoy it xx [not proofread, kinda shitty]

contrary to belief, kim mingyu does have a few faults. he can be a bit clumsy and he’ll accidentally eat your leftovers every time he’s over, but the biggest fault of them all is… he can be a bit forgetful.

so when mingyu accidentally double books hanging out with wonwoo on the same night as your date, you find yourself dolled up and waiting around your apartment for him, unaware of his whereabouts. you hadn’t seen him much due to your conflicting schedules and you’d been looking forward to the date all week long.

you wait and wait— 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour. you text him a few times, but you don’t get a response and you figure he’s at work, asleep, or doing something else. whatever the case may be, he definitely forgot.

mingyu doesn’t realize this until he’s checking his phone for the first time of the hectic game night and he sees a string of text messages from you.

from you 6:33 

i can’t wait to see u!! :,)

from you 7:07

hi babyyy, text me when you’re here and i’ll come down

from you 7:39

gyu are you still coming?

if you wanna reschedule, we can… just text me back and let me know?

from you 8:02

i checked ur location to make sure u weren’t dead and i saw you were at woo’s

i’m just gonna assume ur with him, which is fine :) pls just let me know next time.

shit.

shit shit shit.

regardless of what you say, it’s not fine— he can practically hear your dejected voice through the text and the smiley face doesn’t do shit to mask it. 

he’s quick to tell wonwoo and make his way to your place, insides churning at the thought of you feeling stood up. he would never, in a million years, ever want to hurt you in any way.

he doesn’t text he’s here, he doesn’t knock, he just takes the spare key hidden under your placemat and lets himself in. 

you’re curled up on the couch in your date outfit watching some random show before you jolt at the sound of your door being unlocked. when mingyu walks in, panic on his face, you deflate a bit, internally thanking the universe that it was just him and not some intruder.

“baby…” 

you try to put a smile on as if he isn’t the last person you wanted to see at the moment, but mingyu sees through it. 

“hi, gyu.” you say curtly. “hope you had fun at wonwoo’s tonight.”

the subtle shade proves you’re upset, even if you had said it unconsciously. his lips turn down in a frown and he walks around the couch so he’s posted right in front of you.

“Y/N, you have to believe me— i’m so sorry. i got the days—“

you cut him off with a sigh, “gyu, seriously. it’s fine. it’s not that big of a deal. we can just do something the next time you’re free.” 

he doesn’t even know when next time will be given his rather strenuous schedule and you know that, yet those words come out of your mouth anyway. he huffs softly and takes a seat next to you, intertwining your hands into his.

“baby, please,” he whispers. “you know i would never stand you up on purpose. i lost my mind and got the days mixed up– please let me make it up to you.”

you shrug, avoiding eye contact. you want to stay mad, but the way he’s looking at you… the way he’s holding your hands… it’s making it impossible not to melt into a helpless puddle. “how?” you ask meekly.

he doesn’t say anything, letting go of your hands in favor of cupping your cheek and pulling you in. his soft lips meet yours and you practically forget why you’re angry to begin with. his tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth and your soft moan eases his nerves a bit. 

he pulls back, leaving you warm and fuzzy and a bit needy for more of him. he finally takes you in when his eyes open. you’re still in a pretty little outfit– presumably, one you’d picked out for your date– and it makes him groan a little bit. 

“you look so pretty, baby. you wore this all for me?”

you nod your head slowly. “i was really excited to show you…”

he frowns, “i know, i’m sorry… i’m so, so sorry,” he mumbles and you don’t say anymore, simply nodding your head at his apology. his lips are on yours again, rougher this time. it’s like he’s trying to prove just how sorry he is with every passing second. 

and when he breaks the kiss again, you whine. “gyu…”

“wanna take this off. can i?” he asks, referring to your dress and you just nod again. 

his hands find the hem, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you in your even prettier set. the black lace adorns your body and mingyu feels his pants tighten at the mere sight. 

he’s breathless when the pet name falls from his lips, “baby…”

he’s so glad you didn’t change, but he feels like such an idiot for fucking up this bad. he wishes he checked his phone earlier, he wishes he remembered your date was tonight, he wishes he could’ve taken you out in your gorgeous dress and brought you back home to see the even more gorgeous set underneath. 

but he’ll make up for it. he’ll spend all the time in the world doing so if he needs to.

he stands to his feet pulling his shorts off and revealing his aching cock. you bite your lip and slide down so your back and head are comfortably on the cushion of your couch, eyes trained on his huge length.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, rolling them down your legs and leaving your now-wet cunt bare. 

“so beautiful… so fuckin’ beautiful angel, can… can i keep going?”

you whimper and wordlessly nod again, brain unable to give him a verbal response. he grunts, joining you back on the couch by getting in between your legs. 

“tell me when…” he whispers, aligning himself with your hole before pressing his fat cock into you. “fuck, so tight…”

the burning stretch of your walls opening to take him makes your head spin a bit. no matter how many times he fucks you, it always hurts.

at first, at least, because now he’s balls deep in your pulsing cunt and all you can feel is blinding pleasure. the burn and stretch have subsided and your brain has turned to complete and utter mush. 

you clench around him tightly and he has to ask, “are you good, baby?”

you dumbly nod– it’s all you can do– but mingyu can’t help but feel more anxiety fill his body. you’ve barely said any words to him and it makes him worry that you won’t forgive him. 

you moan when his cock leaves just for it to suddenly fill you back up with a single, sharp thrust. this is how it starts before he’s moving faster and faster. 

words still fail to leave your mouth, just cute gasps and clipped moans, but mingyu can’t seem to stop breathy apologies from leaving his own. “‘m sorry… you know that right, angel? ‘m so sorry.”

and your eyes just roll back, ignoring his apologies as you’re all consumed by his massive cock fucking in and out of you. mindless babbles escape your lips and it’s not till then does mingyu realize how brainless you’ve become. 

it makes his heart clench. you’ve never gotten like this for him before and he knows it’s a result of being left to your own devices for far too long. he knows he hasn’t been there for you, knows you haven’t been able to cum properly in god knows how long and it hurts him. it hurts him so fucking bad.

and, to be transparent, he’s missed you more than you know.

his hand finds your abdomen, pressing down so he can feel himself thrusting into you. in doing so, his thumb reaches your clit and this seems to bring some life to you. “gyu!” you cry. “feels s’good!”

he lets out an elated chuckle at the sound of your voice, “yeah? it feels good, angel?”

and it’s almost like you read his mind with your next words. “s-so good, m-missed you.” 

a guttural groan erupts in his throat and he starts to fuck you harder– to fuck you deeper– and the thumb on your clit moves quicker, effectively stimulating the swollen bud. “me too– fuck, missed you so much. missed fucking this pretty pussy so much, baby, you don’t even know.”

your face pinches together in pleasure and you clamp his dick harder at the affirmation. “i-i’m–” you let out a gaspy whine and mingyu knows exactly what it means.

“gonna cum?” he finishes your broken sentence. 

you nod eagerly, eyebrows knit together as you feel the formed knot in your tummy get tighter and tighter. “gyu–”

he shushes, thrusts growing erratic. his voice is hot and breathy and you can tell, just by the sound of it, he’s just as close as you are. “just cum for me, baby– need you to let go ‘n cum all over my cock. you can do it.” 

you cry, body going taut as you cream all over him, pussy trapping him between your pulsing, velvet walls. mindlessly, you babble out some words that he can barely make out, but the second he hears those three words– i love you, said in your cute, pitchy voice– his worries wash away. 

he’s overcome by love and the feeling of you gripping him for dear life and the only thing he can do is press his hips flush against yours and fill you up the way he knows you need. his cum paints your walls, fulfilling the craving you didn’t even know you had. 

“god,” he moans, panting out, cock still twitching between your spasming walls. “please forgive me, angel. i promise i’ll be better ‘n make more time for you”

part of your mind finds its way back to you after a few seconds and you can’t help but giggle at his words. “i forgave you after you kissed me, babe.”

he smiles, large hands caressing your body, “really?”

you hum, hazy eyes taking him in, “mmh, you’re really hard to be mad at, you know that, right?”

“good ‘cus i don’t like when you’re mad at me.”

“well, then don’t do stupid things.”

he whines, “baby, you know that’s impossible for me, stupidity is practically in my dna.”

you giggle at the joke. “i know… but… i won’t be so nice to you next time you decided to hang out with wonwoo instead of taking me out.”

“you can be as mean to me as you want, baby, but i swear, i’ll never stand you up ever again.”

“good.” you smile back at him. “now… maybe you can prove how sorry you are again? in my bed this time?”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[ugh-yoongi]

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

[malarign]

crybaby

(when they find you crying)

contains: bf!maknaeline x gn!reader | genre: angsty fluff | tw! crying obv, kissing, low self esteem, appearance insecurities, burn out, stress, lmk if i missed anything! | wc:

reblogs are highly appreciated!

author’s note: sorry it took so long, but i’ll try to post more often now! 😼 also big thank you to @odxrilove for beta reading!

for hyung line version go here!

Kim Sunoo | 김선우

Looking from your computer screen to the window you felt dizzy. All those hours you spent trying to write something that made sense weren’t as productive as you thought they would be. You just stared at your short story helpless, no sensible thoughts came to your mind, causing a few tears to form in your eyes.

Closing your laptop harshly, you hid your face in the palms of your hands and sobbed loudly. Your cries brought attention to Sunoo who’s been busy preparing some warm meal for both of you. He kind of knew something was wrong - you seemed exceptionally stressed and nervous the whole day so he waited patiently for some reaction from you. He ran up to your room, leaving the stove turned off.

He saw you shaking slightly with every sob, sitting quite uncomfortably in front of your now closed computer.

“Sweetheart?” He watched how your head shot up at the nickname. He tried to send you a comforting smile, but at the sight of him you teared up even more. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, gently stroking your hair.

You brought your form closer to him, trying to find comfort in his hug, but even that didn’t seem to help.

“I feel so bad,” you stuttered out. “I don’t feel it anymore, I don’t know how to write,” you cried bitterly.

“What do you mean? You love writing,” he tried to understand, especially since nothing pointed to your sudden burnout.

“I feel like I’m getting lost in between all those words, and I’m so scared, Sunoo. I know nothing apart from writing, it’s my whole life. But now I’m not able to rig up at least one good sentence or even a phrase.”

He felt how a stain of your tears on his T-shirt became bigger and bigger with your every word. He wished he knew how to help you, but none of you truly imagined a moment like this. Writing and storytelling has been your passion for the longest time, he loved every single one of them and always wondered how you were able to give utter to your stories so beautifully.

“Maybe, try to rest for a while,” he said after thinking for a while. “Don’t you think you’ve been pushing yourself a bit too much lately? Burnout doesn’t mean your passion is completely gone, but that you should prioritize yourself now.”

He felt how you nodded slowly. You pulled away from him to wipe your face. Cupping them he planted a sweet peck on your nose and forehead earning a small smile from you.

Yang Jungwon | 양정원

Looking in the mirror you almost didn’t recognize the person who stood in its reflection. They looked at you but at the same time it wasn’t you. Then why did everything tell you this is how you looked?

Without noticing it tears started cascading your cheeks in hot pathways. Your body was far from perfect and you knew it damn well. How could you do that to yourself? How could you neglect your body like this?

Trying to calm down before your boyfriend Jungwon would come back home from work you fanned your face with your palms in hope it would stop your tears from overflowing, but it was self-defeating. It only made you cry harder, disgusted at the thought of him having to bear with you.

“Y/n?” His voice brought your attention. You turned around to face him with tears-stained cheeks and his face grew completely pale. “Y/nie…” he cooed and stepped closer to you.

When he almost had you in his arms you took a few steps back. He looked at you confused, tilting his head in question.

“Do you love me, Jungwon?” you asked once your sobs calmed down a bit.

He froze at his spot, not knowing what hurt him more - you questioning his feelings or the state you were in.

“Of course I love you. So much, Y/n.” You looked down at his words. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no of course you didn’t.” You were quick to respond.

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked and extended his arm to you. You took his hand hesitantly and he pulled you to him, engulfing you in a comforting hug. “You know you can tell me everything.”

“Why?” you asked, facing him and watched how confusion painted his face again. “Why do you even love me? I’m not pretty, I’m not as talented as you are, I’m not an interesting person at all, so why are you interested in me?” Tears started spilling down your cheeks, but Jungwon was quick to wipe them with a gentle smile.

“My lovely, the thing is I disagree with everything you just said. To me you’re the most beautiful, talented and interesting person I know. I love you for everything and you have no idea how I wish you could see yourself from my point of view. Then you would love yourself just like I love you,” he said, playing with your hair in the meantime.

Looking at his eyes apart from his love for you you saw sincerity, both brought smile to your face again, forgetting about those thoughts for a while.

Nishimura Riki | 西村力

Riki stared at the screen of his phone, waiting for any response from you. It’s been an hour or two since your exam ended, yet there was no message from you saying how it went. The lack of it already told him everything, but the silence from your end made him sick to his stomach.

He finally reached your apartment and quietly opened the front door. Usually he made sure you knew he came over, being loud and cracking jokes just from the moment he stepped inside. Today was different though. He knew what awaits him and prepared for the high possibility of dealing with your sadness. He peeked inside, looking for you and trying to hear any sound of sobs coming from inside. And he indeed heard some sniffles coming from your room along with your playlist for crying.

He took off his shoes and quietly opened the door, minding that at a certain point they creak pretty loudly. The sight made his heart drop. You were laying on your bed with eyes completely red from crying, trying to stop more tears from flowing down.

“Y/nie,” Riki called your name bringing your attention. You tried to smile but finally seeing him made you feel more emotional and embarrassed at your total failure. He sat at the edge of your bed, covering your body with a blanket. Cupping your cheek, he rubbed it with his thumb wiping the lonely tear along the way. “Let me make you your favorite tea, how does that sound?” he asked and was about to stand up when you firmly grabbed his wrist.

“Can you stay here instead?” you asked in a low voice that threatened to crack at any moment.

“Of course,” he responded almost immediately.

He laid down next to you and let you nestle up to his warm body. You tried to calm down for a long time now, but nothing worked as good as his sweet voice murmuring soft confessions to your ear and the comforting scent of his perfume.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked but you shook your head against his chest. “Do you want to watch something then? We could watch Tangled for example,” he suggested.

You slowly raised your head showing him the biggest puppy eyes and pout you were able to put. He chuckled at your obsession with the animation and reached for your laptop to search for it.

“I love you, baby, and I’m so proud of you,” he said against your forehead in between soft pecks he planted on it.

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

taglist: (open) @nicholasluvbot, @en-chantedtomeetyou, @skzenhalove, @nfrgirl, @kpoprhia, @redm4ri, @jaelaxies, @yenqa, @heesitation

[bangchanbabygurl]

Our Dark Fantasies Series

Genres: Enemies to lovers/Sunshine x Grumpy/Business Rival x Baby Doll/Business Man x Intern/Angsty/Dark Romance/Smut/Heavy KINKY SMUT

Warnings: Explicit language/mention of domestic violence/mention of violence/alcohol abuse/mention of death/stalker/mentions of blood/drug abuse/smut scenes/dark mature themes/triggering scenes/traumatic experiences/ mentions of cheating & twisted love triangles/mention of self-harm/mentions of eating disorders/mentions of SA/mentions of kinks(BDSM, etc).

OUR DARK FANTASIES is a four-book series based on fictional events that only ever occur in my mind; this is my first ever book series officially shared with readers who love dark romance and SEVENTEEN. None of the way SEVENTEEN members are portrayed are real; they are portrayed based on my standards of men and ideal type. They are not meant to harm their image at all, it is purely fictional. Each character is connected, on the Wattpad version of the books the reader has a name due to wanting Wattpad readers to understand the plot.

Book 1: IN THE EYES OF LOVE

Member: Scoups (CHOI SEUNGCHEOL)

Wattpad Link

Spotify Playlist

Summary: —» Getting out of a messy relationship was a big step in life for any woman; it was a fresh breath of freedom and peace. Working at a hospital as a Phlebotomist Technician was the main focus now, pushing yourself to achieve bigger goals financially and independence. Till your best friend, Chan…Christopher Bang was a man who was known for playing matchmaker within the friend group. You only hoped and made him promise he wouldn't use his tactics on you, but it was like telling a toddler not to eat sweets. You didn't want him to play matchmaker, knowing your crush on your brother’s work buddy was known to some of your friends. You lost patience upon discovering he was three steps ahead of you, wanting to play Cupid for you and his friend, who knows nothing besides marketing and numbers. You despise Choi Seungcheol for following Chan’s strange tactics and interfering with your friendship/crush with Jeon Wonwoo.

Book 2: POMEGRANATES AND TULIPS

Member: Wonwoo (JEON WONWOO)

Wattpad Link

Spotify Playlist

Summary: —» Moving to Seoul was an escapism to get away from the past, wanting nothing more than a fresh start for the new year. Perhaps moving out was a good idea after all; new friends and college studies going steady. But somehow, I'm still trapped in this utterance of loneliness and pain, wanting nothing besides relief. The need to let go of everything and focus on the present rather than the past. What if my habits are spiraling out of control?

Book 3: OUR GOLDEN HOURS (Coming soon)

Member: Mingyu (KM MINGYU)

Spotify Playlist

Summary: Coming from old money may seem like a blessing, but don't let that fool you; there are dark secrets and lies that come with the blessing. Being the youngest doesn't help either; having to be aware of what you can and can’t do is exhausting. Rivals competing with the family business left and right, making everything spiral out of control. When Kim Mingyu, CEO of Kim’s Winery, becomes intrigued with his rival’s daughter, all the secrets and lies grow bigger, causing hell to be unleashed.

Book 4: BENEATH THE SHADOWS (Coming soon)

Member: The8 (XU MINGHAO)

Summary:

[hisunshiine]

—it’s the way that you can ride [3/7]

Part 3 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut 🗓️rating: M 🗓️wc: 4,622  🗓️warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, reader is older, adult worries, growing older, dating younger, time passing and not hitting milestones everyone else is, second-hand embarrassment, enter Kim Seokjin as an antagonist, Jungkook is so hot but his feelings are too big, angsty cliffhanger explicit sexual content: unprotected sex, light bondage, talks of a safeword, oral (m & f receiving), discussion of safeword, Jungkook is whiny, positions of 69, face riding, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, and jack-hammer, biting, multiple orgasms, creampie.  🗓️an: part 3!!! I apologize in advance for the ending cliffhanger, but hey, it's the angst that makes the story, amirite? 😭 🗓️summary: “It’s the way that you can ride, it’s the way that you can ride…” Picking an outfit for a wedding is hard enough without your friends with benefits turning you on. Especially when he makes a tie look so sexy, you can’t help but use it to get him right where you need him to be. Ties make great reigns, and Jungkook is willing for you to be the leading lady, in more ways than one.

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

The smell of antiseptic cleaner might be pungent to some, but for Jungkook, it’s non-existent. He sits in the hallway of the unit, typing away at one of the portable computers used to write up notes on patients. He picked up a shift to help balance the few days he plans to take off for Yoongi’s wedding, and once he gets off at 2 PM, he plans to head straight to your place so he can figure out an outfit formal enough to wear to the wedding. 

“Hey, Jungkook, you finished your DAR notes fast. In a hurry? It’s a little early for you to be rushing off to get your fix,” Dr. Kim Seokjin teases him as he approaches, scrolling through a tablet. 

“Actually, I am headed there, but not for what you’re thinking, nosy.” Jungkook puts the finishing touches on the last patient’s notes. He’s proud to say he carried out all of his assigned responses to patient action plans Dr. Kim assigned, and once his relief shows up, they’ll reap the benefits of all his hard work on day shift. “I have to finalize my formal outfit for Yoongi’s wedding.”

“You don’t know what you’re wearing yet? I’m surprised you aren’t wearing matching outfits with a certain someone…actually, I’m waiting on when it will be her walking down the aisle to you.”

“Seokjin, fuck off.” Jungkook knows he’s being sensitive, but right now, he’s confused and stressed about this wedding.

“Listen, you guys need to come clean to Yoongi, and then come clean to each other. It doesn’t take a doctor to diagnose you both as lovesick.”

“Seriously, hyung. It’s…complicated.”

Jungkook is about to elaborate, but just then, another voice chimes in.

“What’s complicated? Do you need help?” SoHee bounds into view from behind Seokjin, her hair braided and scrubs a soft pink to compliment the light blush dusting her cheekbones.

“Nothing.”

“Jungkook here’s thinking about bringing a plus one to Yoongi’s wedding. Hey, you’re going aren’t you?” Seokjin spills, making Jungkook huff out an angry exhale.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be there!” SoHee shares. “Yoongi invited quite a few of us from the school. To be honest, I think it was to get a larger haul of wedding gifts. I guess if I bring a plus one, we could split the gift…”

Seokjin laughs, but Jungkook just chuckles, feeling a little awkward.

“Well, maybe you can go to the wedding as Jungkook’s date?”

“Hyung.” Jungkook shoots a burning stare at Seokjin, but he ignores it, continuing to push the agenda.

“You’re not going with anyone yet, and SoHee here is a perfect option. Unless you have someone in mind?” Seokjin gives Jungkook a challenging stare.

“I mean, I would love to go with you, SoHee,” he answers, looking to her eager face, “I just have to make sure of some things. I’ll let you know, though, okay?”

“Of course, Jungkook! I look forward to hearing from you.”

A page sounds off over the speakers on the floor, and Jungkook glances at the clock, seeing he’s free to escape Seokjin and his terrible attempt at prescribing a cure for his diagnosis. He bids farewell to SoHee, but Seokjin follows him towards the staff lounge. Once they’re alone, Jungkook rounds on him.

“Are you insane? Now SoHee is going to expect me to take her on Sunday!”

“And? I thought you liked her?”

“I do, but it's complicated, like I said.”

“Just…think about it. SoHee is totally into you and willing to take it to the next step. I know you’re enjoying your sexcapades, but don’t you want more?” Jungkook just shrugs before pulling off his scrubs to change back into his street clothes. Seokjin sighs, shaking his head as he turns to leave. “I can prescribe something for your emotional constipation if that would be better?”

“Fuck off, Jin!”

Music plays loudly as you search your closet for something to wear. You bought a few formal pieces, making sure to keep the tags on until you make a final decision on a dress, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you know exactly why you have yet to make a decision. The sound of your door opening as Jungkook lets himself in with his spare key (because who wants to get up out of a comfy bed every night to let in a horny muscle bunny just to get back into said bed?) reminds you to stop being honest with yourself and continue to lie; it’s easier that way.

“Babe, I’m here and I have, like, seven different tie options. Help.” Jungkook appears in your bedroom doorway with a vinyl-zippered garment bag and another small bag clutched tightly in his hand.

“Seven options? They had that big of a variety when looking for eucalyptus and sage?” You reach for the smaller bag, guessing correctly that it held various ties in the shades mentioned. “Wow, color me surprised.”

“No, go color yourself eucalyptus or sage so we can make sure these tie colors are suitable.” Jungkook orders you back towards your closet while he begins to shrug off his hoodie. 

“What color suits are you debating between?” you call out as you step into the silky sage dress. It’s a little too frilly for your liking, making you feel younger than you like. 2004 is calling and they want their clothing back. 

“I have a navy blue, a black, and a grey suit,” he responds, and you tell him to try them on one at a time, sans tie, to see which one looks and feels the best first. Then you’ll help him narrow down the tie options from there. 

Stepping out of the closet, you hug your dress to your chest and ask Jungkook to zip you up. He does so, but his response to the dress is just so-so. You knew before you put it on that you probably were not going with this one, and his reaction only solidifies that. The navy blue tuxedo on Jungkook is nice, but upon close inspection, the jacket button sits a little too high, making his torso look shorter than it is. 

“Okay, let’s see the black one. This one is a little too tight now that your chest has grown.”

Shimmying out of the dress, you return to grab a floral print dress with shades of lichen green sprinkled all throughout. It’s body-con and knee-length, and missing that umph that you want in a formal dress, but you didn’t have many options in the colors Yoongi chose. 

“That’s better than the sage one.” Jungkook appraises you, but you can tell this one is not right for you either.

“I have a few more, but I think I know which one will work best.” Eyeing Jungkook’s black slacks, you stop him before he puts on the jacket. “ No. Definitely not. The pants are high-waters, did you get that thing when you were in high school?”

Jungkook’s ears turn red as he ignores your question, and you realize you hit the nail on the head. 

“I mean…maybe?” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. 

“Okay, last suit. Hopefully it fits, or we’re running to the mall.” Back in the closet, you reach for the hanger of the dress you really love. It’s a eucalyptus-colored floor-length gown, with an A-line cut, spaghetti straps, and a thigh slit. You try to zip up the dress as far as you can, but you don’t want to ruin the presentation by walking out just yet. “Jungkook, can you zip me in here, please?”

His slippered feet shuffle along the carpet as he steps into the dim closet, fingers warm where they skim your back as he closes the dress. You shoo him back out into your well-lit bedroom before gracefully walking out on tip-toes. Jungkook lets out a wolf-whistle. 

“Damn, you have to wear that. You look like a goddess.” You can tell he’s not lying or offering flattery for no reason. His eyes are a portal into his true thoughts and he’s shit at lying. A giddy feeling fills your chest, reminiscent of puppy love. “Okay, now me.”

You look up at him and the soft grey of the suit complements his honey-glazed skin well. You have him spin in a slow circle, and despite the pants being slightly snug, you know that’s not something you can fix without a tailor on short notice—the man has a nice ass and with his slim waist and long legs…It looks good. 

“Perfect.” Your voice is almost a whisper as you step into his orbit, hand reaching for the ties to see which one looks best. Jungkook is still, letting you color match his suit and he thinks you’re also subtly seeing which one matches the color of your dress as well. He wishes for the umpteenth time that he could just…convince you to say what you’re thinking at this moment. Why don’t you tell him that you want to match? That you want to be his plus one? He’s sure that’s what your actions mean. So why don’t you ever tell him?   

“Are you sure? Maybe I shouldn’t wear this color, you know?” Jungkook asks timidly, testing. “Your brother really wants us all in his wedding colors?”

“Yes, he explicitly said we had to wear the colors. They won’t have bridesmaids or groomsmen—you know Yoongi and his minimalist agenda, but his fiancé still wants to have wedding photos with all of us, so we have to coordinate.” You pout as you answer him, fixing the tie as you finish the last loop and pull through. “Why? You don’t want to match with me?” The way your eyes look at him, all wide-eyed and lovey-dovey has him backpedaling. 

“Babe, you know I do, I would choose to match with you even if we didn’t have to.” Jungkook finds himself admitting, and kicking himself in the ass if he could, for revealing way too much about how he feels about you, without anything in return. Well, the way the furrow between your brows disappears and your pout turns into a cute smile is definitely a reward, but it’s not the same. 

You turn, asking him to unzip you again, and then you shuffle back into the closet to disrobe from the dress. He wishes he could see you wear it for a little longer, because you look so gorgeous in it, but he knows that this isn’t his last chance. He shucks off the suit, carefully placing the pants and jacket back into the garment bag. Lying it down flat, he leaves it open so he can still add the shirt and tie. He admires the color of the fabric, a soft but bright green that compliments his honey skin well, the satin pinched between his fingers. 

“Let me.” 

Jungkook turns back to face you at the sound of your voice, freezing when he sees you’re only in your strapless bra and thong. Not that he’s in any better of a situation; he’s in boxer briefs and a white button-down shirt. 

You tug at the tie, gently pulling the longer piece to allow it to slip off from around his neck, Jungkook ducking his head to help you guide it free. Dropping the tie on top of the suit jacket, he feels the way your fingers, warm and light, touch his stomach as you undo each button, starting from the bottom of the shirt. Your eyes never leave his, and he swears he barely blinks—you’re like a siren calling to him, keeping him in place. 

“You bought all of these ties, Ggukkie. And only that one will be used.” You nod towards the garment bag, hands finally reaching the collar of his shirt. “What will you do with the rest?”

“I-uh, I think I’ll save them. Can use them for other formal things. You know?” Jungkook can’t think of any other occasion that he would wear a tie, other than another wedding (his to you, perhaps?) or possibly his funeral—the look in your eyes is like you want to eat him alive, and he’s more than willing to go out that way.

“Hmm, I can think of a few uses for them.” Your hands slip under the shirt where it sits on his shoulders, gliding the sleeves down his arms. His tattooed arm slowly reveals itself, a sight he knows you enjoy seeing. 

“Oh yeah, like what?” Jungkook knows he’s going to like your idea. You work in a school, and teachers are always pretty creative; this isn’t his first time letting that beautiful brain of yours run wild with him. He can feel his boxer briefs tightening in a specific area as his excitement grows.

“Let me show you.” Jungkook follows your lead, allowing himself to be placed in the center of your bed. You climb off briefly to pull two ties from the bag and pop off their tags. You make sure to choose two of a softer satin fabric, since he can’t return them now. You climb back on and return to straddling him. Your core is warm through the thin cotton of your thong, and Jungkook can’t control the slight jump of his dick when you settle on top and lean forward.  

“Hand.” You kiss each of his fingers delicately before pressing a kiss to his palm. Placing his hand against the headboard, you thread the tie through the cutouts and secure his wrist in place with a bow. “Other hand.” Jungkook’s doe eyes are wide as he watches you follow the same routine on this hand, hitching him so he sits like a scarecrow against the frame. 

“Let me know if at any time it hurts and you want to stop, okay?” Your hand rests on his cheek, cupping it gently as your eyes search for any signs of fear or wanting to back out.

“I know, babe. Safeword is Velveeta.”

You giggle, climbing off of him so you can move his garment bag a safe distance away. “I can’t believe you chose that as the safeword.”

“Have you heard the way you sound when you get super wet? It’s like Velveeta mac and cheese, you know?”

“And why is that what you equate to a safeword?”

“Because, when I want to feel safe or need comfort, I need to be inside you.”

Jungkook watches your reaction, the way your footsteps falter momentarily as you return back to the bed where he’s sitting patiently, waiting for you. You don’t say anything more, you just pause at the edge of the bed, your hooded eyes only on him. 

Your hands reach behind you, undoing the clasps of your bra so that it falls to the carpeted floor. Your thong drops next to join it in a scant pile that you leave behind to climb back on the bed. Returning to straddling him, you press your chest against his as your hands frame his face. You run your nose along his slowly, bringing your lips to his forehead in an act of closeness so much deeper than sexual—at least to Jungkook it is.

He strains his hands against the ties, already seeking to touch you, hold you, secure you to him. He tilts his head up, seeking your lips instead and you kiss him fully, several pecks before it deepens into a wet, tangle of tongues. Both of you moan; you rock your hips over his clothed cock and he wants to cry because he can’t feel you the way he wants to. Not yet, at least. 

“I’m gonna taste you, yeah?” you breathe out into his mouth, and he nods, eyes blown as he watches you lower your body until your head hovers over his lap. He can see the sheen you left behind on the black fabric, a thin oval shape that glistens from your fresh arousal. You pull at the waistband, hands cheekily grazing his cheeks as you reveal him.   

He’s somewhat hard, naturally, and pants in anticipation as you make yourself comfortable between his thighs. He’ll never get over the feeling you give him when you admire his length. He’s sure he’s told you before, but no one cherishes his cock the way you do. He feels all but one muscle relax as your mouth envelops his tip, all soft and wet, warm and comforting like your pussy—a great alternative, he thinks.

If the first moment you taste him relaxes him, the moments ensuing are the opposite, causing his muscles to expand and contract as your sinful mouth glides up and down along his shaft. It’s low-key infuriating for Jungkook that you make him feel this good and he can’t even touch you. 

The headboard creaks slightly and you narrow your gaze in warning, mouth stuffed full of his length and unable to reprimand him. Jungkook lets out a series of chuffs at the scene spread before him: you, naked and drooling into his lap with eyes cutting into his soul for the simple fact that he wants to reward you with touches for the way your throat, mouth, and tongue treat his prized possession. 

“Please, babe, wanna touch you too,” he whines out, hoping to appeal to your nurturing side. And it does work. Kind of. He watches (he can’t do much else) as you pop off his cock with that lewd sound he so enjoys hearing your lips make against the tip, and crawl back up his body. Your chest is heaving slightly as you fill your lungs, but you ignore all attempts by Jungkook to nip at you with his own lips. 

“Scooch down,” you demand, and he listens well like a pupil as you guide his wrists and ties down to the bottom edge in turn. You have to get off the bed to go to the end, wrapping your soft hands around his ankles and pulling him so he slides across your sheets, arms mostly extended. “Only because you’ve been good, and I don’t want to risk you breaking my headboard.” 

Jungkook is a little confused at how laying flat is a reward, as it makes it harder for him to watch you, until you climb back onto the bed facing the opposite direction. “Fuck, yes,” he practically sings, but you just shake your head with a smile as you grip his hard-on in your fist. 

��Let’s see how well you keep your focus, baby.” It’s a taunt that you pair with a shake of your hips before lowering your glistening pussy lips to his waiting mouth. Jungkook loves how turned on you get just by sucking his cock, wants to taste the arousal created just for him, by him, and loves a good challenge.

His mouth is open when you nestle yourself against him, tongue out and lips ready to make out with you. You squeeze him in your palm, a whimper as your back arches from the heat of his mouth and Jungkook has to lift his head a bit to chase your movements. “Don’t run, wanna make you feel good, too.”

He hears you take a deep breath, breasts rubbing against his lower abdomen as you lick at him before dropping your hips once more. Jungkook resumes his feasting, spurred on by the little sounds you make as you rock back and forth on his face. He loves that you’ve split your knees on either side of his shoulders; he can’t use his hands to hold you wide, but you do a great job keeping your pussy open for him to tease with his tongue.

The switch between who is dominating who is fast—he knows that you must’ve been aching and throbbing between your thighs before letting him touch you, and now you’re closer to climax than he is. It’s also Jungkook’s specialty; what can he say? He likes to eat.

When you catch your rhythm on his face, you lose your rhythm with your mouth, instead using your hands to stroke him as you sit up higher and higher. Your left hand grips his thigh, right hand stroking him in time as Jungkook groans from below you. He loves when you do this: give in to the pleasure and suffocate him, and almost whines in despair when you lift up to check-in.

“Can you breathe? Am I killing you?”

“If you don’t sit back down on my face and let me eat this pussy—mmphh.” 

Jungkook doubles down his efforts, dropping and raising his chin in order to lick you from top to bottom and when you adjust slightly so he can access your clit, he gently suckles it as your thighs shake and you cry out his name. 

“Fuck, Jungkook—holy fuck!”

You collapse onto him, laying your head on his pelvis as your body shivers from the aftershocks. 

“And you thought I would lose focus,” he jokes, but you seem to take it seriously.

“Ah, you’re right. You didn’t get to finish. I got you.”

“Hey, you know I never have to cum, just making sure you get off makes me feel good.” Jungkook hates that you might think this is just a sex exchange, needs you to know it’s more than that. You sit up and shift around, body moving to align with his. 

“And I like knowing I made you feel good.” You kiss him deeply with tongue. “We’re perfect that way, huh?”

Jungkook wishes more than once that he could say what he wants to say. That you’re perfect for each other—probably soulmates—bets he’s met you in another life. Instead, no words come out of his mouth as you face away from him. You throw a mischievous smile over your shoulder before you spit in your hand and grasp him, moving to hover over his pelvis. 

“You’re actually mean for this,” he says, watching as you sink onto him, and he’s able to watch your lips part around his cock, stretching to fit his girth until you bottom out. Your cute ass hides the view until you lift up again, revealing the glistening trails of cum that decorate his veins and he can’t stop himself from pulling at the ties. Jungkook just wants to help guide you, wants to put his hands on your cheeks and spread them apart so he can see the stretch of your pussy as you ride him, maybe even press his thumb to your puckered hole, watch as that shiver runs down your spine in ecstasy. 

“Safeword?” Your concern shows in your tone and the way you slow your movements. 

“Don’t need it, just wanna fucking touch you.” He would hate how whiney he sounds if he didn’t know you thrived off it—can feel it in the way you clench for him. 

“If you use it, I’ll release you from your shackles…” you counter, and how dare you giggle at Jungkook, knowing using the safe word gives him what he wants, but he’ll never use it with you. How can he when he feels his safest right now, balls deep.? 

“It’s fine,” he grits out, bucking his hips to get you to move again, ride him again, but you don’t. Instead, you rise up, keeping just the tip in until you are able to rotate around and face him. You look torn, teeth worrying your bottom lip about whether to untie him or not, safe word be damned. “Don’t do it unless you want to.”

Jungkook watches the debate swirl in your eyes, before you reach up and tug at the bow ends, letting him free from his confines. Instantly, his hands move to your body, fingers wrapping around your ribs as his thumbs settle under your breasts before moving down to trace the outline to your hips. With a firm tug, he seats you once more, a groan of curse words slipping out. You’re still so wet from the mixture of his spit and your own orgasm spread along his shaft that he slides into you like a glove, nestled tight between your walls.

Small hands press to his chest, and your thumbs rub circles around his nipples as you begin to ride him, pussy walls quenching the thirst for you as he fights to keep his eyes open so he can watch your tits bounce in his face. 

“That’s it, baby, ride my cock,” he encourages, “only you ride me this good, fuck—so good for me.” 

You smile at his praise, moving to lay chest to chest so you can really roll your hips, sheathing and unsheathing him in rapid succession. The clapping of your skin against his fills the room, creating a harmonious sound paired with the heavy breathing and sweet murmurs and whines. Jungkook feels his control slipping as his hands grasp your cheeks and spread them, allowing him to reach deeper inside of you. He feels the flutters that let him know you’re so close to a second orgasm, so he plants his feet into your mattress and begins to jackhammer up into your aching cunt. 

Your teeth press into his shoulder, cries muffled, but he keeps going, even after he feels you contract and release, wetness pooling below his belly button as he gets closer and closer to joining you. 

“Jungk—shit, shit, I’m—” 

He’s not expecting you to cum for a third time, didn’t realize his repetitive stroke to keep him in your pleasure longer would catapult you, so when you do—and hard at that—it takes him as well. His cock throbbing from how hard he fills you up, cum milking in spurts that leak out around his cock as he fucks you through the best of it until neither of you can take anymore. 

—————

Jungkook’s left hand plays with the strands of your hair as you sleep on his chest. His cellphone’s brightness is turned all the way down so as not to disturb your beauty rest. Not that Jungkook thinks you need it. His smile from the thought of your beauty fades as he focuses back on his phone. There’s a tightness in his chest under your head that isn’t stemming from the pressure of your body. 

He knows he hasn’t done anything wrong, in fact—he’s very much within his rights to do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, but the only person he wants to do things with is you. It actually makes him a little irritated that he shouldn’t feel guilty. He wants a good reason to turn away any and all advances women (and even some men) make on him. 

When everyone knows you’re single, it’s a bit harder to say no to dates with people. Especially if it’s someone Jungkook might’ve been interested in at one point in time. How does he explain that he can’t give someone else a chance because he’s holding out for you? That he’s too busy building his own courage to tell you that he wants you, to let another person (like the girl texting him) into your spot? 

He scrolls through the messages SoHee left him while he was busy fucking you into the mattress during round two after a break to rest and refuel with Korean BBQ takeout and a Netflix movie.

stay tuned for “so break me off another night” coming 8-10-2023!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[lovepookie]

zerobaseone masterlist

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ “is it a new start or the end?"

disclaimer! i will not be writing fics for yujin as he is a minor and i am not comfortable doing so! however, if i write reactions/fake texts for him it is purely platonic/friendship. xoxo

✿ = my personal favorites!

ot9 reactions/imagines — (coming soon)

ot9 fake texts —

☁︎ — texting zb1 “we need to talk”

hyung line | maknae line

☁︎ — zb1 texting you “i’m paying for your nails” ✿

hyung line | maknae line

☁︎ — angsty zb1 texts: after an argument ✿

☁︎ — zb1 reaction to “pull up, i’m in a fight” ✿

hyung line | maknae line

☁︎ — bestfriend!zb1 accidental confession

hyung line | maknae line

.♡.

— kim jiwoong ༉‧₊˚. (coming soon)

— zhang hao ༉‧₊˚. (coming soon)

— sung hanbin ༉‧₊˚.

SUN STAR MOON | 2.7k | angst, fluffy, slightly suggestive, established relationship, fem!reader, pregnancy au, kind of depressing ngl

♡ sypnosis: two lines. all it takes is two lines to change the trajectory of your life; you're pregnant. what are you to do? for starters, you have your amazing boyfriend hanbin by your side-and he'd go to the ends of the earth to make you happy and to make things work. there's something deep down that tells you he'd make an amazing dad; and maybe, just maybe, that you could make this work.

— seok matthew ༉‧₊˚.

NO PRESENTS | 2.4k | teeth-rotting fluff, suggestive, established relationship, non-idol au, christmas centered

♡ sypnosis: you and matthew agreed on no presents this year in order to save up to see his family for christmas next year. he has pestered you for a christmas tree, and now he won't stop clinging to you because "it's christmas, woman!" little does he know, you have a little gift up your sleeve.

— kim taerae ༉‧₊˚. (coming soon)

— ricky shen ༉‧₊˚.

FAVORING ROSES OVER DAISIES ✿ | 7.0k | royal au, fantasy/magical, fluff, angsty, prince! ricky, fem!reader, prince!hanbin side pairing, enemies to lovers, forbidden love

♡ sypnosis: daisies will forever and always be boring; they were the former queen's-your mother's-favorite flower. however, now that it's your turn to ascend the thrown, you can't help that roses are your favorite; just like the blood-red ones embellished on prince ricky's black suit on the night of your suitor's ball. but don't get caught up in the pretty scent and petals, because where there is beauty, there is thorns. ricky is the prince of an enemy nation-and your whole life he has been nothing but a pest. a really pretty one.

— kim gyubin ༉‧₊˚.

WHAT? HUH? ✿ | 5.3k | fluff, slight angst?, suggestive, childhood bestfriends to lovers, crack, college au, older reader

♡ sypnosis: your childhood friend gyubin had managed to bribe you into being his date to an all exclusive couple's christmas frat party, but you know more than anyone present that you don't belong there. the way gyubin's been eyeing you the whole night, the slight touches here and there; the way your heart beats fast in your chest in response-none of it belongs because you're just supposed to be friends-right?

HONEY ✿ | 3.7k | fluff, hint of angst, fem!reader, bestfriends to lovers, college au

♡ sypnosis: you're not really sure why the sight of gyubin's eyes start to look different one day. they had your cheeks burning when he'd get even so much as a foot away from you despite him being your best friend, and they reminded you so much of honey when the light from the window hit them just right. you've slowly come to realize that the big brown eyes that belonged to the exhausting and annoying loser just might be the reason for your fast heart rate too.

— park gunwook ༉‧₊˚.

CONSEQUENCES ✿ | 2.1k | teeth rotting fluff, some angst, established relationship, boyfriend!gunwook

♡ sypnosis: your boyfriend is park gunwook. sweet. cute. couldn't hurt a fly. and you? a demon who wants to tick him off and see him jealous. gunwook doesn't play when it comes to his feelings, so naturally, you'll suffer the consequences-or maybe you won't. you're kinda his soft spot.

PROMISE | 2.0k | fluff, slight angst, sports fic, established relationship, boyfriend!gunwook

♡ sypnosis: star-football player park gunwook probably can't play for the rest of the season due to an injury sustained on the field. but more than that, your boyfriend park gunwook is in pain-and you'll hop fences, run past security, and go to the ends of the earth just to get to him; that's a promise.

— han yujin ༉‧₊˚.

2024 © lovepookie

♡ please do not plagarize, repost, copy or translate any of my works. thank you.

[acehoons]

zb1 as heartbreak tropes . . !

☆! ot8 x gn!reader. heavy angst. not requested.

[ 🎧 ] now playing . . places we won’t walk by bruno major

a/n: been in an angsty mood lately, so i wrote this. lol. yujin’s not included in this because of the relationship trope.

% . . kim jiwoong :: right person, wrong time

jiwoong was your boyfriend of three years

but you had known each other for nearly five years

he courted you for nearly two years, and was probably the happiest man on earth when you agreed to be his s/o three years ago

for the majority of your relationship, everything was smooth

jiwoong treated you better than any other man, and you were his home

but some things don’t last forever

more utc.

as time passed, the two of you got busier

you had to focus on your studies, jiwoong needed to focus on his career

date nights turned into late nights alone at home

celebrations turned into forgotten marks on the calendar

daily “i love you”s turned into silence

the two of you knew the relationship had run its course already

but you were both afraid to face the truth

until one night, when you waited for jiwoong to come home after midnight

practice ended late, so he came home later than usual

so seeing you waiting for him at 2 am, he knew it was time

the two of you say nothing for a while, cherishing what time left you two had

until you decided to break the silence

“we can’t continue on like this, jiwoong.”

a small part of you was hoping he’d disagree with you, that he would argue back and fight, fight for you to remain in his life

but a bigger part of you knew that he couldn’t

“i’m sorry.” was all he said

tears threatened to pour out of your eyes, but you fought them, wanting to end your relationship on a brighter note

enveloping him in a tight hug, you two spend nearly five minutes in each others’ arms

until you pulled away

“i love you.” he said, “i’ll never stop.”

“i know.” was all you replied with “it’ll be okay.”

you leave him one last kiss, and he lets you go, watching you walk out of that door, wishing you’d turn around and run back to him

the tears finally pour out, a sob threatening to escape your throat as you walked out into the porch

all the while, jiwoong watched with his heart shattered inside his chest, as the one thing he considered home left him forever

% . . zhang hao :: falling out of love

the first time zhanghao met you, he immediately fell head over heels

he was so mesmerized by you; your beauty, your personality— everything

he wasted no time in pursuing you. he asked you out on a date, then another, and another

until you both decided to make it official

the beginning of your relationship was akin to bliss

with zhanghao doting on you at every given moment, making sure that you were loved and cared for

he would always go out of his way to provide you with everything

he was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend

until, after a few months, you noticed all of the changes

they were small— at first

back then, zhanghao would always respond to your calls and texts with such speed, never letting you wait for him to respond

but recently, he would reply hours later, and wouldn’t return your calls until a day after

you didn’t make a big deal out of it at first

but it got worse

zhanghao barely reached out to talk to you

he never visited, never asked to see you at school— nothing

the gifts you used to receive from him out of the blue suddenly stopped

the parties and events you used to attend with him turned into just you attending by yourself

you tried to convince yourself that he was just busy, he’s probably occupied with school or work

but by the time the third month of stone silence passed

you had enough

you drove to zhanghao’s place, demanding to see him

having a spare key, you barged inside, only to see him just merely playing games in his room

annoyed, he snaps at you, “what the hell are you doing?!”

before you came in here, you had a whole speech prepared for when you were face to face

but now, standing in front of the man you used to love— the man that used to love you,

you couldn’t remember a thing

“can’t you tell that i’m busy?” zhanghao exclaimed, pointing towards his computer screen

“we’re over.” was the only thing you said

you walked out, running out of his house

you half-hoped that zhanghao would run after you

that he’s stop you from leaving, apologize for everything and that everything would turn back to normal

but. nothing.

no one came

with tears pouring down your face, you ran and left

and never came back

% . . sung hanbin :: unrequited love

hanbin was one of your closest friends

you two grew up together, with your parents being close

ever since you two were kids, you always admired hanbin

you adored him so much, always following him wherever he went

it took you twenty years to realize that you were in love with him

you had never been in love with anyone else, you never even considered it

hanbin was the only guy you were ever interested in, and you feared that he might actually be the only one ever

but who could blame you?

one look at him and anyone would fall

you loved everything about hanbin, his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes shine whenever he talks about anything that he likes

you wanted to confess your feelings to him so bad

but you knew that it wasn’t going to end well for you

in your two decades of friendship, hanbin has never shown any romantic interest for you

he treats you like his little sibling

so you knew that you had no chance

but, one random day, you managed to grow the courage to tell him

you were tired of pining for him in silence, and just wanted to let your feelings out

so you invited him over and told him to meet you in your backyard that night

with the stars twinkling above you both, you hoped for the best

“hanbin.” you began. “i’m in love with you.”

he stared at you for a while, shocked at what he heard

your heart was beating right out of your chest, and you felt like passing out

you prayed with all of your might for hanbin to tell you the words you’ve always wished to hear; “i love you.”

but alas, hanbin doesn’t say it.

“oh [y/n],” he says, voice solemn. “i’m sorry..”

and that was all of the confirmation you needed

tears immediately formed in your ehyes, and you forced to swallow the huge lump in your throat

“it’s okay.” you say. “i gotta.. go..”

you turned around and walked away from your own backyard, tears pouring down your cheeks the moment you turn your back from hanbin

hanbin, left alone in your backyard, hoping that you were okay, and wishing that he could love you the way you did him

but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried

% . . seok matthew :: just friends

matthew was your bestest friend in the whole world

he knew you like the back of his hand, and you him

the two of you were inseparable

wherever one was, the other would always follow

so it wasn’t a mystery as to how you fell in love with him

matthew was the textbook definition of a perfect gentleman

he always treated you so kindly

walking you home after school, pulling out the chair for you to sit in, opening every door for you

he treated you like a princess

and just like that, you slowly fell for the man you’ve known for nearly ten years

and at first, you never did address or face any of your feelings, far too afraid of its circumstances

you were okay with being just friends with matthew, because you’d rather have that than nothing

but sometimes, you found yourself wishing for more

wishing to be more than just his best friend

you wanted to call him yours, and you longed to be his more than anything else

but no matter how much your heart begged, you could never walk up to him and admit it

so you stood behind, and watched him from the side

always there whenever he needed you

until one day, he ran to you bearing news

“she said yes!” he said

you felt your heart drop down to your feet, “what?”

“i asked rei out on a date and she said yes! [y/n], this could be it!”

he was smiling and laughing, and you knew he was feeling ecstatic with the way his eyes crinkled everytime he laughed

your heart shattered. you always dreaded this day, but nothing could have prepared you for the actual time matthew found someone else

“that’s great.” you replied, a bitter taste leaving your tongue as you spoke. “i’m happy for you.”

oblivious to your heartbreak, matthew hugs you tight

“thanks [y/n]! i know you always have my back.”

you laughed bitterly, feeling a lump in your throat.

“i do.” you replied. “i’m always here for you.”

% . . kim taerae :: long distance

taerae was your highschool sweetheart

the two of you got into a relationship when you were only sixteen

when you were both merely in highschool

you were so young yet so in love

it baffled you to think that you would’ve already met the one you wanna spent your entire life with at such a young age

but what wasn’t to love about taerae? he was kind, caring and sweet

he prioritized you over everything else, and he was never selfish

he always made sure that he was taking your feelings into consideration in every decision he made

but time came, when you were both in college,

taerae was offered to be part of the special exchange program in your university

as one of the smartest students in campus, taerae was offered to be sent to america to continue his program

he wanted to decline at first, in fear of leaving his family, his friends and his life

and of course, he was afraid of leaving you behind

but you told him not to worry, that you’d be okay

and besides, it wasn’t like the two of you would stop talking, right?

the opportunity was too good to pass on, so taerae accepted the offer

he would spend the next four years and america, and you, back in korea, waiting for his return

the two of you tried to make it work

texting and calling everyday, updating each other over the littlest things

but with the different timezones, the busy schedules, and with all of the other things in your life that you had to handle

suddenly, taerae could no longer prioritize you

and you didn’t want to be selfish, either

but waiting for your phone to ring at night only for you to wake up in the morning with not even a message was starting to hurt

you tried to talk to him about it, but there was nothing he could do

his studies had to be first. then his family second. he couldn’t leave his friends in the US either

so where did that leave you?

so on a cold winter night in korea, you called him, with tears in your eyes as he met you with a sullen expression

“this isn’t working out anymore, tae.” you said

“[y/n], baby we can work this out—“ he tried to fight it, but you both knew that there was nothing left to fight for anymore

“no, we can’t.” by then, you were crying, all of the accumulated frustration finally bursting from you.

“three more years, [y/n]. can’t you wait for three more years?” taerae asked

and it might’ve been selfish, but you couldn’t, not anymore

“i’m tired, tae.” you said

taerae said nothing, then, understanding that there was nothing he could do or say that would change your mind

“i’m sorry.” there were so much more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words

“i’m sorry, too.” with a heavy heart, you ended the call, throwing your phone away as you cried

if only things were easier for you both, maybe you could’ve tried again.

% . . shen quanrui :: better off alone

ricky was one of the most attractive men you’ve ever set your eyes on

you met him in a party, amidst all of the random, unappealing men trying to hit on you

ricky was one of the only ones who kept their distance

who merely looked at you, but said nothing

for some reason, you were attracted to him almost immediately, so you went up to him for a conversation

almost immediately, you two clicked

you had a lot in common, and shared a lot of interests with each other

you spent the entire night getting to know one another

and the next thing you knew, his number was on your phone

you spent a few weeks going out on dates and talking over the phone

before you both decided to make it official

the first few weeks were fine

ricky introduced you to his friends, and you introduced him to yours

he took you out on multiple dates, bought you countless gifts and made sure that he treated you right

you felt the sparks of what could’ve been a long-term relationship

but things wouldn’t last forever

soon enough, you started to have disagreements with ricky

those disagreements turned into arguments, and those arguments turned into full blown fights

you couldn’t go out on dates without the two of you fighting over something

and even if you spent time with each other’s company, you would spend most of it in silence

because if any of you talked, you both knew you’d just end up arguing

you weren’t sure when it started to change, but you knew that your relationship wasn’t the same anymore

and you also knew that it was better to end it sooner than later

on a sullen morning, you came up to ricky’s apartment to talk

“what do you want?” ricky said, voice empty of any love or care.

“we need to break up.” you said, wanting to get your point across directly

albeit you knew ricky’s love had changed, you weren’t expecting him to react so coldly with your words

“sure.” was the only thing he said.

“is that all you have to say?” you asked, already feeling upset

“what? you wanna hear something else from me?” he mocked

the sliver of affection you felt for ricky finally slipped away, and was now replaced by bitterness

“i hate you.” you said, turning around and walking away

even though you walked out of his apartment curdling with rage, deep down, you could feel sadness, too

sadness over the good times you’ve spent with ricky

mere memories now, that it’s all over

but maybe, it was better for the both of you this way

% . . kim gyuvin :: there’s someone else

you’ve had a crush on gyuvin for years now

ever since you knew him in middle school, you’ve always idolized him

what was not to like? not only was gyuvin incredibly attractive,

he was one of the kindest boys you’ve ever known in your life

he genuinely cared about people, and was never one to be rude or disrespectful towards everyone

you weren’t close to him, but he’s known you since middle school, too

although he treated you like a friend, part of you wants more

you’ve always wanted to confess, to just tell him what you feel

mostly because you just wanted to get it over with

but a part of you couldn’t help but to have hope

that maybe, just maybe, gyuvin felt the same way for you, too

so, in high school, you tried to let him know

you did it in stages; first, you got closer to him, befriended him in the halls when he saw you during the first day of classes

you anonymously wrote him letters, sliding them inside his locker

you bought him gifts, and sent him flowers during special occassions

and even asked your other friends to hand him snacks and treats during soccer practice

all throughout the year, you carried out your plan, only to confess at the last day of the first school year

so when time came, you send him an anonymous letter, asking him to meet you at the rooftop

and when he came, you were already there, waiting

his shock at seeing you wasn’t the only thing he felt that day, because once he was there, your nervousness kicked in

“gyuvin, i have something to tell you.” you began, your mouth moving faster than your brain.

“i’ve always wanted to say this and i feel like now might be—“

“i’m sorry, [y/n] but let me stop you there.” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder

“y-yeah?” you replied with a hopeful heart

“i really appreciate all this, and i’m glad that it was you who was sending me all those stuff, but,” he said, “i have a girlfriend.”

your heart broke at his words, and you felt so empty you couldn’t even hear the rest of his words.

“—so i’m really, really sorry.” he frowned, an apologetic look plastered on his face. “are you ok?”

“y-yeah!” you cleared your throat, trying to swallow the lump that had formed there a second ago. “it’s okay! no worries.”

“you sure?” he asked, and you wanted to cuss him out for being so caring like this

because maybe then, you wouldn’t have fallen for him this hard

“mhm.” you let out a dry laugh. “i-i gotta go. sorry for wasting your time.”

“[y/n], wait—“ before he could stop you, you were already walking away and out of the rooftop

you hoped he wouldn’t follow, because it would have been even more embarrassing for him to witness you sob and cry while you ran away

you wanted to yell at him so bad for making you hurt like this

but then again, it wasn’t his fault

you were the dumb one who fell in love with someone who was never gonna be yours

what else could have he done?

% . . park gunwook :: first loves never last

you and gunwook knew each other when you were both toddlers

you met him in kindergarten, back when you didn’t even know what love was and could barely spell out your own name

he was a little mean to you, at first

as a child, he would often tease you and push you around

and you’d often be found crying, running to your mom and dad whining gun’ook pushed me!!

gunwook couldn’t help it, for some unknown reason, he just loved to play with you so much

but as you two grew older, gunwook realized it was because he liked you a little too much to be considered platonic

so when you were in middle school, gunwook took a leap of faith and decided to confess to you

you were both only fourteen, but you knew that you had feelings for him as well

you accepted his confession, and in return admitted to him that you felt the same way

he was ecstatic, absolutely in the clouds when you told him

the two of you decided not to do anything about for now, since you were both so young

you figured you’d label your relationship in the future, maybe after high school

so you two continued on— focusing on your individual lives together

you were still the best of friends, and gunwook continued to treat you the same

he continued to tease you a lot, and even pulled a few pranks on you here and there

you didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, because you knew that that was the way he expressed his love

but gunwook would always make sure that you were alright

he’d pick you up after your classes, take you to a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop and buy you all of the food you wanted to eat

he’d take you to school events, gushing about how pretty you were in a dress and how lucky he was to be your date

you couldn’t have been more happy

things remained the same for years

until your final year of high school came

you and gunwook were still close but because you’ve both been busy with your final year, you haven’t had the time to hang out or see each other

you were busy studying for college entrance exams, while gunwook spent most of his time at school

he barely got to see you, and you weren’t replying much to his texts either so he just let you be

he respected your time and didn’t want to bother you. he knew how important your studies were, so he let you be

but things got worse soon after

during the times he’d invite you out, you’d always decline and say you were busy studying

while in your short breaks, you tried to ask him over, only for him to decline and say he’s hanging out with his friends

soon enough, the two of you stopped inviting the other out

until you eventually stopped talking all together

the day of your exams were nearing, and you were more busy than ever

but you wanted to talk to gunwook one last time

so when he said yes, and came right over to your house, you were delighted

“[y/n].” he greeted you. “how have you been?”

“alright, i guess.” you responded. “stressed. my exams are soon.”

“i remember.” he said. “you’ve been awful busy.”

“i know.” you sighed. “i’m really sorry—“

“i understand.” gunwook says. “i get it, yeah. it’s really important to you.”

you frowned. it was only then did it sink in how much you’ve neglected gunwook. he’d waited for you for months, and here you were.

“but,” gunwook continued. “i wanna be important to you too.”

the guilty kept creeping in. “you are important to me.”

“doesn’t seem like it, anymore.” he sighed.

you didn’t know what to say next, so you both sat there in silence.

you tried to think of something that would convince gunwook to forgive you, but you knew that everything was your fault.

if only you could’ve given him more attention, then maybe—

“—maybe it’s better this way.” gunwook says. “i don’t think we’re good for each other anymore, anyway.”

“what are you saying?” you asked.

“i’m saying it’s not the same anymore, [y/n].” he says “maybe we aren’t meant for each other.”

you felt your heart shatter at his words.

“i’m sorry, [y/n].” he stood up and began to leave. “i hope you pass your exams.”

and with that, he left

you remain there, sitting and feeling empty, as if when gunwook left, he took your heart with you

deep down, you knew he did

you just wished you would’ve taken his with you, too.

acehoons © 2023

[kooktrash]

PLEASE SOMETHING FOR ELECTRA HEART TH, maybe a little jealousy???🤞🤞🤞i miss themmmmm

drabble for: ELECTRA HEART | KIM TAEHYUNG

this couple is so soft and fluffy, literally. we. 1.3k. a hint of jealousy but still fluff. I feel like this couple is very diff from each other but they communicate and express themselves well that it works, y’know? and they needed someone like each other to be happy. also, college grads means no more y/n trying to hook up in the library? I also Don’t see this couple being too angsty now that they’re dating and understand each other. in Electra heart they did argue but that’s bc y/n didn’t want to admit she liked Tae and Tae was falling for y/n but couldn’t get rid of his past

read ELECTRA HEART request 1 to read about that 👀 you t had smut

Taehyung has always considered himself a mature person. Sure, after Jisoo cheated on him all he wanted to do was show her he was fine without her and roped you into a little scheme of his yet for some strange reason the two of you found yourselves falling for each other. Now it’s been a year and he still feels as strongly for you but also still a bit insecure.

It’s not like Taehyung is blind, he knows he’s an attractive man but sometimes, when he thinks about the men you used to date, he feels a bit worried. As he got to know you he learned that you weren’t the type to look down on someone for things out of their control so he’s happy about that—but the first meeting with your dad really stuck with him. He doesn’t agree with him that you’re just a spoiled brat but he does agree that he’s not much but a farmer’s kid in the big city. He’s still struggling trying to find a place in your world.

“Wow, you really know how to clean up now,” Jimin joked as he ran a finger along the front of Taehyung’s suit, “Looking like a successful college grad.”

Taehyung just smiled, “Y/n picked it out so I can’t take any credit.”

“Can you believe this is all for her and yet we’re still here?” Namjoon asked, referring to the huge graduation party Y/n’s dad threw you. It was a huge event with servers and live music and even some cameras around. Most college students celebrated by being with family and friends or getting drunk at bars, not by having a huge gala in their honor.

Taehyung has noticed that you’re not as closed off from others as you used to be. Before you used to only hang out with Jungkook and Mira but he’s seeing quite a few familiar faces tonight but not the ones you were currently swarmed by.

Jimin took a deep breath, “Look at them, they’re trying so hard with Y/n right now.”

There were at least three guys trying to get your attention right now. Taehyung had given you space to greet and talk to whoever you wanted to but now you’re just being approached by guys who’ve been dying to talk to you for who knows how long. By the expensive clothes they wore it was not hard for him to note that they had money and they seemed to be flashy about it too.

He tried not to react, he wasn’t the jealous type, alright? He doesn’t typically get jealous, a little possessive maybe but he also knows that he’s your boyfriend and that’s gonna change because some guys who probably drive the newest models of BMWs were hitting on you. He’s confident in your relationship even if he’s been hurt in the past by others.

It was hard to convince his friends he wasn’t jealous if he couldn’t control his facial expressions though. Namjoon was able to see how Taehyung’s smile slowly dropped and how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you and the others. You weren’t doing anything suspicious so Taehyung didn’t feel any sort of way about that but he doesn’t like the fact that guys still hit on you knowing you have a boyfriend. It’s not like Taehyung isn’t all over your socials or that you didn’t kiss at the graduation ceremony and when you got to the reception venue. They just lack respect and that’s why they have no shame flirting with you.

It made Taehyung scoff and with a small pat on Jimin’s shoulder moving him to the side so he could cut through, he smiled, “I’ll be right back.”

“Someone’s a little jealous,” Jimin whispered to Namjoon who must nodded in return as they watched their friend chug back their champagne and head straight toward you.

You were just in the middle of discussing your summer plans when you felt a warm hand touch your navel and pull you back into someone’s chest making you smile. Taehyung rested his chin on your shoulder and turned to kiss your neck softly, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said back softly as you looked at him but his eyes shifted to the guys in front of you who looked away shyly now. Taehyung didn’t say anything as one of them spoke up, “Is this yo—?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Taehyung was quicker than you and in his usual deep voice he stuck a hand out to greet them, “Y/n’s boyfriend? Yeah, that’s me, I’m Taehyung.”

You smiled as you turned in Taehyung’s hold so you were facing him no longer caring about the guys who had been trying to talk to you but he didn’t pull his gaze away from them until they got the hint and left.

Immediately you cupped Taehyung’s cheeks with a coo, “I can't get over how good you look, TaeTae! You’re so hot.”

His resolve immediately cracked as he hugged you tightly with a smile, “You know I don’t know how to react when you say things like that.”

“But that’s what you liked about me in the first place,” you said as his head rested on your shoulder, “That I was blunt, right?”

“I’ve always liked a lot of things about you,” he said almost shyly, “Since the beginning.”

You chuckled, “That’s not true, when we first started dating it was only to make J—“

“Baby,” Taehyung looked down at you as his hand cupped your cheek, “I’m not lying to you, even if I didn’t realize it at first, you always made me curious to get to know you and I ended up falling in love with everything about you. I feel like shit for using you in the beginning to make someone not worth it jealous but please see that I love you so much and…”

You laughed lightly, “Tae, it’s okay. I love you too, and I agreed to it, remember?”

He nodded his head even if it still gnawed at the back of his mind. In an effort to stop thinking about it he cleared his throat and asked, “So what were you and those guys talking about?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “Nothings my really.”

He bit his bottom lip, “Yeah but… were they trying to gut on you or anything?”

You smiled now, “Is that why you came over so cuddly? You know I don’t remember you being this touchy in the beginning.”

“Yeah well in the beginning you weren’t technically my girlfriend yet,” Taehyung said as he kissed the tip of your nose, “Now I have to let everyone know you’re mine.”

“So you came because you were a little jealous?”

“If I didn’t have such a pretty girlfriend…”

“Tae, you know I would never do anything to hurt you,” you reassured him and he smiled.

“I know, I trust you,” he said honestly, “I love you.”

“Can I have a kiss?” You asked with a tilt of your head making him smile. He nodded and leaned down to capture your lips with his.

“Can you two stop being that PDA couple and interact with the guests?” Yoongi asked suddenly, making the two of you pull away much to both of your disappointment, “I thought this was a party for the college grads.”

Taehyung laughed, “You’re right, I just needed a moment with my beautiful girlfriend.”

Yoongi audibly gagged but it just made you smile as you excused yourself to go find Jungkook. He looked at Taehyung who looked at you lovingly, “Taehyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry for calling you Y/n’s boy toy a while ago, on the yacht? Yoongi finally brought that time up when Taehyung and you just started. Yoongi had called him that and implied that you would essentially grow bored of him but he masked it as a joke back then. Taehyung had honestly forgotten about it when he realized it wasn’t true at all.

“Don’t worry about it, I know Y/n loves me,” Taehyung said as he watched you from afar as you laughed about something Jungkook said and playfully clung to him, “And I love Y/n.”

So there was no reason for him to ever doubt it and feel jealous.

::.

personal taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22

[gingerjunhan]

Hello! First of all Merry Christmas, I hope that next year will be a good year for you and nothing bad will happen.

Can I please request ot6 reaction to having their first sleepover at your place and sharing bed with you for the first time? I'm craving some giggly cute fluff 🥹

Also can I be your 🌱 anon?

☆彡 hiii 🌱anon!! So sorry this took a while, writers block hit me pretty hard :( so if there’s something you aren’t happy with please let me know! Thank you so much for the well wishes, and I hope your year had a wonderful start! 🩷🩷

word count: 1480 | pronouns used: none | genre: fluff, established relationship | cws: written during very bad writers block, reader has a “girls night” w/ Gunil, sex joke (not about reader!) w/ Gunil, swearing, eating, bad family dynamics? (mentioned), Jooyeon’s is a lil angsty?, not really proofread (shocker!), lmk if I missed something!

goo gunil

You had asked Gunil to spend the night at your house one Friday night once you were both done at work for the day. You joked that it could be a stereotypical “girls night,” including face masks, cheesy movies, gossip about your coworkers (probably more your coworkers than his)- the whole nine yards. You seemed excited, so he said yes. It was a great time, filling him in on all the workroom gossip and having him eat it up.

“I’m telling you, Gunil,” you told him over a plate of takeout, “I wouldn’t be shocked if she was sleeping with our boss.”

“No way,” he gasps. “That bitch!”

It was the perfect, relaxing and fun night you both needed. When it finally came time for the both of you to go to bed, that’s when Gunil started to panic. You were in your bedroom, changing into pajamas, and Gunil was mentally giving himself a pep-talk in the bathroom. It won’t be that awkward! It’ll be fine! You guys have cuddled in bed together before, so this is no different! It’s okay!

Gunil shook off (more like, repressed) the last of his nerves and made his way back to your bedroom. You were climbing into bed as he walked through the door, and once you threw your arms open for him, Gunil felt his nerves melt away for good. He quickly made his way over to your bed, bringing you into his embrace as well, getting ready to have a well earned night of rest.

kim jungsu

After a bad storm blew in while Jungsu was over at your place for the day, you insisted that he spend the night. He tried to put up a fight, saying that it wouldn’t be necessary, but you insisted.

“It’s not safe for you to go out in that storm. You’re staying here and that’s final.”

It wasn’t like you were unprepared for his stay- you had stolen enough of his clothes that supply him with at least three other outfits, and your bed was plenty big enough to sleep the both of you. Again, he tried to put up a fight, insisting that he would sleep on the couch. You basically laughed in his face when you refused. You were honestly glad the storm came through when it did. You’ve been wanting to ask Jungsu to spend the night for a while, but wasn’t sure if he would want to do it. The storm gave you an excuse.

Jungsu felt the same way, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Since dating you, Jungsu always made sure to have some sort of plushie or pillow to hold on to, always wishing you were next to him instead. So, when the two of you finally decided to turn in for the night, you welcomed each other with open arms. It was a little strange at first since neither of you wanted to make the other uncomfortable- but soon enough you both fell into a very comfortable sleep.

kwak jiseok

When you had invited Jiseok over to spend the night, he was practically vibrating with excitement. Jiseok would spend every minute of every day with you if he could- and now he can!! He was going to come over for dinner, stay the night, and then you guys were going to go out for a cute little breakfast date in the morning.

When you both made your way to bed, Jiseok was the first to be ready. When you returned to your room, Jiseok faced you with a teasing smirk.

“Who’s this little guy?”

A well-loved plushie was now being held by its scruff in Jiseok’s hand as he let out a chuckle. He found the fact that it was a little yellow duck to be very endearing. You felt yourself blush.

“Don’t hold him like that!” You quickly grabbed the plushie from Jiseok, “You’ll hurt him.” With a frown, you took the plushie into your arms and crawled into bed, Jiseok following closely behind you. He found your need to parent your plushie to be cute, and he let you know by giving you an apology for a kiss on the cheek.

When the two of you finally got settled, Jiseok made sure to hold you close to him- even if there was a plushie squished in between you.

oh seungmin

Showing up at each other's homes unannounced wasn’t uncommon between you and Seungmin. However, tonight was a little different.

It was around 10:00 when you heard a knock at your door, and when you found Seungmin on the other side, you gave him a confused look.

“You’re here late.”

“We unexpectedly got the day off and… I missed you,” he admitted into the cold air outside your door. “May I come in?”

You welcomed Seungmin into your home with open arms- quite literally. Seungmin had been working a lot recently, so you hadn’t seen him in a while. You threw your arms around him in a tight embrace, and that’s when you noticed his backpack.

You chuckled, “What’s with the bag?”

“Since it’s already late I figured I’d be here a while, so I brought some stuff in case. Is that okay?”

Your eyes lit up and you practically dragged Seungmin back into your bedroom, tossing him down on the mattress and jumping on top of him. He let out a laugh as you both got comfortable. He knew that you had been missing him, so he figured a nice, long, extended cuddle session was exactly what you both needed right now. Although, there was no use in Seungmin bringing his things. You almost didn’t let him out of your grasp when he said he was going to change into pajamas.

han hyeongjun

Hyeongjun had been waiting anxiously for this day to arrive. He was finally going to be spending the night at your place, and he was nervous to say the least.

The evening started off simple. You had made a small dinner together and watched it over a new show you both had planned on starting. It was all going well until Hyeongjun saw you starting to yawn.

“Sleepy?” He gently ran a hand up and down your back. You nodded.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed soon,” you admitted.

At this, Hyeongjun’s cheeks went pink, and he hoped you didn’t notice. After a short while, you went back to your room to start your nighttime routine, telling him that he could come join you if he wanted. He nodded his head and swallowed hard.

He walked into your room as you picked out your pajamas, and he was quick to stop you.

“Hey! Is that my shirt?” He quickly came over to you and examined your choice of sleep shirt, causing you to laugh. “I’ve been looking for this!”

After some light teasing and nagging, Hyeongjun finally let you go change. Once you returned, the heat quickly returned to Hyeongjun’s cheeks. He excused himself to go change before you could see it.

Once he came back and found his way into your embrace under the covers, you laughed lightly to yourself.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you punched the hem of his shirt between your fingers. “I’m just thinking about how I should steal this one too.”

lee jooyeon

After a bad family get together, Jooyeon could sense the way your attitude had shifted. You seemed to be dragging your feet through your day to day routine. Jooyeon knew that you had never really gotten along with some of your family members, so he chose not to pry. Instead, he decided to do whatever it took to make you feel better.

The weekend had finally arrived, and Jooyeon made his way over to your apartment. He brought what he referred to as, “his bag of tricks” with him. He brought snacks, games, extra clothes for him to wear and for you to steal, sweet drinks, you name it. Jooyeon was determined to get your typical smile back on your face- even if it was just for a little while.

The night started with games, and then somehow quickly turned into karaoke. You had found yourselves with your fake microphones in hand, rapidly approaching a noise complaint from your neighbors.

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Pick our next song!”

The singing and dancing worked you well into the night, and had done a good job at tiring you out. One by one, you excused yourselves to go get ready for bed.

Jooyeon now had you flush to his chest with a hand in your hair. He hoped you couldn’t hear how his heart was racing. He was planning on blaming it on some leftover adrenaline. Jooyeon was telling you a story, but he quickly realized that you weren’t listening anymore. He looked down at your sleeping frame, seeing the smile on your face, and returning it with one of his own.

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

[thebluemallet]

My Immediate Thoughts on the Latest Avatar: The Last Airbender Trailer

THE SHIP DESIGN FOR THE FIRE NAVY SHIPS! THAT MAST!

This must be the North Pole and leading up to the Siege of the North.

Appa soaring through the skies.

Yeah, they're really going to go and show us the attacks on the Air Temples. On the one hand, I'm excited about the new material. On the other hand, I feel like I shouldn't be excited about witnessing a genocide even if it's fiction.

IS THAT FIRE LORD SOZIN? OR IS THAT JUST A RANDOM FIRE NATION GENERAL?? I THINK IT'S SOZIN??

Aang breaking out from the iceberg seems a lot more violent than the cartoon but it also looks awesome! And if I were Sokka and Katara, I'd be scared shitless seeing that.

I think that's Monk Gyatso voice in the beginning? And he specifically says that the Fire Nation is embarking on a dark path instead of the super vague "storm clouds are gathering" like in the original cartoon. So Aang goes into that iceberg with more knowledge in this adaptation than in the cartoon.

Daniel Dae Kim looks great as Fire Lord Ozai!

Azula with a bow and arrow? Guess she's expanding her skill set.

Blink and you'll miss it, but that is JET that Katara, Sokka, and Aang are talking to before there's a big ass explosion behind them.

WE'VE GOT THE MOTHER EFFIN OSTRICH HORSES, BABY!

IT'S ZUKO COMING TO RESCUE UNCLE IROH WHEN HE GETS CAPTURED BY EARTH KINGDOM SOLDIERS!

Aang, Katara, and Sokka checking out the ruins of one of the Air Temples. Southern Air Temple, maybe, probably?

Water Tribe! Don't know if it's Northern or Southern but it could be the aftermath of Zuko coming to the Southern tribe to find Aang.

Katara coming in with her belief that Aang can save the world.

I'm in love with every shot of Appa flying!

THE AIR SCOOTER!

AND HE CRASHES INTO A STATUE LIKE HE DOES IN THE ORIGINAL OPENING CREDITS!!!!

There you go! You whiny little complainers finally got your sarcastic Sokka. And he definitely has more emotional range than the Sokka in the other project that shall not be named so I approve!

THAT'S ZUKO'S TINY LITTLE WARSHIP CRUISING AROUND THE SOUTH POLE LOOKING FOR THE AVATAR!!!

UNCLE!

That's not Zuko pinning up that picture of Aang. Maybe it's Zhao?

I fucking love the masks on the Fire Nation soldiers!!!!!!!

Zuko, you moody, angsty, traumatized teenager! I love you!

(This better get renewed so we can get awkward Zuko. I want to hear him say, "That's rough, buddy." I want to know how many takes they ruined when they eventualy film that scene.)

ZUKO AND IROH TEAM UP AGAINST THOSE EARTH KINGDOM SOLDIERS!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you know guys, maybe we should hear out what the fire nation has to say?

Nope, sorry, I was distracted by the abs. They should have had him silhouetted because I'm pretty sure this is the AGNI KAI WHERE HE BURNS HIS KID'S FACE!

Avatar "I don't want the responsibility!" Aang.

It's giving "Because I never wanted to be" and "I'm just one kid" energy.

THE FACT THAT I WILL NEVER GET TO CUDDLE APPA IN REAL LIFE IS A CRIME!

Sokka coming in and reminding Aang that he's not alone in this.

Reminds me of early on in the show when he says "Katara and I aren't going to let anything happen to you."

Momo's excellent comedic timing, there.

IT'S JUN! AND NYLA! IT LOOKS SO FREAKING GOOD!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! IF THAT'S HEI BAI, THEN I'M GOING TO SHIT MYSELF WHEN THEY SHOW KOH!

Oh, Zuko isn't showing up to Kyoshi this time, it's ZHAO!

SOKKA AND SUKI LOOKING AMAZING FIGHTING TOGETHER!

THAT'S TEO AND AANG FLYING AROUND! THAT'S TEO AND AAANG!

I guess one of the big changes from the cartoon is that we'll see Teo and his dad in Omashu instead of the Northern Air Temple because that's DEFINITELY Omashu they're flying around.

AANG! YOU'RE SO PINT-SIZED COMPARED TO SOKKA AND KATARA! AND THE RUNNING HUG! I CAN'T HANDLE THE RUNNING HUGS! THEY'RE MY KRYPTONITE!

BLUE SPIRT! WE'RE GETTING THE BLUE SPIRIT AND AANG FIGHTING TOGETHER!

Aang ready to kick some Fire Nation butt.

I wonder if that's part of the Siege of the North? It looks like Sokka flies him in on Appa and Aang drops in.

I think the next shot is the South Pole when Zuko attacks trying to find Aang?

Aang pulling out the Matrix moves when Sokka lets his boomerang fly!

KING BUMI! They were really accurate with the costumes here.

KATARA FIGHTING OFF ZUKO AT THE NORTH POLE!!!!

Jet looking like a badass and fighting off some fire benders.

I know I've guessed this several times, but THAT WAS DEFINITELY AANG AND ZUKO AT THE SOUTH POLE!

I like we see the glow slowly going over the tattoos as Aang goes into the Avatar state instead of it just going straight to glowing.

AND THE CHANTING! I LOVE THIS MUSIC SO MUCH!!!

I think Aang's last transition to the Avatar State is definitely him at the Southern Air Temple when he finally has to face what happened to the Air Nomads, but I could be wrong.

Anyway. February 22 isn't that far away and there are not enough words to describe how excited I am for this.

[mikrokcsmos]

Evermore

synopsis; in which you can no longer ignore all the signs of your husband’s affair.

pairing; husband!kim taehyung x wife!reader

genre; angst, marriage au

rating; PG-13

warnings; infidelity, not so much a warning but mentions of Yeontan to help keep you sane yw

w/c; 889

a/n; happy angsty reading! pls keep sending more if you enjoyed! <3 this is a repost from my old account.

song to listen to; evermore by taylor swift ft. bon iver

It was currently November, though it all started in July, or so you think. Least, that’s when you first started noticing the signs. Who knows exactly how long this whole affair has been going on.

Gray November, I’ve been down since July.

Your whole body felt heavy due to all the bottled up anger, sadness, and despair you kept inside, selfishly trying to keep yourself alive amongst all the chaos and denial you dealt with daily.

It was the night before the 4th of July, you recall. You were supposed to meet up at the movies to watch the third installment of your shared all time favorite franchise. A movie that you booked tickets for together months in advance. Only to be left in the dark room all alone, the only light illuminated from the projector. Glancing down at your phone that emitted a soft glow, you let out a quiet sigh of discontent not wanting to disturb fellow movie goers around you.

From Husband:

Sorry y/n, won’t be able to make it. This meeting is going on for way longer than expected. I’ll see you at home later, don’t wait up for me, okay? Save me some popcorn, though! Can’t wait to hear all about it! Love you.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

Motion capture, put me in a bad light.

Not that he left you to watch the movie alone, but yes, that sucked. He’s done it before, though. When you know for a fact he was caught up in a meeting, or so you hoped, thinking back on it now.

No. No, it was a detail that no one would’ve picked up on besides you, and in fact, most people would just scoff at and say you were over reacting. He was probably in a rush to send that text, they would say. He didn’t have time. Yeah, okay. Sure, whatever. But you knew.

Especially since you made a pact not too long after you started dating that you would use your pet names instead of your actual names when addressing each other. Or, not so much a pact, but more so just an unspoken rule you developed out of a daily habitual use of said pet names. He literally hasn’t called you by your name in years.

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong.

It was engraved in you since you were a little girl to be the ever doting, ever loyal, ever loving, ever faithful wife. Whenever you so chose to be one. Lord knows you were never in a rush. In fact, it wasn’t until you hit your 5 year anniversary that he got down on one knee and popped the question. Yet, you were still surprised when it happened. Still not expecting it for another 5 years later, at the very least. But, Kim Taehyung had other plans it seems. Ever the hopeless romantic, you should’ve known. Him always being the one to talk about your future together, hinting at a wedding and a big family with a little dog. At least you were able to cross off two of those, you thought bitterly. Contrary to the gentle pats you were currently giving to the Teacup Pom, Yeontan.

As the months progressed, he became less subtle. The lipstick stains on his collar of a color that didn’t exist in your make up collection, the waft of perfume you would smell as he kissed your cheek upon coming home that you knew wasn’t yours. And yet, you were still in denial. Not willing to risk losing him, your heart suffered instead.

Writing letters, addressed to the fire.

The only solace you had, being to write out your aggression of the day onto a piece of paper that would then meet the kiss of fire you would ignite nightly in your fireplace and burn, each time hoping and praying for it to cleanse your head and heart along with it.

It never worked. And you always cried silent tears of misery so as not to wake your peacefully sleeping husband curled up with the Teacup Pom in the next room over who came back from yet another late night out.

You never thought you would end up here. Being that wife that would become the gossip of other fellow wives. Becoming the ever pining wife that would stand alone in the dark at two o’clock in the morning looking out the window and waiting for your husband to come home. Craving his words and his touch. Knowing you weren’t currently getting either of those. She was. Whoever she is. You had no clue.

And I was catching my breath. Staring out an open window….

You stared longingly at your husband who just pulled up in the driveway. Yeontan running around your feet in excitement upon recognizing the sound of his human’s car. As he went to step out of the car, an article of clothing fell out, one he was quick to recover and throw in the backseat. More importantly one that was very obviously, not yours. Looking around to see if he had been caught, he locked eyes with you in the window. His widening in guilt, yours crying unrelentless tears as you stared emotionlessly, arms crossed over your chest where your heart just broke for the last and final time.

Catching my death.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Leaving Big Deal

A bit angsty. You miss Samuel

You like to wander Big Deal street alone. Whenever someone asks you if you want any company, you throw them a cheesy grin and "No I'm good! Gotta get my cardio in!"

But they don't know that having someone walk with you, just the two of you alone, feels like how it was, and the nostalgia and memories and loneliness sometimes eats you up inside.

Samuel didn't tend to take a liking to many people, but he likes, no- liked you. You staked your loyalty early on when you moved from Gangseo Union to Big Deal, faithfully following your leader. He recognised and valued you for that.

You were the opposite of him in many ways, almost like his anchor. Maybe it was your naivety and genuine enthusiasm about Samuel's plans and lofty goals that drew him to you. You didn't have his ruthless ambition or cold calculation but you could be useful.

Even without all that, without the crew and Big Deal and the scheming and politics, he still cared about you. Or maybe you were just good for his ego.

You remember being cold, once again forgetting your overcoat and Samuel placing his around your shoulders. You taking in the scent of him on you, all over you, as he gives you a smirk.

Sharing a cigarette down an alley together, taking a breather from Sinu Han and Jake Kim and all their romanticism even as the rest of Big Deal struggles.

Running back together in the rain, as he holds his jacket over the both of you, late to a meeting where Old Face will no doubt scold you but not Samuel.

Stealing some of his food during a meal together, where you are rewarded with an angry scowl but he lets you get away with it anyway.

Telling him you think he looks distinguished now that he wears glasses, it gives his thug persona some credibility as he chuckles.

Sitting on the pier, watching the waves with a bottle of beer between you. Listening to Samuel about his big ideas and end game, him giving you occasional glimpses of his childhood, and you confident that he would be able to do anything he sets his mind to.

On the same pier, he tells you that he's leaving. He doesn't ask you to join, and you didn't expect him to. It seems he concluded your usefulness had run out and you agreed you weren't sure how much more you could offer.

You tell him you will miss him, and he responds with surprise at your honest admission. You thought you see a flash of vulnerability as he gently tucks your hair behind your ear before brushing his lips against yours.

Without saying another word, he leaves you standing there. Still feeling the heat on your face after he's gone. You haven't seen Samuel since that day.

But when you walk Big Deal Street alone, you see him in every reflection.

[winterchimez]

things/aesthetic you associate with your moots please!

hi anonie!! it’s been a while since i’ve done tag games like this so LETS GAUR 🤩

im doing for the ones that i talk to most often ✨

@from-izzy my soulmate 🤞🏻(who clearly SHOULD be living in my city instead), sunricyeon!!, ✌🏻level-headed and ☝🏻dum-dum, purple 💜, bunnies 🐰, raccoons 🦝, in constant denial of her love life 😒, long calls & video calls, SAUR, music 🎶, “ALLY HELP ME 🥺”, fellow believer in God, concerts, has 19374848 plans to meet up but our studies/job preventing us to do so 😞 (but we will beat them and meet irl someday SOON BCS I MANIFEST)

@sungbeam my precious lil 妹妹 🫶🏻, blue 🩵, “hear me out….but another changmin potential wip/plot 🤡”, photocards, that wet tree rat pc, if talent was a person its her, care packages 📦, fellow introverts ✌🏻, the one who convinced me to purchase my sony headphones while we were videocalling in the store 🥹, my sleep paralysis demon, “ALLY JIEJIE”, my cutie wookie little sis 😔💗, but also goes 😐 whenever i talk abt sangyeon 🙄

@aimeecarreros the unhinged and wild one in the b*****, 1/4 of sangyeon’s whores, twerking ✨, the best gif maker ever 😤, “so elena…pretty pwease can you gif this for moi 🥺”, BBANGJU 👅, “CORREQUE ✌🏻”, insanely hilarious and unhinged memes and text messages 24/7, the moodmaker of the group, “haysss *inserts stripping meme*”, teasing me 24/7 🙄, pinterest, fashion 😍, bridal dresses 🤍

@snowflakewhispers the SAVAGE, maknae and the demon (lovingly) in the b*****, teasing me is her everyday job atp 🙄🙄🙄, mrs jacob bae, 1/4 of sangyeon’s whores, spitting fire 24/7 🔥, matching sony headphones 🤍, matching macbook colours 🩶, psych & kids 💗, the sunwoo to my eric, apparently is in a messed up relationship/situationship with someone who shall not be named 🦝, the moot who lives the closest to where i am 🥹 (so faster get your ass back here after uni ends)

@daisyvisions the unnie of the b*****, NAUR, that iconic zoom selfie 😌✨, constantly being distracted at work bcs of ✨unholy thoughts✨, podcast 🎧, 1/4 of sangyeon’s whores, also joined in on the fun with elena & ophelia on teasing moi 😔, jerry lee 🤤, doggo 🐶, newnudeshot 😏📸, photoism 🎞️, spongebob memes, BIG SEXC BRAIN 🧠, late night talks while working, always judging me for some reason 🙃

@justalildumpling my dongsaeng 👧🏻, sunricyeon!!, black 🖤, ptsd from windows turning from black to bright blue, “pull a j” aka doing and leaving assignments till the very last minute 😁, “guys…..”, “yall…..”, a simp 🤓, attracted to red flags men (but not anymore 😚), FOODIE CHINGUS, malatang, “guys….can we just call for like 20 mins max…i promise it won’t take long” = a 6-7hours call, late night (or early mornings) video calls, SHE IS A BEAUTY AN ICON AND SHE IS THE MOMENT 😍

@ethereal-engene my long-lost best friend 🥹, JU HAKNYEON 🍊, anime!!, men in glasses 🔛🔝, fellow chinese friend ❤️, cny 🧧, lion dances 🦁, WOOZI (ESP IN LONG HAIR 😩😩😩), matching hakkie pottery pcs 🤍, wips brainstorming ✍️, another cutie lil 妹妹 🥺, arms….and pecs 🤓, editing 👩‍💻, convos abt our studies/work life 💗

@kimsohn kim sunwoo, pinterest, “maya….i had a dream abt sangyeon….”, “oh!”, anime!!, that smiling and then speechless meme, sangyeon drenching himself in water 😀, “so when are you gonna write this”, sunric sluts, tbosas, coriolanus snow, always talking abt being on writers block with one another but eventually gets things done (and sometimes its long af), being caring 🥺, food!!

@quaissants 1/2 of my gremlins 👹, sends me lip gloss sangyeon 24/7, my twinnie 🤞🏻, same birthday & mbti 💗, speaks in such a soft manner like hello 🥺, genshin impact!!, ragnvindr bros ❤️💙, childe 🤓, angsty angst ❤️‍🩹, constantly looking out for me 🥹, men 😃, “i have selective reading”

@sanaxo-o another 1/2 of my gremlins 👹, unhinged as a person, sabrina carpenter 💗, flirty af but then i dont return the favour 😄, sends me sangyeon content 24/7, a great listener and gives me comfort, always checking up on others, ✌🏻level-headed and ☝🏻dum-dum, “LET ME BETA YOUR FICS”, pinterest, “Als”

@stealanity my unnie 🥺💗, always looking out for everyone, the big sister of the net, amazing as a person (i admire you loads), moodboards 😍, aesthetics ✨, a field of flowers 🌹🪻🌸🌺, brave (never afraid to speak up!!), i miss you sm unnie always 🫶🏻, calls me a cutie 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

@cloverdaisies CLO MY LOVE 💚, great britian 🇬🇧, fish & chips, “you have no rights ally ive revoked them”, “you dont love me anymore 🥺” aka clo’s way of making me feel guilty that i couldn’t visit her when i was back in EU (IT WILL HAPPEN ONE DAY I SWEAR I WILL BE BACK 😤😤😤), writing fics for one another 💗, STRONG ASS WOMAN 💪 (who juggles between work and uni all on her own 🥹🫂), “there’s a rat in my apartment”, phone & video calls (which we havent done in a while and we should again!!)

@juyeonszn my fawnie my bubba 🥹, coffee ☕️, zeneration livestream 🙌🏻, crying tgt, unboxing albums ✨, pcs collection, puppies 🐶, anime!!, big sexc brain 🧠, sunric sluts, INSANE MAKEUP LOOKS 😩, delulu is the solulu ✨, education 📚, never-ending talks on dc (which we haven’t done in a while i miss you loads 🥺), my fellow dancer 💃, if cutie was a person its fawnie 💗

@itsbeeble my pookie 🫶🏻, kim sunwoo, another big sexc brain 🧠, taylor swift 💛, eras tour ✨, “ALLY GO TO SLEEP”, eric sohn, ateez & svt!!, memes 24/7, exposing each other’s asses 😄, biker sunwoo 😩, delulu is the solulu ✨, another coffee buddy ☕️, talks abt uni/work life, always bouncing off ideas with one another

[bcbdrums]

unpopular head cannons?

Not sure which fandom you're asking for... I'll hit my main two right now, lol. And I don't know if they're actually unpopular or just...unique to me. So anyway...

Kim Possible

Drakken and Shego do in fact get married and want/have kids and get very domestic, post-canon. But. They remain in evil. They're just more lowkey about it.

Ron and Kim go to different colleges and break up for awhile. Ron starts seeing Yori seriously. Ultimately he realizes that yes, Kim IS the one for him, but he had to spend some time finding who he is without her to be his best self for her.

Ron also easily masters the monkey powers and they're not some big angsty problem for him. It's KP, come on. This is a lighthearted comedy cartoon.

Soul Eater

Stein is NOT some cannibalistic kinky blood-play neuro-divergent. He has some serious issues that never got addressed properly during his childhood, and so he struggles his entire life having to deal with these issues without any proper guidance. (Because burdening another child, Spirit, with that responsibility was a bad idea and sure as heck didn't work.) So he has his serious ups and downs since he has to figure everything out for himself, ultimately. But the common fandom treatments I often see of him just don't jive with what I see onscreen/on the page.

Stein didn't experiment on Spirit in the way it's implied. I think Kami convinced Spirit that worse things were going on than actually were out of jealousy, and I also think Spirit knew about the minor things that did go on. I think Spirit's comments to Blair about the experiments were drunken gross exaggerations, and he canonically does that (manga) soooooooo yeah. Lord Death simply wouldn't have kept Stein around if he was truly a threat, so the experiments couldn't have been that much. And I have plenty of ideas about just what went on...

Spirit did NOT sleep around!!! Now, hear me out. And I'll keep it brief cuz I could go ON about this! The man is a celebrity, and he is THE death scythe. He's gonna have adoring fans all over him no matter where he goes. Also, dancing with people??? Is a normal social interaction??? Since when does someone only dance with their spouse at a public gathering. The ONLY evidence we have of him "cheating" is the point of view of a five year old watching her celebrity dad interacting with people, when her mother isn't there. (Seriously...if Maka's fave memory of her mother is the divorce...where WAS the woman for her entire childhood???) And okay so moving past Maka's perspective and the fact that THE death scythe is gonna be surrounded by fans at all times (and you SoMa people y'all have the same headcanons about Soul so I know this isn't outside the realms of possibility) when we see Spirit in potentially compromising situations? What happens? His wife merely gets mentioned and he turns into a blubbering emotional disaster. You're telling me this man could have actually followed through on sleeping with another woman? In any case... His wife was simply not around, they had a loveless marriage that only occurred cuz of an illegitimate baby, and if he did seek attention elsewhere it's hard to blame him. But no, mister cries-at-the-mention-of-his-ex absolutely did not have it in him to sleep around. He's just a celeb trapped in a loveless marriage, and he's an attention whore. And yes this was me being brief.

Gonna stop there, ask again if you want more cuz boy do I have more! Thank you so much for the ask!!!

[gizkasparadise]

2023 wrapped: kdrama edition!

taking a page from @dangermousie, here's a list of all the kdramas ive watched this year, in order from least liked to most liked! because i dont have a spotify wrap-up to share :'D

cdrama one here!

and i'll do a webtoon one too /o/

overall i didnt watch too many kdramas this year, and finished less. kind of a "meh" kdrama year for me overall (with 1-2 exceptions). with that in mind, full disclosure that i didnt love a ton of what i watched this year in kdramaland:

we barely knew ye: ones i dropped only a few eps in

sweet home 2. dropped after ep 2. direction it went in is v much not my thing, my fave surviving characters were either killed off or put on the bench, and im not that motivated to see what happens next. might jump back into the franchise if word-of-mouth on s3 is good, we'll see

moon in the day. first ep was actually great and i enjoyed it a lot!! but im not doing cancer storylines rn so that killed momentum. may try this one again later

king the land. watched the first ep. simply did not vibe.

death's game. ditto ^

black knight. i LOVE a good dystopian scifi. this was not that. i was really bored after the first ep and didnt bother with the rest

my dearest. i watched the first ep and liked it, but just wasnt in the mood/wasn't immediately hooked. i'm going to give this one another try when i hit the Angsty Sageuk craving again

dramas i watched at least half of

6. twinkling watermelon.

it's pretty wild to put what i believe is the current #1 show on mydramalist as my bottom pick for the year, especially since it's written by my favorite screenwriter, but here we are. this one is far from objectively the worst drama but it's here because it made me the most mad!! the female lead and second male leads were both off-putting and selfish to me, and the whole drama i was actively rooting for ryeoun's earnest and endearing male lead and shin eun soo's underwritten second female lead to escape and have mother/son adventures on their own away from the rest of everyone else

5. arthdal chronicles: sword of aramun.

sigh. i was a big believer/supporter of this season, even with all of the recasts. but despite a few moments of brilliance, it was overall a slog to watch and just kind of joyless. too much time spent on the ago tribe, too many nonsensical victories and deus ex machina coincidences, and the bag was very much fumbled with some of the characters (particularly saya, who was to me the most interesting character in s1 and you KNOW ljk could have rocked that ruthlessness). positive standouts were kim ok bin flawlessly scene-chewing as taealha and lee joon ki working what he was dealt

4. worst of evil.

adored this drama for the first 2/3rds! it was gritty, neo-noir that reminded me a lot of the old school hong kong crime films like infernal affairs. lots of style, great acting, messy and flawed characters. but the last arc/ending was a boring dud for me. still very much enjoyed the ride up to that point though!

3. perfect marriage revenge.

so! much!! fun!!! just. full commitment to making a show as gloriously makjang/soap operay as it could get and it was a blast watching because of it. made on pocket lint for a budget but it rocked what it had and a special shoutout to lee min young's absolutely fantastically camp evil stepmother. the excitement died down a little toward the end, but still a good time overall

2. the glory, part 2.

a satisfying ending to a really excellent first half. love that the female lead just got to execute revenge and there was no moral or sanctimonious hangups about it. enjoyed the way the ending was set up as "the adventure continues," and all in all this was a really solid and enjoyable dark drama! only thing that was kind of a bummer is that the time split between airing the first and second halves killed the momentum a little, but that's entirely netflix fuckery and not the fault of the show

moving

hands-down the best kdrama i watched this year, and possibly my favorite kdrama ever. i didnt plan to watch this one because im sick of superhero everything, but the cast got me wanting to at least try it and omg im glad i did. great acting from literally everyone, wild action scenes, and just beautiful characters and dynamics across every level. the family narratives are so, so good and the whole show is expertly grounded in the concept of planting seeds so your children can see flowers. please give this one a try if you're on the fence about it!

2023 kdramas that i plan to watch (but didnt get to yet!)

my lovely liar

a good day to be a dog

my perfect stranger

revenant

mask girl

bloodhounds

my demon

AWARDS

Favorite ship: juwon and jihee from moving absolutely destroyed me in the like 3 eps they were in, so they win this one. he's a gangster who gets the shit kicked out of him for a living and loves stories with happy endings. she's a weary but always brave sex worker (coded, but still) who decides to trust a lonely man crying in the street. i never thought a motion-sensor light could wreck me the way theirs did. "you have worth to me, and i have worth to you."

Favorite FL: song hye kyo's dong eun in the glory just barely edges out han hyo joo's mihyun in moving. song hye kyo needs to play, like, all the villains and anti-heroes ASAP because that's been the most fun ive had watching her. she took on a dark character and rocked it

Favorite ML: juwon from moving, definitely. to quote my older post:

Moving really said hi this is Juwon. he has scars from gunshots all down his arm. he opened a chicken restaurant. he’s a gangster. he loves pro wrestling because the good guys win. he tried to rip out his own galbladder to prove a point. he’s a proud girl dad. he is unkillable. he stands in the street and cries.

Favorite 2FL: lee min young's incredible, over the top, villainous camp queen lee jung hye from perfect marriage revenge was just so much fun to watch and she ate every single scene she was in. 10/10 would watch her throw lawn chairs in a ballgown all day

Favorite 2ML: i would die for bongseok from moving. precious sunshine child who deserves only the best

Best Cast: im a broken record, but moving. so many characters with such great depth given to them and this was truly an ensemble show A+++

Best WTF: yura eating her paternity results in perfect marriage revenge!!