#min reader

[mochii0park]

Next summer; 01 - From Min to Jung

Genre: Strangers to Lovers I Arranged Marriage

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Min Reader x Jung Hoseok 

Synopsis: In the Min family, worth is based on pleasing the elders. To gain freedom, you agree to an arranged marriage with Jung Hoseok. Despite your efforts to reshape your life, complications arise with Hoseok’s idol, Kim Taehyung. Your alliance and freedom are at risk as you break the rule of never engaging with people from your partner’s social circle.

Word count: 11.6K

Next chapter >

Masterlist of series

General masterlist

Songs to listen to while reading: Move (Taemin), Honey (Solar), Dark Clouds (Heize), I like you (Post Malone), Falling slowly (Daesung)

A strained smile here, a respective bow there. Another of your father’s influential friends taps your hand with their old, wrinkled one. Your brother stands in front of the door, ever the better portion of the Min siblings, taming the tension with unnecessary small talk. It seems that your psychology degree was of little help when it came to catering to the higher society. It's not like you cared but it would’ve been nice if you were gifted with the masking of emotions like Yoongi. 

Seokjin peeks into the room, the vessels in your head almost popping at the sight of him. You think of his presence as an intrusion like your father was mocking you by showing him as a trophy he won in this war. If only you played your cards better perhaps, he’d be in the other room as the groom but alas you were stubborn. 

Kim Seokjin, the heir of the Kim empire and Yoongi’s childhood friend. The same one that used to tease you about your tantrums, the one who scolded you when you got your heart broken and the one who went broke it all over again. Trice the harder than your last boyfriend. Before that occasion, you might’ve listened to your father and proceeded with the marriage, but you woke from the slumber you’ve been in so long. Marrying him would mean the shackles on your hands would be tighter than ever.

Yoongi glances at his watch before coming to your side. Without much communication, guess it went sideways at the sight of you. He takes your hand. “It’s time.”

Three words were the best you’ll get out of him. It doesn’t come as a surprise, that the two of you had opposite views on this whole charade. While you looked at it as an out from the Min family and embracing freedom, he looked at is a betrayal of sacred family vows. You tried for years to tell him that no matter the love and the respect he had for you, you two never started on the same footing. Something you resented him for.

He had everything handed to him on a silver platter, the heir to the throne of the Min empire. Meanwhile, you, a daughter that in your opinion was a mistake, a slip of a night, had to claw for scraps of your parents’ affection. To your father, you were a pawn in his plan to rise higher than he already has, to him you were his entrance to the Kim empire. 

Except you shattered that dream by taking the hand of Jung Hoseok, a chaebol who came from nothing. New money, your father spat at the mention of Hoseok's name.

“Alright.” Your indifference irked Yoongi to oblivion. 

Much like your father Yoongi wasn’t the happiest about your marriage partner more so as he shared one too many drinks, and you'd assume women, with Hoseok. You’ll get your heart broken, Seokjin is a better choice, he told you.

Oh, the irony

For starters Seokjin has already broken your heart, secondly, Hoseok could stick it into your best friend for all you care. You weren’t marrying him for love. In the society you grew up, love was a foreign noun. You were marrying Hoseok for the freedom his surname held.

And Hoseok?

He’s marrying you for the freedom your presence held in his life.  

So, one might think how did it come to this marriage?

Hyun, ever the dotting closeted cousin of yours, let it slip past you that his close friend Jung Hoseok was looking for a wife.  Imagine if you were to marry him, God, I’d pay to see that, he blabbered stumbling over his words. Both stupid enough, both with too many drinks under the belt, you made a bet. You, ever the competitive person he knows you to becould never accept defeat, so you head to the Jung mansion. Long story short, your first impression wasn’t a good one.

Dancing on Hoseok’s last nerve, you barely managed to form a fitting sentence without the mention of a lavender marriage. In your defence, Hyun never had one single straight male friend. How could you know Hoseok was straighter than a pole?

It didn’t help that Hyun was far worse than you, laughing his ass off at every word that left your mouth. Let’s rule the world, you still cringe at your choice of words but deep down you truly meant it. You wanted to put Hoseok on the throne and make your father eat his words out. 

Much to your surprise, Hoseok was contemplating your offer alas only when you sober up. The confidence wasn’t there the next day he took notice of that but, the fire in your eyes as you lay out the plan was too tempting for him to turn you down. 

As much as you wanted to prove yourself to your father, so did he to society and you were his one-way ticket. With a firm handshake and Hyun’s hangover-self throwing up in the corner of Hoseok’s house, you sealed the deal.

That’s how you found yourself standing in front of him at the altar. You had to pat yourself on the back, despite the marriage being a farce Hoseok was a handsome man. A good catch, you remember Lisa's comment as she helped you fit into the damn tight dress.  In a world filled with ordinary faces, Jung Hoseok stood with high cheekbones that gave him a sculpted look, framing his face perfectly and adding an air of sophistication. 

His eyes are perhaps the most captivating; large and expressive, adorned by long, delicate lashes that would make any woman jealous. The deep brown hue holds a spark of mischief and kindness. When he smiles, they transform into cheerful crescents, radiating joy and in conclusion from the visual aspect, your marriage surely won't lack.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, we gather here today in this beautiful setting to witness the union of Y/N and Hoseok in the sacred bond of marriage. It is a celebration of love,”

You snort, luckily the priest doesn’t budge and continues with his speech full of pretentious bullshit. To your side Hoseok contains his laugh, a contrast to his best man – Jinwoo, was it? - who stares at you in shock. 

“Y/N, do you take Hoseok to be your lawfully wedded spouse, to love and cherish, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live? “

“I do. “ 

“Hoseok, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded spouse, to love and cherish, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live? “

“I do.”  You had to give it to him, for a split second you almost believed that the man standing in front of you was deeply in love. 

“Now, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss. “ 

The cheers, coming only from Hoseok's side of the family—now technically yours—cut through the small venue. His hand wraps around your waist, while the other gently pulls away the veil that is doing a poor job of concealing your face.He whispers that you are pretty as he brings his face closer to yours, nose to nose. Panic slowly rises within you, but with better judgment, you close your eyes and allow Hoseok to lead the dance.

The softness of his lips takes you by surprise; they meld perfectly with yours, and your body instinctively follows his rhythm. When he finally pulls away, Hoseok is just as out of breath as you are. The two of you lock eyes, momentarily stunned by the simplicity of the kiss that ignited a fire within you.

He is the first to recover, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you to his side while you walk down the aisle. Both of your mothers are in tears; his out of happiness, yours from the pain. Pushing that aside you follow Hoseok towards the car.  Hyun steps out of the driver’s seat and opens the door for you.

He gives you his hand as you curse Lisa for talking you into a dress that had too many layers. “I should’ve just gone with the simple slip dress.”

"That’s for the first night as a married couple," Hoseok says as he sits beside you, while his best man takes the front seat. 

"I don’t see the point of that. It’s not like you wear it long enough for your husband to marvel at it. Don’t you guys like, I don’t know lace underwear or something more revealing?"

At your question, Jinwoo chokes on the bottle of water he was innocently trying to drink. Hyun doesn’t give him much time to recover before commenting on how he likes his man naked on the bed. The poor guy blushes fifty shades of red.

Hoseok chuckles at the exchange happening in the car and adds his thoughts on the topic. "I’d say I like whatever my missus likes. Confidence is the sexiest."

You roll your eyes but find his answer somewhat endearing. Unlike Hyun, who calls Hoseok vanilla, which makes Jinwoo groan and you all laugh. 

"My misery shouldn’t be your source of entertainment," he retorts, tossing the bottle aside.

Hyun hums, and for a moment, Jinwoo’s eyes flicker with something that you interpret as a soft warning, almost daring him to say what he wants. Hoseok stifles a bubbly laugh, wiggling his brows at you. 

"Woo, come on, we all know you’ve had sex. There’s no need to be a prude."

Jinwoo bites his lips in irritation. "I’m far from a prude. I just prefer to keep my sexual preferences to myself. Hoseok." 

“Uu full name usage. Right, we just need to buy you whatever new Louis Vuitton bag there is, and you’ll be on all fours." Hoseok jabs Jinwoo’s shoulder with his finger, which Jinwoo playfully slaps away.

“A material king, I like that.” Hyun adds and the three laugh.

This further confirms that you made the right decision. Hoseok is warm to everyone; strangers, friends, or family, it doesn’t matter. In contrast, he is a striking difference from Seokjin, who always looks at everyone as if they were below him. You included.

Hoseok swung open the grand door to his mansion with a playful grin lighting up his face. "Mi casa es su casa!" he declared, beckoning you inside like a host ready for a fiesta.

Just as you were about to step through the threshold, he cheekily blocked your way with one of his legs and nudged you back, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You stared at him, confusion mixing with amusement, and he quipped, "Come on, we just got married! I can’t let you wander in without proper supervision!"

Before you could retort, he scooped you up in a dramatic bridal lift, declaring, "This is the only way you’re getting in!" With a mock-seriousness, he marched you through the entrance as if you were a prized possession. 

When he finally set you down in the grand foyer, you glanced around in awe, taking in the opulent décor. The mansion radiated an air of sophisticated modernity, drawing you in with its clean lines and well-considered design.

A sleek, minimalistic modern sofa, upholstered in soft grey fabric, took up the spacious living room. The centrepiece of the room, a striking chimney made of white stone, reached up towards the ceiling, its contemporary aesthetic balancing the warmth of potential crackling fires. 

Above, a magnificent chandelier reminiscent of the one in your father's upscale office hung gracefully. The walls were adorned with a select few paintings that whispered tales of artistry and vision, each frame showcasing pieces from renowned artists.

You could immediately identify the bold strokes of Picasso, the impressionistic flair of Renoir, and the golden allure of Gustav Klimt—all carefully chosen to convey a sense of cultured refinement. 

Yet, amidst the sophisticated decor, your gaze was inevitably drawn to a striking display of trophies that dominated one wall. Gleaming under the soft chandelier light, they stood as a testament to extraordinary accomplishment.

Trophies for best artist of the year, best choreography, best song of the year, and best duet, among others. Each award hinted at a world of creativity and triumph—yet their presence also stirred a sense of tension within you. A wave of realization washed over you, reminding you of the many reasons your father held Hoseok in contempt.

It wasn’t just a matter of approval; it was a clash of worlds. Hoseok, the charismatic CEO of an entertainment company, managed talents like Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung, something your father detested. He thought art and any creative branch is for the lower class to create and the upper class to buy as reminder of their everlasting power.

Hoseok was long gone, the sounds of glass clinging directing you to the kitchen which was spacious as his living room. Every single piece in it screamed luxury and although you lived in a similar setting somehow here you felt out of place. As if you were in a visitor in a museum only allowed to watch and not touch for you might break something. 

The sound of popping cuts through your daze and you notice Hoseok pouring champagne in two glasses. He strolls towards you with a grin on his face as he offers you a glass. “A toast to our freedom.” 

Your glass cling. “A toast.”

Once Hoseok downs the champagne, he loosens the tie and runs a hand through his hair. The messy look gives him a certain allure which he must’ve known because he smirks and with a wink, he walks out nesting himself on the sofa. You follow his lead, finding more comfort in an armchair opposite of him.

He exhales loudly, turning to his side as he plops his head with his palm and looks at you. “We don’t need to go over the rules again, right?”

“There isn’t much to go over, we agreed not to butt into each other’s lives.” You add as you take of the first layer of the wedding dress. 

Hoseok nods, eyes staring into space before he fixes them on you again. “True, but I wish to just add some ground rules.”

“Shoot” you say, now fully out of the wedding dress leaving you in a satin slip.

“No hooking up in the mansion”, your face scrunches and Hoseok clicks his tongue signalling you to let him finish, “You can have fun with whomever you want however, co-workers are off the limit.”

You roll your eyes, surely you weren’t dumb to jeopardize your marriage by tainting the image you both are trying so hard to keep pristine. “You know businessmen are not my cup of tea.”

“Well, neither were the daughters of chaebols for me but look at us now.” he teases as you throw a pillow at him full force.

He dodges. “No need to get feisty. Anyway, those are the only rules I have. The reason I agreed to this marriage was to keep my image serious and clean. Do you have anything to add?”

You think for a second. There wasn’t anything specific you wanted to add to the equation, much of it was already agreed upon. You didn’t care about his sex life as long as it didn’t enter the house because you are not sure you’d be able to sit idly as half-naked woman parades around the house. You had some self-respect, fake marriage or not. Additionally, you wanted to keep your face private. The less people knew how you looked, the more freedom you both get.

“No, not really but I am curious what my job at the company will be.” 

Hoseok brought the idea on your last meet up. He thought that working at his company would give you the opportunity to put your degree to some use. You didn’t dwell on it, thinking that his opinion might change but it remained the same.

“You’ll be working,” his phone buzzes, eyes skimming through the text, “with idols. Assessing their mental health for debuts and tours, accompanying them for some occasions. I need them to be on top of their game and that means that their health is my top priority.”

You nod, happy to know that your husbands company cared about things that are usually dismissed as a trivial thing. “Sounds good.”

Hoseok grins, excitement laced with anticipation before he gets up. “I am going out. You don’t need to wait up for me.”

Not like you were planning to. Lisa already asked you to come with her to the opening of a new pub in Gangnam. One of her friends decided to try her luck in this area of Seoul, seeing how previous neighbourhood didn’t bring much revenue. You send a text to her asking her about the exact time you need to be there before you go upstairs towards the guest room. 

As you pass Hoseok’s room you see him switch out of the elegant suit into a more casual attire that consisted of a flare shirt and comfortable jeans. He was on the phone talking to someone, the smile on his face never flattening for a second. It doesn’t take a genius to know where he’s headed but you couldn’t help but think if the other person on the line was happy with the arrangement.   

As you push through the heavy wooden doors of the pub in Gangnam, it feels as if you’ve tumbled into some kind of vibrant alternate universe where laughter doesn’t just echo off the walls, it bounces around the room like a pinball.

The crowd, many consisting of younger people, pulses with energy.  Each person a constellation of stories waiting to collide. Conversations swirl around you, a tangled web of half-finished sentences and drunken confessions that make me feel both exhilarated and slightly lost like being caught in a stream of consciousness that threatens to sweep you away. 

You navigate through the mass, eyes scanning for Lisa at your reserved table.  You catch sight of her in the upper section that, sipping on a vibrant cocktail that matches the spark in her eyes. 

She’s wearing the same outfit from the wedding, and you can’t help but ask. “Did you ever go home?” 

Her laughter bubbles up, light and carefree. “Home is where the cocktails are, Y/N. I came straight here to help my friend with the grand opening. You know, the universe has plans for us tonight.” 

You cringe at her loud voice, the tipsiness in it coming to the surface. “Maybe you should slow down with the alcohol, Lisa. I might need a map just to find you later.” 

She tips her glass at you, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Jeongsu will take care of me afterward, I promise!”

At the mention of his name, you groan, the sound escaping me like a balloon losing air. “Jeongsu again?”

Lisa rolls her eyes, a teasing glare in your direction. “Oh, come on. You know it’s better than being all alone with my thoughts. Plus, he’s got that whole priest’s mysterious son vibe going on, which is basically my kryptonite.”

 “Right, priest’s mysterious son, because we all know how well that usually ends,” you quip.

Lisa had her fair share of vibey guys she would go through each month. This month’s flavour was the priest’s son she met at the church. You didn’t want to burst her bubble that it was the pastors who get married and, frankly, he fucked her far too many times for God to ship them to heaven anyway. At the end of the day she was just a girl, standing in front of a fuckboy asking him, well… to fuck her.

One of the things you loved about Lisa was that she knew how to read the room. She never questioned why you weren’t with Hoseok on your first night as husband and wife. The main reason probably being that she was built from the same cloth as you and knew most marriages were deals made between the families.

Sensing your irritation she takes your hand and begins swaying you to the beat of the music. You savour the moment, finally freeing yourself from Yoongi’s hard gaze and judgment of his friends, especially Seokjin’s. 

“Work it!” Lisa shouts, takes a sip of her drink and waves at someone behind you, “Jeongsu and his friends came.”

Friends? More Jeongsu-s to deal with.

He doesn’t waste time twirling Lisa before he goes in for a very slobbery kiss. It reminded you of the species of birds that often cleaned the crocodile’s teeth. In this instance poor Lisa was the crocodile but judging by her expression she was into it as much as he was. Tearing your gaze in order not to gage, you sip your drink.

The bitterness bites at your throat as you skim through the three friends that were dragged by Jeongsu. The one sitting next to you seemed like the most cultured one, you didn’t catch his name but he nevertheless he caught your eye.

His face, a stunning blend of sharp angles and softness, made it hard to look away. The black hair, slightly tousled, gave him a laid-back yet striking appearance. It enhanced the intensity of his dark eyes. His lips were slightly open, as if he was about to say something important, holding a gentle smile that felt inviting. 

You only notices that you’re staring when he turns to you, smirk tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. “Would it be corny if I say take a picture, it lasts longer?”

When he spoke, there was a smoothness to his tone, a musicality, ebbing and flowing like a melody holding you captive.

You didn’t know if the alcohol was working or his stupid joke but suddenly you became aware of the warmth on your cheeks. “Uh,huh, both?”

He laughed, it was deep and resonant, filling the air with a warmth that made you smile. “I am a terrible model, but I’ll do my best to give you a flattering photo.”

“Oho Joonie, be careful she’s a feisty one.” Jeongsu jumps into the conversation albeit uninvited. 

You think your eyes will fall out from the rolling they were doing. Joonie, hums at Jeongsu not paying much attention to his words as he leans in whispering in your ear. “If you try any harder, you might actually throw a knife at him.”

“Oh, bite me Joonie.” You spat turning towards him. 

The proximity of your faces was far too small for your liking. You could almost count the number of freckles on his nose and the two dimples that appeared as his smile widened. “Where though?”

It hangs between you for a second, the weight of it sinks in at exactly the same moment for both. His eyes widen, his lips part—whether in horror or regret, you can’t quite tell—and suddenly, all that carefully curated confidence crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide. “Oh my God, I didn’t— I mean, I wasn’t— That’s not—” He runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “That was weird, right? That was weird. I’m so sorry.”

And you lose it. Not in a cruel way, but in the way you do when someone is so sincerely mortified that it becomes impossible not to find it endearing. He’s still floundering, still tripping over every syllable in his desperate attempt to undo whatever just happened, and the sheer panic on his face is funnier than it should be. “Relax, Joonie” you say, nudging his arm with yours, “I promise I won’t hold it against you forever. Just, you know, for the rest of the night.”

“It’s Namjoon, by the way. Kim Namjoon” 

“Such a James Bond introduction.” Jeongsu again butts in, and this time your hand begins reaching for the empty bottle of soda that someone finished earlier. 

Luckily for Jeonsgu, and sadly for you and your nerves Namjoon catches on what you were about to do so he beats you to it pushing the bottle of your reach. 

You throw him a glare and he put his hands up in a surrender. “As much as I’d love for the bottle to silence him, we have a project due tomorrow. My ass is on the line too.”

You sigh, finding comfort in the straw of your drink. “Min Y/N”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m never speaking again.”

“Shame,” you say, smirking into your drink. “You were just starting to entertain me.”

He sighs dramatically but smiles, shaking his head. “This is why I stick to books. They don’t judge me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, leaning in. “I think if books could talk, they’d have a lot to say about you.”

He scoffs. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think they’d say?”

“That you dog-ear pages even though you claim to love them.”

His mouth falls open. “I do not!”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, if I were to look through your books right now, I wouldn’t find a single folded corner?”

He hesitates for half a second too long.

“Uh-huh,” you say, victorious.

Namjoon groans again, slumping against the bar. “This is character assassination.”

“Maybe,” you tease, “but it’s accurate character assassination.”

And for a while, you just sit there, the silence between you no longer uncomfortable but easy, something warm and unspoken settling into the space he’d just filled with his clumsy attempt at flirtation. He exhales after a moment, gaze flickering from the condensation on his glass to you. “You ever think about how Plato believed love was just the longing for our other half?”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting way to pivot from whatever just happened.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know, I just...there’s something kind of tragic about it, right? The idea that we were all once whole, only to be split apart and left searching for the piece we lost.” He pauses, as if considering his own words, then shrugs. “Or maybe it’s just another way of explaining why people spend their whole lives looking for something they can’t name.”

You study him for a second, the way he absentmindedly taps his fingers against the side of his glass. You tilt your head, considering. “See, but that’s the problem with Plato’s whole theory. It assumes love is about finding someone to complete you when, really, psychology tells us that a lot of what we seek in others is actually a reflection of what we lack or desire within ourselves. Ever heard of attachment theory?”

Namjoon leans in slightly, eyes sparking with interest. “Anxious, avoidant, secure—the whole ‘tell me how much your parents hugged you as a child and I’ll tell you how you handle relationships’ thing?”

You laugh. “Pretty much. Plato’s idea of love is almost… nostalgic? Like he’s romanticizing the search for another half, but psychology would argue that love isn’t about halves. It’s about two whole people learning to exist alongside each other, dysfunctions and all. We project onto people. We fall in love with the versions of them that exist in our heads. Sometimes, we don’t even love the person. We love what they represent, the way they make us feel, the potential of what could be.”

Namjoon exhales, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s interesting. So, what’s your go,to book about love, then? What story do you think gets it right?”

You think for a second. “I’d say The Great Gatsby, because love is obsessive, delusional, and often tragic. Gatsby loved Daisy, sure, but he loved the idea of Daisy even more. He built her up into something impossible, something that could never match reality. That’s how love works sometimes, it’s all projection and nostalgia and chasing ghosts.”

His brow quirks up. “Dark.”

You grin. “Accurate.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “See, I was going to say The Little Prince.”

You blink. “The children’s book?”

He nods. “Think about it. The prince loves his rose, even though she’s difficult and vain. But he learns that love isn’t about possession, it’s about care, about understanding. ‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’” He pauses. “Love is choosing something, even when it’s imperfect. Maybe especially then.”

You stare at him, and for a moment, the bar fades away, the hum of voices, the clatter of glasses, the low thrum of music all softening into the background. It’s just Namjoon, looking at you with quiet amusement, like he’s waiting for you to poke a hole in his theory. And maybe you could. Maybe you should. But instead, you just shake your head.

“You’re annoyingly insightful, you know that?”

He grins, raising his glass in a small toast. “Likewise.”

You clink your drink against his, the warmth of cocktail settling in your chest. The night draws on and you lose track of time as you stare at Lisa who was on her sixth - or was it seventh? - cocktail. Lisa was a hedonist, using every opportunity to feed her hunger and usually you were next to her cheering her on. However, when that same said hedonism slowly started to look like alcoholism, you thought you should interfere. Because Lisa was gone. Like, absolutely, no-holds-barred, "let's text our exes and cry about capitalism" level of drunk.

Jeongsu wasn’t much better—both of them moving like malfunctioning robots, giggling at nothing, slurring words into syllables that never quite made it into full sentences. And there you were, sober even after two cocktails, trying to shove them into your jeep with Namjoon, who was being an MVP about the whole thing unlike the other two who made themselves scarce. 

“I swear to God, Lisa, if you don’t—” you started, as she dramatically draped herself across the backseat, one arm in, one leg still out, like she was auditioning for a role as roadkill.

“Shhh,” she slurred, pressing a finger to my lips. “You’re being... so loud.”

“Because you’re not in the car!” you whisper-shouted.

Namjoon sighed beside you, grabbing Jeongsu by the collar and hoisting him in with an ease that made you question his gym routine. “You take Lisa, I got this one.”

Somehow, you managed to cram them in. Namjoon climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a finality that felt like a victory, and you let out a breath before starting the car. And that’s when your phone connected to Bluetooth. The second Taehyung’s Singularity came through the speakers, Namjoon groaned. “Oh, come on.”

“What?” you said, pulling into the street.

“This? This is your choice?” He gestured toward the speakers like they’d personally offended him.

I blinked at him. “Yes? This song is incredible?”

Namjoon made a face like you’d just told him water wasn’t wet. “It’s fine,” he said, dragging out the word like it physically pained him. “But, like… doesn’t it get exhausting? Listening to that song on repeat? It’s all—catchy choruses and formulas and—”

You gasped dramatically. “I will not sit here and let you slander Taehyung in my car. Have you heard his range? His live vocals? His GRAMMY-NOMINATED COLLABORATIONS?”

Namjoon shook his head. “See, this is why I stick to Jungkook. He gets it. Standing next to you, Still with you? That’s real music. It’s art.”

“Taehyung’s music is art,” you shot back. “He literally writes, produces, and choreographs, and you wanna tell me it’s just some mass, produced—”

Namjoon groaned. “I didn’t say that I just mean—there’s more soul in Jungkook’s music.”

“Taehyung’s music is what moves people,” you interrupted. “It’s what you scream in your car at 2 AM when you’re questioning all your life choices. It’s what stadiums full of people sing in unison. It’s emotion. It’s universal.”

Namjoon let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you have bad taste.”

And that’s how the next twenty minutes went—you defending Taehyung like your life depended on it, Namjoon waxing poetic about the depth of Jungkook’s music, while Lisa and her boyfriend snored in the back, completely unaware that a war was being fought in the front seat.

You were in it. Like, fully invested, hands gesturing, voice climbing in intensity, throwing out arguments like you were in the final round of a debate tournament where the fate of humanity depended on me proving that Taehyung was, in fact, a musical genius.

“And another thing,” I said, gripping the wheel, “Taehyung experiments. He doesn’t just stick to one sound. He does R&B, pop, rock, EDM—”

“Which is exactly my point,” Namjoon cut in. “Jungkook doesn’t need to jump genres because it already contains everything. It’s free, expressive—”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that Taehyung isn’t expressive? That him pouring his entire soul into a song like Love me again isn’t—”

“TURN!”

“What?”

“TURN, NOW—”

At the last second, you realized you were about to blow right past our turn, and with reflexes you didn’t even know you had, you yanked the wheel. The car jerked into a sharp right, tires screeching slightly as we made it onto the street, and from the backseat came a thump—followed by a pair of miserable groans.

Glancing in the rearview mirror you see Lisa sprawled across Jeongsu, her face buried in his jacket, while Jeongsu blinked dazedly, looking like he’d just been yanked out of another dimension.

“Ughhh,” Lisa whined, slowly sitting up. “I think I died.”

Jeongsu just let out an unintelligible noise, rubbing his face.

You were contemplating whether to apologize—maybe even check if they were concussed—but Namjoon just shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. “Honestly,” he said, leaning back into his seat, “you did me a favor. Now I don’t have to wake Jeongsu up myself.”

You snorted. “Glad to be of service.”

A minute later, the car pulls up in front of an apartment building. Without hesitation, Namjoon popped open the door and hopped out with the ease of someone who wasn’t just involved in a vehicular near disaster. He turned back before shutting the door, resting an arm against the frame.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, flashing an easy smile. “Hope I see you again.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? So, you can lose another argument? Carefully pick the topic, so far, it’s Y/N 3, Namjoon 0”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, so I can give you Jungkook’s album.” He took a step back, grin widening. “Y’know. So, you can listen to good music.”

Before you could respond, he shut the door and walked off, hands supporting Jeongsu who mid walk decided he wanted to throw up before they disappeared into the building like that motherfucker hadn’t just dropped the most outrageous claim of the night.

You huffed, shaking my head, Taehyung’s voice still playing softly through the speakers.

“Good music,” you muttered. “Unbelievable.”

By the time you pull up to Lisa’s house, she is deep in her own world. Her head lolls against the window, her fingers tracing invisible shapes on the glass. She hums a song that only exists in her mind, and for a second, you wonder what it would be like to live in that universe—the one where melodies are only for you.

You don’t even bother trying to wake her up. That is a battle you have lost too many times before. Instead, you grab your phone and send a text to her brother.

You: Come get your sister. She’s out of it. Him: Ffs. Be there in a sec.

There is something strangely comforting about his immediate response. The universe is unpredictable, people are unpredictable, but the way Lisa’s brother always responds with exasperation and reluctant responsibility is as constant as gravity.

A minute later, the front door swings open, and there he is, looking every bit like a man who did not ask for the burden of siblinghood. He barely acknowledges your existence before yanking the car door open and extracting Lisa like she is luggage that has overstayed its welcome.

“She’s your problem now,” you say, rolling down the window.

“She’s always my problem. See you around Y/N.” he mutters before dragging her inside.

And then it is just you and the night, the clock blinking 3:00 AM, the streets too empty, too still, like the world has paused for a breath. You are tired, a little drunk, and full of thoughts that don’t quite fit inside your head. You drive home with Taehyung’s voice still pouring through the speakers, and the memory of a debate that should not have mattered still lingering like the aftertaste of something bittersweet.

When you pull into the driveway, you half-expect the house to be dark. Hoseok should be out, or asleep, or lost in one of his weird 3 AM routines. But when you step inside—not as quietly as you intended—there he is.

He sits in the living room, book in hand, legs crossed, looking so unbothered that it is almost offensive. His gaze flicks to you, and the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.

“You look like a disaster,” he observes.

“Feel like one too,” you admit, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. One of them lands near the couch, the other... somewhere. “But I made it home, so I’d call that a win.”

Hoseok closes his book with a soft thump and tilts his head. “Was the night worth it?”

You hum, collapsing onto the couch. “Met an idiot.”

“That’s promising.”

“Some guy who thinks Jungkook’s songs are better than Taehyung’s.”

His lips twitch. “I mean… he’s not wrong.”

You sit up. “Excuse me?”

He bites his lip, clearly fighting back a laugh at your reaction. “I’m just saying—Jungkook’s recent songs? Way more emotional. Seven, Standing Next to You, —”

You gasp. “You’re siding with him? That motherfucker?”

Hoseok finally cracks, laughter spilling out of him like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. “Relax, I’m screwing with you,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re different. Taehyungs got that deep, jazzy, soul, stirring thing going on, but Jungkook’s been hitting emotions hard lately. So, for now… I gotta say, I agree with that motherfucker.”

You groan, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re all traitors.”

He just grins, reopening his book like this conversation was nothing but a minor detour in his night. Like he hasn’t just ruined yours all over again.

Just as your body begins to melt into the couch, Hoseok casually flips a page in his book and says, “Oh, and don’t forget. 8 AM sharp.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Can I sleep a little longer?”

He shakes his head, no hesitation, no mercy.

You sigh. “Got it, boss.”

Somehow, you make it to your room, kicking off your dress but not bothering with your skincare routine because sometimes survival takes priority over self-care. You collapse onto the bed, the ceiling swimming slightly above you, and just as sleep starts pulling you under, you remember him.

“Stupid Namjoon,” you mumble into the pillow.

And then, because the universe is cruel and irony is its favorite language, you catch yourself softly singing, oh I wish you could, love me again…

And that is the last thing you know before sleep wins.

___________

You sit in your chair, legs crossed, fingers idly tapping against your notepad, listening—or at least trying to listen—as Hoseok talks about the future. The meeting room is expensive in the way that all the entertainment industry rooms are; sleek, modern, designed to make you feel like something important is happening even if it isn’t. The air is still, heavy with focus, six other people seated around the table, nodding at the right moments, making notes like they already know what’s coming.

Hoseok is talking about projects. A world tour. Two full-length albums. Some kind of documentary. The words flow from him in that effortlessly composed way of his, like he has already seen the next six months play out and is simply relaying the highlights to the rest of you. You are half-listening, half-tracing patterns into the margin of your notes when he says world tour, and something in you straightens. There’s a kind of electricity in the phrase, a promise of movement, of change. You lean in slightly, waiting for him to elaborate—

And then, there’s a knock at the door.

Everything stops.

Six heads turn, the meeting collectively holding its breath as the door swings open, and they walk in.

Kim Taehyung moves like the kind of person who has never once questioned his place in a room. He steps in with the ease of someone who has always been watched, always been listened to, and never had reason to doubt it. His expression is unreadable but polite, his posture casual but controlled. His presence is a statement: I am here, and you are looking at me because that is what people do.

Behind him, Jungkook lingers in the doorway, half-hidden, a contrast in every possible way. Where Taehyung is effortless, Jungkook is hesitant. Where Taehyung moves with quiet confidence, Jungkook hesitates, raising a hand in a small, awkward wave at the staff like he’s both acknowledging and apologizing for his entrance. His sweater sleeves are too long, his stance uncertain, and yet, he is Jungkook, and so the room watches him anyway.

They take the seats directly across from you. You are not someone who gets nervous easily, but suddenly, you are hyperaware of yourself in the way that only happens when you are being seen.

Hoseok clears his throat, gestures toward you, and says, “This is our new addition to the team.”

And just like that, Jungkook and Taehyung’s gazes land on you with full force, the weight of them pressing into your skin like an unspoken question.

“Y/N is going to be working closely with the artists as our in, house psychologist,” Hoseok continues, his voice smooth, steady. “Her job is to evaluate your mental health and be available if you ever need someone to talk to. She’ll be present during some of your photoshoot, music video filming etc.”

A pause.

Then, Taehyung speaks first, his voice low and slow, measured like he’s tasting the words before saying them. “Interesting.” His gaze flickers over you, thoughtful, assessing. “I don’t think we’ve had something like this before.”

Jungkook, still fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, sneaks a glance at you before looking back down. “Do we—uh—have to do evaluations?”

You meet his gaze, offering what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Not if you don’t want to,” you say. “I’m just here if you ever need someone to talk to. No pressure.”

Jungkook nods slowly, considering this. Taehyung, however, is still watching you, his head tilted slightly like he’s trying to figure something out. “And what about you?” he asks.

You blink. “What about me?”

Taehyung leans forward just a little, just enough to make it feel deliberate. “You’re evaluating us. Who evaluates you?”

The question hangs in the air for half a second too long. Across from you, Jungkook looks mildly alarmed, like he wasn’t expecting that to be the follow-up. Hoseok lets out a quiet huff of laughter but doesn’t step in to rescue you.

Taehyung lets the question linger for a second before breaking into a slow grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I mean, if you ever need someone to evaluate you, I’m happy to volunteer. I have a lot of experience in pretending to be a therapist.”

There’s a brief pause before he flashes a boxy smile. “Just kidding.”

The room chuckles, and you exhale, relieved, but also dangerously close to losing your composure because Taehyung just joked with you. And then—like it’s nothing, like he isn’t one of the biggest artists in the world—he leans back, folds his arms, and says, “Welcome aboard.”

You nod, hoping you look professional and not like a fan who has just been personally acknowledged by their favorite artist. You manage a composed, “Thank you,” when all you really want to do is scream internally.

But then, Taehyung’s gaze shifts, and his attention slides toward Hoseok, brows raising. “Why do you look like you’re enjoying this way too much?”

You blink and follow his gaze.

And sure enough, Hoseok is sitting there, looking entirely too entertained, a telltale sparkle in his eyes that immediately sets off warning bells in your head. You know that look. You have seen that look. And then, all at once, it hits you.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no.

Before you can stop it, warmth creeps up your neck, heat rushing to your face as last night’s conversation floods back into your memory. You resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

Of course, Hoseok remembers.

Jungkook, having picked up on something, nudges Hoseok. “What?” he asks, eyes flicking between you two. “What discussion?”

Taehyung, perceptive as always, catches the shift in the atmosphere. His gaze sharpens, amusement dancing at the edges of his expression as he turns to you. “Yeah,” he drawls. “What discussion?”

You immediately shake your head, shrugging like this is the most uninteresting thing in the world. “Nothing important,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “Just work stuff.”

But Taehyung is no fool. He narrows his eyes, leaning in ever so slightly. “Mm, I don’t believe you.”

“I second that,” Jungkook chimes in, nudging Hoseok again. “Just tell us.”

You shoot a desperate look at Hoseok, silently begging him to not say whatever he is clearly dying to say.

But Hoseok has never once been on your side.

He grins, leans forward, and with all the casual ease in the world, says, “Our dear psychologist here is actually a big fan of yours, Taehyung.”

Silence.

You swear the world stops spinning.

And then—then—Taehyung turns back to you, his eyes glinting with delight, and before you can prepare yourself, he smiles. A full, wide, boxy smile. “Oh?”

You are going to die.

“What’s your favorite song of mine?” he asks, resting his chin on his hand, like he’s actually enjoying this.

You contemplate lying. You contemplate running out of the room. You contemplate evaporating into the atmosphere and becoming one with the universe.

But in the end, you sigh and say, “Singularity.”

Taehyung claps.

“That’s it,” he announces, standing up only to plop himself in the empty seat next to you. “You are officially my new best friend. Hoseok is demoted.”

Hoseok lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Betrayal.”

Jungkook and the others burst into laughter, and you—still red, still mortified—bury your face in your hands. Your job was supposed to be evaluating their mental health. Not losing yours.

Hoseok sighs like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, which, in some ways, he is. He rubs his temples, glances at the clock, and exhales with all the dramatic exhaustion of a man who just wants everyone to get their shit together. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once. “That’s it. Meeting adjourned. Everyone out.”

The room stirs, chairs scraping against the floor, people murmuring quick goodbyes, already half in their next task, their next obligation, their next responsibility. You sit still, watching as the world shifts around you, as the people dissolve into the hallway, until it’s just four of you left in the emptying space—Hoseok, Jungkook, Taehyung, and you.

And then, like a switch being flipped, the atmosphere changes.

The easy-going, quick-witted Hoseok you’ve spent the past 24 hours bickering with disappears, replaced by someone much sharper, much heavier. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table, fingers laced together like he’s about to say something that neither of them will like, but both of them need to hear.

Jungkook picks up on it immediately. His shoulders tense, his gaze flickering to Taehyung, whose lips curl into the ghost of a smirk. “You’re making this sound ominous,” Taehyung comments, voice light, like he’s trying to crack the tension before it has the chance to settle.

Hoseok doesn’t bite. “It is ominous,” he replies, voice even. “I need both of you to understand that this, this isn’t just for show.” He nods toward you. “This isn’t just for some PR stunt to make the company look good. It’s serious.”

Jungkook stays quiet. Taehyung, on the other hand, tilts his head. “You’re acting like we’ve never had therapy before.”

Hoseok’s expression darkens slightly, his fingers tightening against each other. “There have been too many tragedies in this industry,” he says, softer now, but heavier. “Too many avoidable tragedies. I’m not taking chances with either of you.”

Silence stretches for a beat too long. Jungkook shifts in his seat, but there’s something else in his eyes now, something grateful. “I get it,” he says finally. “And... thank you. For caring.”

Taehyung, still watching Hoseok, finally leans back. The teasing edge to his voice has softened. “Yeah,” he murmurs, before flicking his gaze to you with something dangerously close to amusement. “And, y’know, in advance—thank you for whatever trouble I end up causing you.”

You snort. “I’ll start emotionally preparing now.”

Hoseok shakes his head but doesn’t stop the small smirk that appears on his face. And then, as if physically unable to linger in sentimentality for too long, he claps his hands together and stands. “Alright, back to work. Jungkook, go check on the lyrics team. I want an update on the album.”

Jungkook nods, already halfway to the door.

“And Taehyung,” Hoseok continues, stretching his arms overhead, “makeup team. There are paparazzi waiting outside, and we need to make sure you look flawless when they inevitably get pictures of you walking into rehearsal.”

Taehyung sighs, stretching dramatically. “Ah, yes. The burden of being internationally beautiful.”

Jungkook scoffs on his way out. Hoseok rolls his eyes. You just stare at the ceiling, wondering how exactly you ended up in this specific moment of your life.

And then—

“Oh,” Hoseok adds, almost as an afterthought. “You’re going with Taehyung to the Gucci show tonight.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Taehyung gasps, clutching his chest. “You think I’d cause a scandal?”

Hoseok just gives him a long, unimpressed stare.

Taehyung grins. “Okay, fair.”

And as Jungkook laughs on his way out, and Taehyung winks at you before striding after him, and Hoseok smirks like he’s enjoying your suffering way too much.

After the meeting you went down to the accounting office to settle the additional paperwork, they needed in order for you to officially call yourself their employer. The amount paperwork between you and them was by far larger than you had initially anticipated. Before you know it, thirty minutes passed quickly and you began to make your way down to the makeup team to check on Taehyung, only to find an empty chair and the makeup artist also gone. 

You run through the company halls like you’re being chased, which, in some poetic way, you are except instead of a masked murderer or your crippling existential dread, it’s the very real possibility of being fired by Hoseok before you even make it a full week. 

You skid around a corner, narrowly avoiding a poor intern carrying a tower of papers. “Sorry!” you yell over your shoulder, but you don’t slow down. You can’t. Because Taehyung, who was supposed to be in hair and makeup thirty minutes ago, is nowhere to be found, and you’re about three seconds away from losing your mind.

In the middle of your search for Taehyung, you bumped into Hoseok who was going on and about with his work.  Amidst ragged breaths, you manage to shoot Hoseok a look that, in a perfect world, would set him on fire. “Why,” you wheeze, “why did you think this should be part of my job?”

He, who has the audacity to look entirely unbothered, doesn’t even glance up from his phone.

“Because” he says simply, “as much as Taehyung is sunshine and laughter and poetic Instagram captions, he’s also someone who gets anxious in group settings. He hides it well, but it’s there.” Finally, he does look at you, and the teasing in his voice fades into something softer, more serious. “I want you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets used to the spotlight without it swallowing him whole.”

And you-well. What are you supposed to say to that?

So, with renewed determination (or at least the fear of failure fueling you), you spend the next fifteen minutes asking every living, breathing soul in the building if they’ve seen Kim Taehyung. Most of them haven’t. One guy claims he saw him heading toward the parking lot, and, considering your other options are “continue running in circles” or “give up and accept your fate,” you bolt in that direction.

And that’s where you find him.

Taehyung is leaning against the van, cigarette pinched between two fingers, the other hand typing something on his phone. His posture is relaxed, his expression unreadable, and when he looks up and sees you, he doesn’t seem to register your near mental breakdown. Instead, he waves, casual, oblivious to the fact that you’ve searched high and low for him like some tragic protagonist in a Greek myth.

You march toward him, stopping just short of actually shaking him by the shoulders. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

Taehyung hums, completely unfazed. Then, as if just remembering, he flicks the cigarette away and steps on it. “Oh?”

“Oh? Oh?” You throw your hands up. “You were supposed to be waiting for me after you’re done with makeup. Which was thirty minutes ago.”

Taehyung shrugs. “I forgot plus I was busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

But instead of answering, he reaches out, plucks your phone straight from your pocket with the smoothness of a seasoned thief, and—unlocks it.

You blink. “Did you just—”

“Kudos to you for not having a password,” he says, and before you can respond, he’s already typing. Then, with one final tap, he hands your phone back. “There. Now you have my number. And I have yours.”

You glance at the screen. He’s called himself from your phone, meaning his contact info is now saved in yours. You don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.

Before you can decide, the driver leans out of the van, expression tight. “We’re on a schedule.”

Right. The Gucci event.

You sigh, opening the van door. “Come on, troublemaker,” you mutter.

Taehyung grins, like he’s already decided that’s his new favorite nickname, and follows you inside. The drive to the venue is brief, the kind of brief that makes you wonder if time has conspired against you, speeding up when you least want it to. You barely have a moment to steel yourself before the van pulls up to the entrance, and suddenly, the outside world is a hurricane of flashing lights and deafening screams.

It’s a sensory overload—like stepping into the eye of a storm only to realize the storm doesn’t have an eye at all, just chaos stretching infinitely in every direction. Taehyung doesn’t flinch. Instead, he flips open his front camera, checking himself with the kind of practiced ease that suggests this is just another Tuesday to him. 

He tilts his head, smirks at his reflection, and then, as if sensing your nerves, winks at you. "Don’t worry,” he says, tucking his phone away. “This time, I’ll actually go to makeup.”

And then he’s stepping out, and the moment he does, the flashes ignite like fireworks, the screams surge to new heights, and security moves like a well, rehearsed dance, closing around him before the crowd can swallow him whole. You watch, stunned, as he walks through it like it’s nothing, like he’s built for this, like the weight of thousands of eyes and camera lenses isn’t crushing at all.

The driver clears his throat, breaking you from your daze. "Personnel takes the back entrance," he informs you, already pulling away from the chaos.

You exhale, nodding. Right. The back entrance. The place for people who don’t belong in the spotlight.

Inside, the venue is its own brand of madness—less frenzied, more controlled, but madness all the same. Models flit between stations, stylists tug at garments, makeup artists wield brushes with the precision of master painters. The air buzzes with tension, last, minute adjustments, whispered commands into headsets. Everything is in motion, a world spinning on an axis of beauty and precision.

You clutch the paper Hoseok gave you, scanning for 7—Taehyung’s station. You weave through clusters of people, dodging models draped in expensive fabrics, until you spot him in front of a mirror, a makeup artist dusting powder across his already flawless skin.

You call his name, and he glances up, meeting your gaze in the reflection. There’s something unreadable in his expression—half amusement, half something quieter, something almost grateful. He doesn’t say anything, just offers you a small, knowing smile.

You take a seat with the rest of Hoseok’s crew, watching as the final touches are applied to him. And you think, for all his effortless confidence, for all his ease under the crushing weight of the world’s attention, maybe even Taehyung isn’t immune to needing someone to see him—not as an idol or a model or a public figure, but just as himself.

The show unravels like a dream, or maybe a fever, or maybe both. The kind where you’re half-aware that reality is slipping, but you let it anyway because it’s beautiful, because it’s loud, because the air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and camera flashes and anticipation.

Your phone buzzes. Hoseok.

Hoseok: Front row. Where are you?

You: Backstage. Trying not to lose my mind.

Hoseok: Try harder.

You don’t have time to roll your eyes before Taehyung materializes in front of you, dressed in a suit that looks like it was forged in the heart of some celestial fire. Gold drapes across his body like it belongs there, like it isn’t real fabric but something molten, something permanent. The jacket is undone, just enough to suggest he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how many headlines this will make.

You gesture vaguely at his exposed chest. “A little breezy, don’t you think?”

Taehyung presses a hand to his sternum, mock scandalized. “Are you starting your evaluation already?”

You shake your head. “Just wondering if you ever feel like... you have no control over your own body.”

And it happens so fast you almost miss it—the half-second where his smile falters, where his eyes dim just slightly, where something flickers across his face that is neither playful nor performative. But then it’s gone, like it was never there to begin with, swallowed by the mask he’s worn so well for so long.

“It’s part of the job,” he says, and it should sound reassuring, but it doesn’t.

Then, his name is called, and the moment evaporates. He turns to leave, but you call after him, holding up a thumbs up. He grins, boyish and bright, and returns the gesture before disappearing into the flood of models and designers and people who exist in worlds far shinier than yours.

And then the show moves forward, like a machine, like a well-oiled and impossibly beautiful thing. Music swells. Lights shift. Models emerge and disappear, their bodies telling stories stitched into fabric worth more than most people’s apartments. From backstage, you watch Taehyung walk as if he was created for this moment alone.

Before you know it, it’s over. Applause fills the space like an ocean crashing against rocks, and backstage morphs into a whirlwind of congratulations and quick costume changes and people exhaling for the first time in hours.

Somewhere in the chaos, Hoseok appears. He leans against a table, casual, amused. “Looked like you were enjoying yourself back here.”

You grab Taehyung’s shirt from the rack, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, well. Someone has to make sure your golden boy doesn’t spontaneously combust.”

The two of you work in silence, packing up Taehyung’s things with the efficiency of people who have done this kind of thing a hundred times before, even though you haven’t. Hoseok moves with practiced ease, folding designer clothes like they’re casual t-shirts, slipping shoes into their dust bags, checking for anything left behind. 

You mimic him as best as you can, though your version is noticeably sloppier. Hoseok is shoving the last of Taehyung’s things into the trunk with the kind of efficiency that makes you wonder if, in some alternate timeline, he was a personal assistant instead of a CEO.

The van sits idling in the cold night air, and the driver—who has probably seen enough chaos to last him a lifetime—mutters something about needing to get the front desk guy to open the gate before disappearing into the night. Which leaves you and Hoseok alone.

You cross your arms. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Hoseok doesn’t look up as he zips a bag shut. “Left with his friends. Grabbing a drink or two.”

You groan. Because, of course, he did. Because it is entirely within Taehyung’s brand of chaos to disappear right when you think you have him figured out. But before you can say anything, Hoseok straightens, dusts off his hands, and says, too casually, “By the way, there’s an investor dinner this Saturday.”

You blink. “And?”

“And” he continues, “it would be weird if my wife didn’t attend.”

You let out a noise that is somewhere between a sigh and a death rattle. “Hose—”

“Look, I know you hate these things—”

“Hate is an understatement,” you grumble.

“—but it’s important. And, you know, appearances.”

You groan again, but this time, the sound is cut off by a voice behind you, smooth and curious.

“Wife?”

You and Hoseok jump like you’ve been caught committing a federal crime.

Taehyung stands there, watching you both with that unreadable expression of his, hands tucked into the pockets of his ridiculously expensive coat. He tilts his head slightly, and in the dim glow of the parking lot, he looks like a Renaissance painting, all soft shadows and sharp features. “Did I hear that right?” he muses. “You’re married?”

Hoseok exhales, pressing his fingers to his temple like he’s already developing a headache. “Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?”

Taehyung lifts a hand, dangling his phone between two fingers. “Left it in the car.” Then he looks straight at Hoseok. “And you never said you got married.”

You do the only reasonable thing in this situation, which is: say absolutely nothing and let Hoseok deal with it.

Hoseok, to his credit, doesn’t fumble. “I am married,” he admits, voice even. “But it’s for… a lot of reasons.”

There’s a flicker of something in Taehyung’s expression. It’s gone in a second, but you see it, that brief moment where something unspoken, something heavier than curiosity crosses his face. “And” he says, slow and deliberate, “none of them were because of love, right?”

Hoseok shifts. “It’s complicated.”

Taehyung hums, rolling the words around his tongue as if tasting them. He looks at you for the first time since this conversation started, and you feel like he’s seeing something you don’t even understand about yourself yet. The weight of it makes your stomach twist. But then he just nods, something close to acceptance in his gaze. “I suppose it’s none of my business.”

Hoseok exhales, relief creeping into his posture. “I’d prefer if you kept it that way.”

Taehyung gives a small, lopsided smile, one that feels just a little too sad to be real. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”

He pockets his phone, murmurs a quiet goodnight, and walks off. And you stand there, watching his silhouette disappear into the night, feeling a shift in the air that you can’t quite explain.

If only you knew—if only you had felt it—this was the moment everything started unraveling.

You and Hoseok stand there in the quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like it has something to say. The van is still idling, its open trunk like an unfinished sentence. Neither of you rush to fill the silence. It just lingers, stretching between you like an unanswered question.

Finally, Hoseok sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and nods toward the van. “I’ll drop you home.” And then, to the driver, “Take Taehyung’s stuff to the company.”

The drive is slow, the kind of slow that makes you notice things you wouldn’t normally—how the streetlights flicker, how the neon signs smear against the rain-slick pavement, how the world feels both impossibly large and suffocatingly small all at once. You stare out the window, trying not to think about the way Taehyung had looked at you back there, like he had figured something out before you had even begun to understand it yourself.

And maybe it’s that thought, or maybe it’s just the exhaustion settling into your bones, but you find yourself asking, “Why did you tell him?”

Hoseok doesn’t look at you, but there’s something thoughtful about the way his fingers tap against the steering wheel. “Lying would’ve made it messier,” he says eventually. “And I trust him.”

You glance at him. “You sure about that?”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not even a little bit.”

That, somehow, makes you feel slightly better.

When he pulls up in front of your building, he doesn’t kill the engine. Just turns to you with an expression that’s dangerously close to fondness. “I’ve got work to do. Won’t be home tonight.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and raise an eyebrow. “Should I assume that’s code for ‘I’m sleeping with someone else tonight’?”

Hoseok grins. “Correct.”

You sigh, dramatically. “And here I thought our fake marriage was built on trust.”

“Oh, it is. It’s just also built on me occasionally ditching you for real dates.”

You roll your eyes, pushing the door open, but before you can step out, he adds, “You should date too.”

You pause. “What?”

He shrugs. “You know. Find someone. Maybe that motherfucker you got into a whole music debate with.”

It takes you a second. “From the bar last night?”

“Yeah. Go out with him.”

“I don’t even have his number.”

Hoseok shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Tragic.” Then, just before you shut the door, he adds, “By the way—you did good today.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s driving off, disappearing into the night like a plot twist you didn’t see coming. And for a moment, you just stand there, the city buzzing around you, the weight of the day finally catching up. Then, your phone rings.

A message from Yoongi.

"We need to talk."

The thing about those words is that they’re never the beginning of something good.

You stare at the words on your screen like they have the power to rearrange your life. It’s not that you don’t love your brother—you do, in the way that people love things that have always been there, like gravity or existential dread—but you also know that whatever he has to say is going to make your night significantly worse. Still, obligation wins over self-preservation, so you call.

It rings once. Twice. Then he picks up, and instead of Yoongi’s voice, you’re greeted by the deep bass of a club, the kind that makes your ribcage vibrate even through the phone. There’s a clinking of glasses, some distant shouting, and then finally—

“If you’re at a club,” you say, “was this really that important?”

Yoongi exhales like you are the source of every headache he’s ever had. “I was out when I got the news.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “What news?”

He doesn’t answer right away, which is already a bad sign. Somewhere behind him, the song changes, something fast and electric. Then he says, “One of my friends saw you backstage at the Gucci show. With Hoseok’s staff.”

You blink. “And?”

There’s a pause long enough to be damning. “And?” he repeats, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how that looks?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Like I was working?”

“No,” he snaps. “Like you were doing someone else’s dirty work. That’s a job for the lower class, and you—”

Ah. There it is.

“—are a Min. You don’t do things like that.”

The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is less humour and more disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice sharper now. “Is Hoseok making you do this?”

Your patience is unravelling like a loose thread. “That’s none of your business, but for the record no. I volunteered.”

For once, Yoongi doesn’t argue. “No, it’s not. But it is father’s business.”

And there it is, the real reason for this call. The real weight pressing against your chest.

Yoongi sighs, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, like he knows you already understand. “You know he barely let you marry Hoseok. You know he’s going to be furious.”

Yeah. You do.

But right now, you don’t have the energy to care.

So, you take a breath, slow and deep, and then you hang up, ignoring the way Yoongi says your name like he’s trying to stop something from slipping through his fingers. You silence your phone, toss it somewhere across the couch, and let yourself sink into the quiet of your house, the weight of the night settling over you like a promise you’re not ready to keep.

[fumiliar]

toji has a secret tattoo, in a place hidden from the rest of the world. and you wanted to find out what exactly this man was hiding.

"where?" you asked one more time.

"nuh uh, no telling," toji shaking his head once more.

"let me find it then!" you got closer to him as you inspected him. you decided to make a plan, you'd ask him to take off a piece of clothing, if he hesitated, that's the spot.

"take your shirt off," you slowly observed the man.

"if you wanted my clothes off, could've just said so," toji taking off his shirt easily with one arm. "do-"

"your pants," you continued, as the man raised his eyebrows.

"do you want to fuck me or something?" he took off his pants, leaving him with just his boxers in the middle of the living room. "quit staring won'cha, my eyes are up here."

you were lost, no hesitation in any of his movements. his skin was clean, in all the places you'd expect a patch of ink, there was nothing.

"give up?" toji taunted as a smirk slowly came to his lips.

you had an epiphany, his lips. you walked closer to the man, looking pitifully as if you were a kid who got their lollipop stolen. as you got closer, you leaned for a kiss. slowly, your hands reached for his face, landing on his bottom lip. you pulled his bottom lip down finding the tattoo, "kiss me" right on his inner lip. jackpot!

"YES!" you jumped in happiness, releasing his bottom lip. before you do your third jump, you felt large hands grabbing your waist, immobilising you. he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist making you see him eye to eye.

"don't be too excited, now this is a secret between me and you, no one else, no one," toji emphasising the last 2 words glaring at your smile.

"ok, kiss me," before toji could respond, you smashed your lips to hip making him shut up, giggling in between kisses.

note: firm believer toji is a man who got a tattoo bcs of a silly dare.

[yourlocalangeldoll]

squid game x/twitter p links

♡ Characters: Thanos / Player 230, Nam-gyu / Player 124, Kang Dae-ho / Player 388, Min su / Player 125, Jun ho

ᝰ Thanos / Player 230

Toxic!Thanos and reader

Holding you up

Trying to show you how sorry he is after he fucked up

Softer days with Thanos and Nam Gyu

Saw you and all your tattoos at one of his rap battles and knew he was gonna bring you home that night

First time threesome between Thanos, you and Se-mi

ᝰ Nam-gyu / Player 124

Sometimes he prefers his thrusts to be rough ‘n deep instead of fast

Anal for the first time and he was nice enough to be more gentle 💞

Literally so Nam Gyu coded, he loves to make you squirt, he doesn’t even care of you’re overstimulated. At some point he’ll just force you up and fuck you himself

it’s giving dark!Nam Gyu 🤭

Nam Gyu on the bottom and Thanos on top

Videos he takes of you everytime after he fucks you

ᝰ Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

Softdom!Dae-ho with a breeding kink who can’t help but fuck his cum back into you after he breeds you

Soft morning after sex since you two can’t keep your hands off eachother

Milking a cute subby big boy 😮‍💨

Literally so Dae-ho coded oml, the way he holds her back?? hello???

Finally agreed to let you peg him and let’s just say it felt better than he thought it would

Videos you send him when you miss him 💞

He loves to Make out with your tits

You’re always a pillow princess with him(or he is at times)

ᝰ Min-su / Player 125

Pathetic aff

He has such a sensitive tip 💞💞

Double the pleasure for such a good boy

Baby was just trying to cook some food </3

pegging him

ᝰ Jun-ho

What cuddling turns into on special nights

Overstimming you when you’ve been bratty by alternating between fucking and fingering you

You pissed him off when he was already in a bad mood

LOVES how your ass looks all oiled up

You’re the literal definition of pillow princess when you’re with him

[demiec0re]

HOW SQUID GAME 2 MEN WOULD TREAT YOU!

pairings! : kang dae-ho (player 388) x fem! reader, park gyeong-seok (player 246) x fem! reader, lee myung-gi (player 333) x fem!reader, park min-su (player 125) x fem! reader and choi su-bong/ thanos (player 230) x fem! reader

warnings! : mentions of panic attacks, smut, dr*g usage, mentions of violence (fighting), a tinsy bit of angst. let me know if i forgot anything!!

will contain sfw and nsfw headcannons!!

1. KANG DAE-HO

sfw.

- this man would be the softest, cutest, most caring man when it comes to you!

- if you guys are in the games, you are his first priority and will always make sure your health is 100%. gives you his food if you’re still that finest but hungry after dinner and pretends he doesn’t want it so you don’t feel bad.

- insists you make friends with people so that you’re safe in here. drags you over to his new group who give you a warm welcome. they make sure you’re safe throughout every game which you’re extremely thankful for.

- after the riot, he comes back shaking and sweating. you can tell he’s having a panic attack due to the gunshots reminding him of his time in the marines. you’ve have experience with this so you instantly leave your conversation with hyun-ju and jun-hee.

- you comb your fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him down which works. you also rub his back and clear the sweat from his forehead whilst telling him it’s okay and you have him.

- it works and he’s calm.

nsfw.

- soft dom. wants you to feel as calm and comfortable as possible.

-deffo likes missionary and when you ride him so he can look at your face and wipe sweat from your forehead. he praises you like crazyyyyy and you would never hear anything degrading fall from his lips. ever.

-gives you little pecks on your neck which get more light and feather-y when leading down to your chest.

- when your legs get tired he can tell and flips you over to help you finish the job. makes sure you’ve came and you feel good before he does. just like he prioritises your safety in the games, he prioritises your enjoyment in the bedroom.

-he’s big with aftercare. wether you want a bath ran with rose petals and wine plus his company or just a wipe down and a massage you’ll get what you want because he loves you sosososo much.

-will make sure you’ve drifted off before he has. cuddles you from behind like a big bear!

2. PARK GYEON-SEOK

sfw.

- also prioritises your safety in the games. he’s gentle with you and you stick with him the whole time.

- he tells you about nayeon and his unfortunate position which you completely understand and you want to help him when the pair of you get out.

- will peck you before bed which the other guys think is soooo cute. he gets a little shy when they mention it. if anything occurs during the night, he’ll rush by your side and protect you at all costs.

- when the riot occurs you had preferred him not to go in case anything happened, only thinking of nayeon. when he’s not back for a while and eveyonr else is, you panic, big time.

- with tears escaping your eyes and several of the girls comforting you, a figure runs towards you. it’s none other than him! you’re super relived and you calm down when he convinces you that he’s completely fine.

- when you guys get out, you meet nayeon who’s absolutely adores you and gets all smiley when you’re around. she looks up to you as a motherly figure. when she’s better due to the money you both earned from the gruelling games, her hair grows back which you braid and style with clips everyday.

nswf.

- he fucks you slowly so you can feel every last drop of intimacy and love his man is pouring into your experience with him. also likes positions where he can admire your face.

- is vocal but not too vocal so you’ll hear a grunt and or a deep moan every now and again.

- another soft dom. doesn’t use toys or anything like that and likes it pure and simple. he’s a bit old fashioned so if you want anything like that he wouldn’t be too sure about it.

- eats you out with so much care and stops every few minutes to kiss your clit. this sends shivers down your spine. you grip his hair which spurs him on a little.

- makes sure you clean and happy after sex and sometimes falls asleep before you if he’s had a long day due to work or taking care of his daughter. you don’t mind bescuse you get to admire his beautiful face whilst he gets some rest.

3. LEE MYUNG-GI

sfw.

- makes sure you stick with him the whole time because he doesn’t want to have encounters with the wrong people like thanos who’s had his eye on you a couple times.

- gets into fights all the time, some of which revolve around you and his relationship with you. after he comes back with new bruises, you kiss them and urge him to stop getting into silly cat fights to which he rolls his eyes but agrees

- he has a soft spot for you and doesn’t really care about anyone else. always has an eye on you and during the mingle game you never. ever. leave his side.

- protects you and himself in fights during the night. will fight off anyone who even looks at you during them.

- during the riot, assures you all is okay and you’ll be fine. he was right. and when you guys get out, he takes care of you so well after you force him to pay off his debts to others which he didn’t really want to do.

nsfw.

- is more rough with you but still a soft dom. will degrade you from time to time with names like slut but nothing too heavy.

- will draw multiple orgasms from within you which leaves you seeing stars. he makes sure your always okay though.

- always comes in you and likes when you pull his hair or scratch his back while you’re getting off. he is much more vocal than the other guys and you guys’ moans combine to make a beautiful symphony.

- will wipe you down after sex but doesn’t do too much aftercare for you. he will run his fingers through your hair or massages you. makes sure you pee straight after because he read somewhere that you can get a UTI if you don’t which worries him.

-makes sure you fall asleep before him because he’s a gentleman.

4. PARK MIN-SU

sfw.

- is extremely sweet to you and loves you so much. initially didn’t want you to join the games with him but didn’t stop you.

- unfortunately he cannot protect you very well so most of the time during the night you’re the one fending for both of you but it’s okay because you love him.

- doesn’t speak up when thanos or any of his other leeches makes comments about you purely because he’s too timid to do anything. you stick up for yourself which he’s proud of you for.

- you comfort eachother during the riot

- when you guys get out you live a pretty peaceful and calm life which he enjoys and he pays for you guys’ meals out and pays for stuff he thinks you’d like which you find very sweet.

i didn’t write anything nsfw for min-su because i just can’t think of him doing anything like that 😭 sorry.

5. CHOI SU-BONG (thanos)

sfw.

- will call you names like señorita which you weren’t too fond of at first but the more he said it the more it grew on you.

-offers you his silly pills which you sternly reject. he doesn’t say anything more of them to you. you hate the fast that he takes them but you don’t want to nag him about it.

- during mingle, he physically kicks people away in order to secure a room for you guys which you think is wrong but you don’t say anything. after he notices you crying he quickly hugs you and tells you you’ll be fine which doesn’t really work but you stop crying anyway.

- drags you everywhere with him and makes you sit with his group who you don’t like at all besides se-mi who you grow fond of. when she changes her mind to X you knew it wouldn’t end well for her. you were correct.

- during night fights, you’re 100% safe because no- one would dare to do anything to you because they know what a nut job thanos is.

nswf.

- will fuck you rough and hard.

- also makes you come several times and might even make you squirt! doesn’t care where you guys are, sex is sex and he’s willing to get off if you are

- doesn’t really matter to him wether you come or not because all long as he has, eveything is good. pops a pill during it to increase him stamina which is already high enough.

- several rounds with him and you get overstimulated by the third one. he wants to go for a forth but you have to make it extremely clear that your body can’t handle it anymore.

- he likes doggy because then he can get nice and deep within your velvety walls. quite vocal and groans loudly, many even louder than you. degrading, toys and tears are alll his stimulants and will drive him on further.

- doesn’t have a clue about aftercare and will simply let out a loud and deep sigh after tying up the rubber and flop straight onto his back. he’s out like a light and is already sleeping deeply.

- your used to it so you just mirror his loud sigh and turn over and fall asleep aswell.

- hope you guys enjoyed this! if you want a version for the squid game girls (both s1 +2) lmk!!

[gongyoosgf]

THE SILLIES!!

[army-geniuslab]

When you look for a fic on Tag Reader and the main character already has a name and social security number...

[nadloves]

MY FAVORITE WEAK HERO CLASS 1 & 2 FANFICT

Yeon Sieun

Yeon si-eun x reader

LOVE LESSONS

unspoken

After School Surprise Pt 1 , Pt 2

You 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖨 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

Don’t leave me behind

PARTY ON YOU Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3

sidelines

Not just friends

homework and heart

UNREQUITED Pt 1 , Pt 2

Ahn Suho

Oh Mama!

“Strike for Strike”

Stay a little longer

Just strong enough to love you

Go Hyuntak

go hyuntak boyfriend hcs

Not his girlfriend

Reconnection Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3

go hyuntak boyfriend hc's

Sickeningly in love literally.

Na Baekjin

before the storm

still, i choose you

Geum Seongje

Advice.. Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3 , Pt 4

collarless

let love bleed red

„Bite The Blade” Pt 1 - 8

❝ Love ❞ Pt 1 - 5

+ DISCOVER YOUR SECRETS Pt 1 - 5

+ YOU CARE SO MUCH

+ SIX FEET OF SMOKE AND SILENCE

Park Humin

Taking care of you

Oh Beomseok

afterglow

[ruerecs]

fanfic writers NEVER contemplate or apologise for your fic being over 3-5k words long, we readers LOVE longer fics!! anyways have a good day/night 🙂‍↕️

[elliewill]

takin' what's not yours.

ALMOST LOVERS. so close, but not quite. ellie sends you a note that might rekindle what you nearly had.

word count: 4.9k warnings: nsfw mdni, infidelity, secretive behavior, pussy-eating, strapon r!receiving, messy tribbing, vague description of squirting tags: ex-bestfriends with benefits. long term homoerotic secret-third-thing. forbidden. a playful fuck born of yearning.

ELLIE HAD BEEN looking down at her third mixed drink when her stomach lurched at the thought of having to finish it. She never liked vodka. She wasn’t sure why she even chose it to begin with.

“I missed you,” Ellie said, setting her drink down on her coffee table, fiddling with the coaster her drink sat on. 

It was a childish thing to say. Childish, naïve, maybe even teetering on reckless. Ellie couldn’t help herself; it was nothing she hadn’t said before, although circumstances now would imply heavier consequences. 

You returned to an acquaintance of Ellie’s. A quiet awareness of each other, clearing paths to avoid regrettable collision. You repelled each other’s pull to orbit with nothing but sheer will and an intense fear of embarrassment.

An acquaintance, sure. But what did that mean when you’ve known the exact way in which the lines of Ellie’s neck join her collarbones, her shoulders? When Ellie had etched in her mind the way your silhouette takes its shape against the natural light while you’re sound asleep, nothing but a beautifully sun-drenched figure? 

It didn’t mean much at all, apparently. Her sheets have always held your scent — but it’d been six months too long since you’d been in her sheets anyway. Although that side of the bed wasn’t yours. And never had been. In fact, it was someone else’s now.

Still, you were no stranger. But Ellie had been bolder. And she’d been responsible for far more reckless things. 

So have you.

C’mon. Say it.

“I… missed you too.” 

The words ran from your mouth in a long breath; you were unsure whether the confession was intentional or by accident, but the words hung in the air now. She heard it. And you wrung your hands a bit, trying your best to bluff, still uncertain of what game she sought to play. 

She wouldn’t let you catch her eyes, and whether that choice of hers was sheepish or cocky, you couldn’t tell.

It would be too brave of you, too bold, to express what you’d really thought. Right? Wasn’t it? 

A swirling nostalgia settled in your stomach, and you played with the idea of drinking its temptation in full. Among the inside jokes stashed in between the couch cushions you sat on, you could probably still find one or two popcorn kernels lodged in there, too.

Could you maybe eat like a normal person? The movie’s not that scary, El.

Ha. Pshhh, I’m not scared. I’m just saving those for later. Obviously.

This was just a friendly, strictly-platonic get-together for two, just as you had done so many times before. You and your best friend had always been tightly knit – sewn, if you were being honest – until seams all but unraveled just a few months ago. You both found new ways to occupy your time, new hands to hold, new lips to kiss. More time to make for someone else.

And yet, that corny envelope and handwritten note still somehow slipped underneath your door earlier that day. Come over for some drinks? If you want. Definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to. Dina’s at Jesse’s for the night, if that means anything.

If that means anything.

“It’s okay that you’re with her, by the way." 

Attempting to save both you and herself from the silence, Ellie’s heart had spoken through gritted teeth, although her lips made sure the words rang polite. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realized she wouldn’t have to hear you backtrack.

She peeled the coaster out from beneath her drink and leaned over to grab your third drink, watching the condensation pool beneath the empty glass of ice. You swallowed the words as hard as you tried to untangle them. And the thought of Dina caught and hung itself like an anchor in your stomach. 

Dina was good for Ellie. And to save face, you’ve mustered the courage to say that your new lover was good for you, too. No matter the words exchanged in quiet – those were lovers’ quarrels and you always made up. The nights spent alone meant nothing, that was just how she coped. And forget the comments, they were funny! Even you laughed. Right? This was good. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Of course, it was okay. You and Ellie had only ever been friends. Or something like that.

“Whew!” You sarcastically pretended to wipe away sweat above your brow. After pressing your lips together in an attempt to conceal a smirk, you continued, “Fuck, I’m so relieved I have the Ellie stamp-of-approval. God, what would I have done without it?”

“Oh, shut up," Ellie laughed and rolled her hazel-green eyes at you, lips parting to reveal a crooked smile. Just a playful nudge at your arm with her freckled nose all wrinkled, and a flame ripped across your chest and crept toward your neck. "I was just being nice."

You broke the ice – the way you wanted it to be broken. Lighthearted, good-natured, casual. Maybe there was a twinge of something else – and of course there was, there’d always been something else  –  something sweet and tender and so poorly developed and fragile that maybe it was best that it never touched the surface. Although, maybe now, buzzed and lacking inhibition, it didn’t seem so bad to let it breathe.

“Okay, and? So was I.” You nudged her back, the nostalgia feeling bittersweet and overdue. “I can still kick your ass, y’know.”

“You wanna bet?” Ellie’s eyebrows perked up at you as she jokingly raised her fists, cartoonishly winding up a punch. Frequently, you used to find yourself at the receiving end of Ellie’s goofy shadowboxing. Few others have had the privilege of being her victim. “Put ‘em up.”

“Careful, nerd. Might hurt yourself,” you replied, feigning a lack of amusement. 

You slapped her lazy fist downward and something reeled inside Ellie’s gut. A knot formed in her stomach, being reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve touched her hands. But the inner corners of her mouth creased into a bashful smile anyway. She had finally let you catch her eyes. And for a moment, you forgot the circumstances. It seemed as though Ellie did, too.

“Do you ever miss this?”

Ellie’s gaze lingered. Maybe just a bit too long. Heat tore across your ears, and you tried your best to ignore the burn.

  “Miss what? Being challenged to kick your ass?” you defused. This was supposed to be lighthearted, casual… harmless. It was harmless. 

“Ha-haaa. Very funny.” You caught an eye-roll from the Savage Starlight card collector. “Y’know what I meant.”

“Being friends?”

“I mean, yeah, sure. Something like that,” Ellie uttered, unsure but settling for what left her lips. She shrugged, shy eyes downcast toward her fingers.

“I do miss it, yeah,” you admitted. Ellie struggled to contain her buzz at your confession. You returned a shrug, swallowing the urge to place blame. It had never been anyone’s fault. You had simply grown apart – friends do that sometimes, don’t they? 

“Don’t know why it’s been so long. Just… busy I guess,” Ellie muttered, almost embarrassedly. She was the one who stopped calling, she’s sure. Patrols were just…coincidentally reassigned, too. To make things less awkward between you both, obviously.

And busy had a name. You didn’t feel like your Busy was worth mentioning. But for Ellie, it was always Dina. 

Her name hung in your mouth and Ellie's eyes softened, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you.

“So…” you sighed, debating on continuing. “How are things with Dina?”

“It’s been… really great. She’s great.” Ellie compulsively finished the rest of her drink to avoid elaborating further. It had been proving difficult trying to remind herself that when it’s good, it’s great with Dina – and that it was something worth waiting it out for. And mind often wandered so far as to ask whether it had to be this way at all.

Relationships don’t always need sex for it to survive, right? What are the odds of sex life flatlining shortly after making it official? Was it just her libido? Perhaps lesbian bed-death, or something. People grow out of it, the freezing-out thaws, and all that, she guessed. But the guilt in Ellie’s chest burned up the words that never left her mouth. She hoped that with each breath thereafter, smoke wouldn’t curl out from between her lips.

“But… she doesn’t find your corny puns funny either?”

“Well, I know it breaks your heart, but she does, in fact, find my puns funny,” Ellie lectured in between laughter, with arms crossed and her warm buzz to blame for the half-lidded gaze.

“She’s still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” The sarcasm threaded your motion, slowly nodding at Ellie, hoping to win another laugh from her.

“I dunno. It’s just not the same y’know?” 

You tensed. You brought your hands down to your lap when you began biting the inside of your cheek. Of course you knew.

“It’s not the same as what?” 

You attempted to jump ship anyway. Lest you reveal something you didn’t want Ellie to know.

“Like how we used to be.”

“As friends?” 

Or something like that, right?

“I mean, friends don’t really kiss friends.”

Right.

The urge to bristle at the comment was hard to fight. You weren’t the one to have kissed her first; she started it back then. But the guilt slithered into your gut and gnawed at you, knowing that you always wished you had kissed her first, anyway.

“Sometimes they do. And maybe it’s that simple,” you said a little too defensively, knowing how Dina and Ellie got together. You didn’t mean for it to come out so brash, but you blamed it on the alcohol crippling your self-awareness and its accompanying filter.

“I mean – c’mon – don’t you wanna talk about it?” Ellie quibbled. “Or would you rather keep pretending that nothing ever happened?”

“Nothing did happen, Ellie.”

You prayed that the next words out of Ellie’s mouth wouldn’t be “Friends don’t fuck friends, either.” Because if they had been, you’d have to spend the next few minutes waiting for the hungry ache between your legs to subside; you know that your nameless Busy could never fuck you the way Ellie did.

“We both know that’s not true,” Ellie teased and leaned in toward you, holding back a scoff. You would’ve called it a laugh if you had been sober.

“Hooking up never meant anything, El. We were just friends, and you’re with Dina now. Don’t fuck this up for yourself,” you chided.

There was still time to leave. To walk away from whatever hot, tempting mess was awaiting you on Ellie’s couch. It was an old dance, a familiar one, whose steps had been memorized by your soles. 

It started with something harmless. Innocent touches. Friendly ones. Then, a peck. Something like kisses littered along a collarbone. Until, eventually, legs were hoisted over shoulders, faces buried in between thighs and hands with a mean grip on hair. 

It was inconsequential fun back then. It was forbidden now. And for some reason, the thought of getting fucked into a bed by Ellie, who didn’t belong to you, made your cunt slick.

“Did you know why I kissed you back then?” Ellie’s voice was soft, quiet. But there was a challenge there. Her words dripped with a dare.

“Cause you had a big, fat crush?” You leaned in the way she did, taunting her with a drunken smirk. Your faces were only inches from each other’s now, the vodka on her breath strong and the mutual desperation stronger.

“What if I said that I still do?” 

Ellie’s eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, clearly distracted by a twinge between her thighs. When was the last time your mouths have been so close? She swore that her fingertips could recall the hills and valleys of your figure. Maybe she could try tracing them along your skin again, just to test herself. Just to say she could. C’mon. Maybe.

“I would say that you’re drunk. And fucking insane,” you quipped, unable to help the laugh that escaped your lips – low and breathless. 

“Nothing else?” 

Every time she spoke, all the clear, hard lines that kept you two apart suddenly looked softer, blurrier – like someone had been rubbing out the edges. They looked wobbly, jagged, faded, as if someone drew them with a hand that couldn’t quite steady itself. Everything felt a little more fluid, a little more bendable, a little less… consequential.

God, the stakes were high and the rewards even better. One wrong breath and you could win her or lose her. You were always good at bluffing but had a bad habit of throwing out your cards. What then? What’s next? Fold, right? It’s always been a fold, baby. You never wanted the pot that bad anyway, did you?

“And that you’re a nerd.” “Oucchhhh.” 

Ellie feigned anguish with a cocky smile, whilst pretending to drive a dagger through her heart. 

Your conscience held itself in silence as soon as you watched her eyebrows pinch at the center. It’s almost exactly the way you remembered. When she’d look down at you, face between her legs. When you used to glide your tongue through her folds, making slow, soft circles around her clit.

There had suddenly been just too much fucking saliva in your mouth while looking at her like that. You began to believe that the spit in your mouth could be used for far more useful things than moistening your mouth. Both of you exchanged a fleeting look. A knowing one. A thirsty one.

You slowly leaned in to kiss her gently, pulling away to scan her face for any sign of regret, resentment – or satisfaction.

She didn’t wear surprise on her features. Her eyes had darkened, something hypnotic and fucking carnal behind pupils blown. The small victory set your body alight. And a discreet, sin-free, mouth-watering desire had been fulfilled. It was a peck. Just to test the waters. An innocent thing. 

The tug just below Ellie’s happy-trail disagreed. 

You both moved to brazenly close the distance, rushing to get up and get your hands on each other – to clumsily and carelessly make your way toward the bed that you missed so much. Your hands held the side of her face as her lips continued to crash into yours. She brought a hand to the side of your neck, a thumb grazing your cheek, the exact way she used to make you melt. It was sweet, it was missed, it was never supposed to be innocent. It was born of desperation. 

And it was fucking sloppy.

Miraculously, you two had found the bed – which, to be honest, is no miracle since this felt like ritual – and she pinned you down onto it. You slid up further into the sheets, your body buzzing at the way Ellie groped you. You clawed at her shirt, pathetically pulling her closer. A soft whine crept from your throat when her lips left yours, a string of saliva stretching between your mouths. Gravity broke the string; the warm spit dribbled down your chin.

You laid there, looking up at Ellie, whose hands have already undone a bra, while she feasted her eyes upon your neck like it was her next meal. Ellie had always been one to admire you, but there simply was no time to fuckin’ waste. 

Her right hand found your neck, nimble fingers closing around your throat and squeezing a breathy yelp from you. Her left hand found a handful of your soft tits, her palm skimming over your hard nipples and fighting the urge to grab any harder than she was. But before she could decide to rough you up any further, her lips and tongue met the skin on your neck, leaving a trail of painful and wet kisses.

It was so quick, born of something so pent-up, secret, uncontrollable. You loved that she didn’t give you a moment to think. The moans that involuntarily escaped your lips were half-formed, broken, breathy. Your thoughts weren’t that much different.

“Shit,” you managed to croak out, realizing that she had been leaving love bites. “C’mon, El. I don’t… don’t have a way to fuckin’ cover them.”

“Good,” Ellie huffed between half-kisses, before decisively bringing her teeth down hard on your neck, purposely ignorant to your wishes. A sharp inhale through your teeth settled into a helpless moan in your mouth. “Means I get to keep you. Right, baby?”

Baby. She called you baby. Something in your chest tightened, like heartstrings suddenly tangled. You’d question whether she meant that if you were sober. But the buzzing in your body from the gin denied the need for proof. Your proof was right there. Ellie’s tongue on your neck softened anxiety’s edges for you and your nerves remained partially blunted to the panic of being called her baby. 

“Mhm,” you sighed, nodding a bit sporadically, clearly melting. You searched for her hands with yours and dragged them down toward that deliciously painful ache in your pussy. “Fuck, please touch me, El, please.”

Ellie’s fingers dug into the hems of your shirt and her hands scrambled to pull it up and over your head. She brought her soft, pink lips to your chest, leaving kisses, sneaking bites and trailing her tongue down to your hard nipples. Ellie drew a plea from your lips, and she was about to do it again. All while her hands had worked themselves to the button and zipper of your jeans. And once she got those down – her own.

Your eyes lavished the sight of Ellie’s pretty thighs. Pretty, soft, flecked with freckles. The perfect place to put your head between. Goosebumps had strewn themselves across your skin. And your pretty friend’s warm hand over your cunt didn’t help.

“So you must’ve really missed me, huh,” she teased, running a finger over an obnoxiously wet spot of your underwear. You flushed at the soft brush of her finger, your blood red-hot underneath your skin. Afraid that she’d draw away her hand to tease you further, you gripped her forearm and pressed it against the heat between your legs. Your eyes locked.

“Gotta check to make sure, right?” You tilted your hips toward her, your words edging on a dare. And you had always known Ellie to be far too stubborn to turn one down. 

In silent agreement, her left hand peels your panties toward the side, her right middle and ring finger slipping easily into your dripping cunt and thumb gently landing on your throbbing clit. 

“Sh-Shit,” you moaned, licking your lips shortly after. With eyelids low, you reached for your tits, as if something feral stirred in your gut at the feeling of being filled by Ellie’s fingers. You fervently imagined what her tongue would feel like filling up your pussy; it had been too long ago to recall.

Your eyes followed her movement in hungry anticipation. She lowered her face to your middle, fingers sliding out to spread the lips of your cunt. What a fuckin’ tease.

She ran her tongue through your folds, eager to earn another pretty sound from you. And she did. Bottom to top, the tip of her tongue caught and spread the slick over your clit, and you couldn’t help but groan in greed. More. You wanted more. 

Ellie delivered — with a warm, wet tongue that slid into your pussy. 

“Goddd, fuck, El. Feels so, f-fuckin’ — good,” you whimpered pathetically. “S-so fuckin’ deep in my cunt.”  Like second nature, your fingers clawed for a grip on Ellie’s rusty brown hair.

“So — fuckin’… pretty, baby,” she moaned into you, between tongue-deep licks of your pussy. The sound of Ellie’s tongue messily lapping against and into your gushing cunt made a slippery mess out of her own underwear. But she didn’t need to tell you that for you to know.

Her fingers found themselves in your messy pussy again, her tongue at your clit, making steady swirls, occasionally closing her lips around your bud to gently suck. Like clockwork, a familiar hunger gently tore at you from your core.

“Shit, yessss, baby. Mhm, like that. Like thatttt. Gimme, El, p-please. I’m —” 

Just like that, Ellie had to do the opposite of what you so desperately begged for. Her tongue abandoned your clit, and her fingers left your pussy, sticky, beaded strings of slick adorning the space between them. An exasperated whimper left with an exhale. Ellie sat back onto her heels, self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Sorry — were you not done?”

“Fuckin’ Christ, El. You’re so annoying.”

She watched you compose yourself from the brink of the delicious chase of your orgasm, pulling something out from inside a bin from underneath the bed. Something she hadn’t used since she had seen you last. 

She calmly wrestled it on, made sure it was secure. And you ignored the blatant watering of your mouth.

“Aww, c’mon.” She screwed up her chin into a sarcastic pout. Her features sat gentle on her face, but her movements were a bit rough. Her hands pulled your legs to the right, leaving you on your side. Without giving you time to react, she rolled you onto your front, and pulled your ass up by your hips. You comfortably laid there, on your knees. “You love it.”

Her hazel eyes drank you up, admired your ass, and locked on the pretty, glistening wet lips between your legs.

“What are yo—”, you started, unable to finish. Ellie’s fingers spread your pussy lips, the tip of the strap gliding just-barely in. “H-holy shhhit.” 

The sultry whine slipped from your mouth. And, poor you. You couldn’t help but arch your back. Stars swam in your eyes as her slips slowly rocked into you, the length of her strap filling your wet cunt. 

“Slipped in sooo easy, baby,” Ellie hummed, hypnotized by the view, the way your ass moved with every stroke. Her palms spread on your ass, fingers digging in, likely to leave light fingertip bruises afterward. Her strokes got quicker and harder, her strap running over that delicious sweet spot in your pussy.

“Ellie! Fuck! Goddd, fuck me plea— right there, rightthere, baby,” you groaned, barely coherent, face-deep into her pillow, hands clawing at the sheets that smelled so much like her.

A series of whimpers had been leaving Ellie’s lips as she fucked you, the base of the strap rubbing comfortably — conveniently — against her clit. Something feral crawled up into Ellie’s abdomen with each stroke.

Unsatisfied with her grip on you, she reached over, laid a hand across your throat, forcing you to look up and stifling your moaning. 

“You make such — pretty fuckin’… noises for me — fuck,” Ellie said. Maybe sighed. Although, to you it felt like a pant.

You turned your head just a bit to catch a blurry sideways glimpse of Ellie. There was a cool glow that illuminated the side of her face, freckles clear and bright, eyes closed and chasing that familiar tug in your core as she fucked into you. It was probably the moonlight trickling in from behind Ellie’s closed curtains. 

And it was safe to say you fucking hated those curtains as they were.

Writhing under the pressure and friction of Ellie’s body behind yours, you secretly wished those curtains were never closed to prying eyes. You desperately wanted someone to look in. Someone to watch Ellie fuck you silly while you were wide-eyed, hypnotized, and hungry. The way she used to. Face down, ass up and fucked into a pillow. The way it was supposed to be.

And you’ve never looked more fucking gorgeous to her. 

“God fuck, so clo—”  Ellie’s breathy groans grew more intense, her sounds became all whiny, fussy, insatiable. You had her wrapped around your finger — and you’d be insane to make it all so easy for her. Her breathing quickened, catching itself on that warm knot in her stomach nearly unraveling. 

You pulled forward and away from Ellie. The strap slid out of your pussy, to both your dismay and delight. A smirk snuck its way onto your lips as you turned around, rolling onto your back — missionary.

Her freckled chest was heaving a hard, unsteady breath. A bewildered expression on her features bordered on defeat.

“The fuck was that?” She asked, chest and cheeks alight, flush and rosy. You daydreamed about leaving purplish love bites around her neck, like a collar. You had always been holding the leash, haven't you? 

This was your proof.

“I think that makes us even,” you answered, brandishing your self-satisfaction.

“Asshole,” Ellie exhaled with half a laugh, still catching her breath. Her hand tapped your thigh in a light smack — Ellie’s version of playful chastisement.

“Yeah?” you challenged, eyes flicking between the harness and the endearing lines forming at the corner of Ellie’s smirk.

You sat up, hands at the harness which sat around her hips and ass, managing to wrangle it off. Your eyes struggled to leave the pretty, sloppy mess she made underneath it.

Often you wondered if there was some secret language that only you two speak telepathically. Because she grabbed your legs, forcing you on your back again, and hoisting your right leg over her right shoulder — doing exactly as you desired. 

Ellie positioned herself so that her middle met your own, and when it did, the feeling of her warm, sticky cunt made the ache of your clit border on painful. The slightest movement made the most delicious and obnoxious sound of your desperately wet pussies up against each other. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” Ellie huffed, watching the way your hands grasp at your own chest in lust. “Is that all for me, pretty girl?”

Strings of drool stretched between your cunts every time she pulled away and returned back to you, hips rocking like something carnally possessed. Your clits passed over each other, throbbing hard and sensitive from the pressure and slippery, effortless lack of friction between your gushing pussies.

“Mhm, yes, fuck… yes—,” your pathetic, lovedrunk mouth ran. “All fuckin’ yours.”

You admired the tiny beads of sweat on her,  like a mist that fell over Ellie’s neck and chest. You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of glistening slick adorning both of your thighs. The air was a mess of both your whimpers, whines, nearly animalistic breathing.

“Uh-huh, just like that — All mine, baby,” Ellie groaned, leaning just a bit forward to grab one of your tits with her free hand. 

All hers. Sure, you were both drunk. But Ellie did nothing but confirm all of which you held to be true in secret. You’ve always belonged to each other – whether the world knew it or not.

“Keep going, please— yes… shitttt. El, plea— please fuck me,” you pleaded, eyeing Ellie’s tits bounce as she rubbed herself against you.

You clawed at each other; fingernails dug into Ellie’s forearm, and Ellie returned the favor with fingertips pressed hard into her grip on your thigh. The incessant and pathetic desire to get closer than you were plagued you both, as if you hadn’t been close enough. You could've shared skin – and surely even that wouldn't be enough. 

A mouthwatering daydream of watching Ellie’s eyebrows draw together exactly the way they did earlier, became reality. Lust burned circles around your clit and the deep tug behind your belly button served as a warning.

You could gather the same from Ellie, her eyes pinched closed, movements a bit more erratic, a bit more involuntary.

“Gonna make me cum with you, baby? Make me fucking cu—,” Ellie said, words sloppy and frantic, breathing ragged. “Shitshitshit, holy fuck, fuck!”

As warmth crept from Ellie’s cunt overs – you writhed underneath it. The thought of Ellie’s squirt drenching your pussy did nothing put you over the frenzied edge.

“Mhm, please, so fuckin’ close, El. Please, so close, I can’t fucki— shit! I’mcumming I’mcumming, fuckin’ god—” A tide rolled itself in your gut – you held your breath, just to feel it a bit longer, the euphoric tension and release. Heat ripped from your cunt to your chest, pussy clenching, clit throbbing, Ellie unrelenting. The relief in your clit grew sharp, a bit painful, overwhelming. Your hand rose to her abdomen, preventing her from rocking against you further. “Jesus christ.”

Ellie’s half-lidded gaze favored the way you squirmed under her; you were just so effortlessly beautiful, at the brink of cumming, at the sleepy aftermath – even with sweat beaded upon your brow from the desperate chase.

She adjusted her legs, fixed in order to collapse next you, although close enough to nearly be on top of you. You tangled legs with hers, finding soft, cool spots on her skin to rest on. Ellie lays half-way on her side, one arm folder and underneath a pillow and the other tracing the outline of your jaw. You both take a moment to catch your breaths.

“But friends don’t fuck friends right?” Ellie quipped sarcastically, waiting for a laugh from you.

“Oh, shut up, El,” you replied, a bit of a spirited defeat in your voice. Fighting the sleepiness, the exhaustion, the self-satisfaction –  you relented, wanting to enjoy the moment as it was. For now, she was yours and you were hers. You shared a bed. The sheets smelled of you. She called you her baby. 

“Let’s just…worry about that shit tomorrow.”

[sglossmin]

Yoongi Fics Rec List!!!

fav yoongi fics!!! most of these are oneshots>< Big love and praise to the authors who made these amazing storiesss!!! Most of these are 18+ so... be mindful when reading!!

Your Universe by @muniimyg (series)

MASTERPIECE<33 also my first ever read here on tumblr

Second Love by @cutaepatootie (3parts)

100%<3

Pour Some Sugar On Me by @yoonia

HOOOTTTTT and also messy lol

Act On It by @joonie-beanie

Vampire Yoongi on topppp

Hug-O-Gram by @cinnaminsvga

FLUFFFFF Yoongi is soooo cute helppp

Rings That Binds Us Together by @joyfulhopelox

it's been long since I've read this

Back-burner by @yoonpobs (series)

YESSSS

Private Lesson by @dntaewithluv

erm...

Vows by @hamsterclaw (2parts w/drabble!!)

PURE COMEDY BYEE-

Friend & Fools by @ktownshizzle

idiots

Till The End of The Line by @kimvvantae

got me BAWLING MY EYES OUT

Yoongi's lullaby by @jiminrings

he's an idiot

Love Grows Where You Go by @hueseok

cute heheh

Friendship Over by @borathae

hot hot HOOOTTT

Cherries by @redrose10 (2parts)

:<<<<<<

A Tiger's Judgement by @borathae

praise praise!! The author slayed once again

Ex-things by @namfinessed

idiots....

His entire world by @serendipitous-seven

softtt:<<<<<<<<

Dating Advice by @taleasnewastime (series)

the BESSSTT got me giggling and shii

Love & Lullabies by @ktownshizzle (series)

UGHHHH CUTE DILF YOONGGIIII

Eternal Sunshine by @ilys00ga

<3333

Lunch Break by @borathae

ahem...

Muse by meeeeee (available on wattpad too, click here)

uh...gonna promote mine ofc!!

[strwbyoons]

NO ONE ELSE

STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 10.4K

SUMMARY ... yoongi doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he wants you.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slight angst. smut (18+/MDNI). i needed these two to fuck so bad. making them official because they mean the world to me <33 taehyung flirting with reader. jealous!yoongi. basically-lovers-but-not-really to lovers. fingering, p in v sex, protected sex. if i forgot anything let me know.

playlist : still into you (paramore), snooze (sza), kiss me (sixpence none the richer), so american (olivia rodrigo), pink + white (frank ocean), still the one (shania twain), runaway (the corrs), kiss from a rose (seal), are you bored yet? (wallows), here with me (d4vd)

you wake up to the sound of yoongi’s alarm vibrating against the nightstand.

it’s early. too early. the sky outside is still a soft shade of orange, and the only reason you’re even awake is because yoongi, in his infinite wisdom, forgot to turn off his alarm before rolling out of bed to use the bathroom.

and now it’s going off, loud and persistent.

with a groan, you shove your face deeper into his pillow, blindly reaching out to slap at his phone until it stops.

silence. finally.

except, now you’re awake. and now you’re aware. of the lingering warmth beside you, the faint scent of his shampoo clinging to the pillowcase, the way his blanket is still wrapped around you, heavy and comforting.

yoongi’s bed is dangerously comfortable.

it always has been, which is probably why you keep ending up here, despite all the logical reasons why you shouldn’t.

there’s an unspoken understanding between you. whatever this is, whatever you’ve let it become, doesn’t get talked about. doesn’t get labeled. doesn’t change anything outside the walls of his room.

the bathroom door creaks open, and you barely lift your head as yoongi walks back in, hair a mess, hoodie slung loosely over his shoulders, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"your alarm is annoying," you mumble, voice heavy with sleep.

"your face is annoying," he mutters back, dropping onto the bed with zero grace, exhaling sharply when his head hits the pillow beside yours. for a second, neither of you move.

then, yoongi shifts, turning onto his side, gaze flicking over your face like he’s searching for something. he must find it, because his lips twitch, just slightly.

"go back to sleep," he murmurs, tugging the blanket higher over your shoulders.

it should be weird. it should be so weird. but it’s not, so you do.

next time you wake up, yoongi’s side of the bed is cold and empty, and his bedroom door is open.

the house is quiet, save for the faint sound of the tv murmuring from the living room. you stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before finally dragging yourself out of bed, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you shuffle out into the hall.

yoongi’s mom is in the kitchen, flipping through a newspaper with a cup of tea in hand. she looks up when she hears you, barely fazed by the fact that you just crawled out of her son’s bedroom like it’s the most normal thing in the world because, at this point, it is.

“morning, sweetheart,” she hums, setting her mug down.

you blink, still half-asleep. “morning.”

her lips twitch slightly, and then she gives you the look.

the same knowing glance she’s been giving you for months now, the one that says you’re not as sneaky as you think you are but also i’ll let you keep pretending anyway.

heat creeps up the back of your neck, but you don’t acknowledge it, just tug the blanket tighter around yourself and step toward the fridge.

“yoongi up?” you ask, peering inside.

“mm,” she hums. “went out a while ago. said something about needing a new lighter.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a carton of juice. of course. because god forbid he go a full twenty-four hours without replacing one of the dozen lighters he somehow loses in his own room.

you pour yourself a glass, avoiding his mom’s eyes, but you can feel her looking. assessing. thinking about whether or not she should say whatever’s sitting on the tip of her tongue.

and then, “just make sure you're using protection.”

you nearly choke on your juice. “what?”

she shrugs, oh-so-casual, turning a page in her newspaper. “just making sure.”

you gape at her. yoongi’s mom, the same woman who once scolded you and his sister for sneaking out at sixteen, now just casually suggesting that you and yoongi have been fucking each other in his room—which you've thought about, but in any which case is hardly any of her business.

before you can even think of a response, the front door swings open.

yoongi steps inside, looking obnoxiously unbothered, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a new lighter tucked between his fingers. he glances between you and his mom, brows furrowing slightly at your expression.

“what’s with you?”

you shake your head, gulping down the rest of your juice before setting the glass in the sink. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes, clearly not believing you, but doesn’t push it. just tosses his lighter onto the counter and leans against it, watching as you continue standing there, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, looking way too much like you belong here.

his mom, still smirking, picks up her tea again. “you kids hungry?”

yoongi shrugs. “i could eat.”

you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. “yeah. me too.”

his mom just hums, standing up and patting your cheek on the way to the stove.

yoongi steps up beside you soon after, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something fruity and familiar. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you rinse out your glass, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a second blanket.

then an arm loops around your waist. it’s lazy, effortless. like it’s second nature to him now, the way he pulls you in, his fingers resting against the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles against your shirt.

you freeze, because his mom is still standing by the stove, very much aware and very much watching. yoongi doesn’t seem to care. instead, he dips his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, soft and fleeting, barely there at all.

he lingers for a second longer, like maybe he wants to say something. maybe he’s thinking about it. but then his mom clears her throat.

not pointedly, not in a hey get your hands off that girl kind of way, but in a so are you two finally gonna get your shit together, or? kind of way.

yoongi ignores her completely. just tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, and sighs. “did you finish all the juice?”

“no,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “there’s more.”

“good,” he murmurs, and that’s it. no teasing, no biting remarks. just this. his voice low and steady, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your side, holding you there like it’s nothing. like it’s everything.

his mom watches for a moment longer, sipping her tea. then, with a shake of her head, she turns back to the stove, muttering something about how she didn’t sign up for this bullshit but is too old to care anymore.

you should pull away. you really, really should. instead, you lean into him just a little more.

yoongi hums against your hair, the sound deep and quiet. “heading to the skate park later,” he murmurs. “gonna meet up with the others.” his fingers tap lightly against your hip, a slow, absent rhythm. “wanna come?”

you’ve been struggling to make friends in his sister’s absence. it’s not like you haven’t been trying. you’ve put yourself out there, made conversation, said yes to plans. but whatever you had going on with yoongi weighed enough guilt on your shoulders to sink you.

because replacing your best friend wouldn’t make you feel any better. wouldn’t fix the fact that she wasn’t here anymore and you had whatever you had going on with her brother.

but then again, if you had other friends, maybe you wouldn’t need to rely on yoongi’s presence so heavily. maybe you wouldn’t be here so much.

you were practically living with the mins at this point, rotating between yoongi’s room and his sister's, burrowing into the space she left behind like a stray cat that refused to be shooed away. as much as you loved being here, you also kind of hated it. hated feeling like a burden, like you were pushing too hard against the edges of a home that wasn’t really yours.

you’d only vanished for dinners with your own family after text after text about how they never see you anymore.

oops.

you shift, exhaling slowly, pressing your fingers into the warmth of yoongi’s hoodie. “who’s going?”

he shrugs against you. “jungkook, tae. maybe joon.”

you think about it. think about how nice it would be to get out of the house for a while. but mostly, you think about how you’re already too tangled up in yoongi’s orbit.

still, you murmur, “okay.”

yoongi doesn’t say anything right away. just tugs you in a little closer, fingers tightening at your hip, and presses another kiss to your forehead. lingering this time, sealing something in place. then, softly, “okay.”

he pulls back first, but only just. his hand stays at your waist, warm and grounding, making sure you don’t change your mind. “eat first,” he murmurs, gaze flicking toward the stove where his mom is flipping eggs. “then shower.”

you blink up at him. “are you calling me dirty?”

his lips twitch. “i’m saying you should shower.”

“sounds fake.”

he huffs, amused but unimpressed. “fine. smell like sleep and my hoodies forever. see if i care.”

you roll your eyes, finally stepping away from him, though you hate the way the absence of his touch feels so immediately wrong. still, you school your features into something appropriately annoyed as you grab a plate from the cabinet.

“can’t believe you’re bullying me first thing in the morning,” you mutter, grabbing a piece of toast.

yoongi snorts, swiping a slice of bacon off the stove before his mom can slap his hand away. “can’t believe you’re still talking.”

his mom groans. “i knew letting you two coexist was a mistake.”

you flash her a grin. “too late now.”

she just shakes her head, turning back to the stove.

yoongi bumps your hip with his before plopping down at the table, stretching his legs out obnoxiously under it. “shower,” he reminds you, mouth half-full of bacon.

you flip him off. he grins.

you roll your eyes, filling your plate with toast and bacon before sliding into the chair across from him. yoongi watches you with that lazy, knowing look, already knowing you’re going to stall as long as possible just to be a menace.

his mom sets a plate down in front of him, shaking her head. “if i hear either of you bickering before i finish my tea, i’m kicking you both out.”

“you love us,” you say, because it’s true.

she sighs, taking a sip. “unfortunately.”

yoongi snickers, stealing another piece of bacon. you don’t miss the way his mom flicks her gaze between the two of you, trying to decide if it’s worth saying anything else. but she just shakes her head again tbefore flipping open the newspaper.

you eat in comfortable silence, nudging at yoongi’s foot under the table just to be annoying. he nudges back. neither of you acknowledge it.

when you finally push your plate away, yoongi lifts a brow. “shower.”

you groan, slumping dramatically against the table. “why do you care so much?”

he chews, swallows, and says, “because you smell like my bed.”

your face heats instantly. “so?”

yoongi shrugs, reaching for his drink. “so people will think i’m obsessed with you or something.”

your heart stumbles over itself, trips and falls flat on its face.

“you are obsessed with me,” you blurt out, pointing at him. “admit it.”

he snorts, taking a sip of his juice. “nah.”

“liar.”

he just shrugs again. “go shower,” he says, pushing back from the table. “we’re leaving in twenty.”

you glare at him, but you still stand up, dragging your feet toward the hallway, making a show of how annoying this whole thing is.

right before you disappear into the bathroom, yoongi calls after you, voice laced with amusement. “don’t use my shampoo.”

you slam the door.

you knew yoongi liked to skate. it's been one of his most defining characteristics since the three of you were kids. along with his habit of being annoying and his penchant to get into trouble.

he'd showed you his collection of skateboards that day on his birthday, explaining how much he'd bought them for, showing you the designs he'd painted onto them himself, and telling you the tricks he'd done on them.

his hair had been blonde then. six months later, it’s a more minty color, faded at the roots. it suits him, you think. even if you’d never tell him that.

the walk to the skate park is quiet. comfortable. the late morning sun filters through the trees, casting warm patches of light onto the pavement, and the air still carries the crispness of early spring.

the path slopes downward, and you hesitate before saying, “i’ve been thinking about applying for an art course.”

“yeah,” yoongi says, kicking a loose rock down the path. “i heard you talking to my sister about it.”

you blink. “you eavesdropped on my call?”

he snorts. “you were in my room.”

fair point.

you nudge him with your elbow, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the idea of him remembering something so small. “so?”

he side-eyes you. “so what?”

you huff. “so, what do you think?”

yoongi rolls his shoulders like it’s obvious. “i think you should do it.”

it’s so simple. so straightforward. like there isn’t even a question in his mind about it.

you chew your lip, staring down at the pavement. “i dunno,” you mumble. “feels kind of stupid.”

yoongi stops walking. you get two more steps ahead before you realize and turn back, watching as he lifts a brow, expression flat.

“what?” you say.

his eyes flick over your face, unimpressed. “what’s stupid about it?”

you shift on your feet. “i don’t know. just... feels kind of late to be figuring out what i wanna do, i guess.”

yoongi stares at you for another long moment. then, without a word, he starts walking again. you fall into step beside him.

“you know namjoon didn’t start writing music until he was almost twenty?” he says eventually.

you frown. “that’s different.”

“not really.”

you glance at him, but he’s still looking ahead, expression unreadable.

“do it,” he says again, voice a little quieter this time. a little less teasing. “stop thinking about it and just do it.”

you exhale slowly, dragging your fingers along the strap of your bag. it’s so easy for him to say. but then again, yoongi has always done whatever he wanted, no matter how much trouble it got him into. maybe you should try it, too.

with that thought, your eyes linger on the side of yoongi’s face.

he’s always been like this. steady, sure of himself in a way that makes you envious. not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in a way that just is. like he’s figured out how to move through life without getting caught up in the little things that keep you stuck in place.

his gaze is focused ahead, brows drawn slightly, thinking about something but not saying what. the sharp line of his jaw softens when he chews at the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s lost in thought.

you wonder what he’s thinking about. if it’s you, or if you’re just making it about you.

either way, you don’t look away.

maybe he feels your stare, or maybe he just knows, because after another few steps, he turns his head, catching your gaze like he was expecting it.

you don’t get the chance to glance away, to play it off.

his lips twitch slightly, the barest hint of amusement. “what?”

you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”

yoongi lifts a brow but doesn’t push. just keeps walking, hands still shoved deep into his pockets, that same small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows something you don’t.

and maybe he does.

you're familiar with some of yoongi’s friends. not in a close way, but enough that their names and faces aren’t completely foreign.

namjoon’s the oldest of his skater friends, the one who’s always been around in some capacity, showing up at the min’s house just as much as you used to. taehyung is newer, though still familiar. he’s got one of those personalities that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever, even if you’ve only spoken a handful of times.

and then there’s jungkook.

he was a year above you in school, and if that wasn’t enough to cement him in your memory, yoongi’s sister having the fattest crush on him definitely was.

you remember the way she used to sigh dramatically about him, how she’d make you wait outside the gym after basketball practice just to happen to be there when he walked out.

it was embarrassing.

the skate park is already busy when you arrive, full of guys who look like they’ve been here since sunrise, boards tucked under their arms, half-drunk bottles of gatorade left forgotten on the ledges.

yoongi barely glances around before spotting his friends near the bowl, plopping down on a nearby bench.

“you wanna sit and watch?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

you hesitate, toeing at a crack in the pavement. jungkook, who’s already mid-conversation with taehyung, spots you first.

“oh, shit,” he says, grin spreading. “yoongi actually brought someone?”

taehyung turns too, eyes widening slightly before recognition clicks. “oh, wait. i know you.”

jungkook’s brow furrows, scanning you again. “yeah, you were a grade below me, right?”

you nod. “yeah. and yoongi’s sister used to be obsessed with you.”

jungkook groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “please don’t remind me.”

yoongi snickers beside you. “it was painful to watch, man.”

taehyung laughs, draping an arm over jungkook’s shoulder. “so you do have rizz.”

jungkook shoves him off. “shut up.”

you snort, easing onto the bench next to yoongi, feeling the tension in your chest uncoil just a little. maybe this won’t be so bad.

jungkook shakes his head, still grumbling under his breath about why does everyone keep bringing that up, but the conversation moves on quickly. taehyung says something about a new trick he’s been trying to land, and jungkook immediately challenges him to prove it.

yoongi stretches out beside you, one arm draped across the back of the bench, fingers tapping idly against the wood. he doesn’t seem in a rush to get up, which means you’re not in a rush to either.

“so, you actually skate?” you ask, nodding toward where taehyung is already flipping his board into his hands, preparing for his turn.

yoongi scoffs. “do i skate?”

you lift a brow.

he exhales, sitting up straighter. “i’m not just some guy with a collection, you know.”

“i dunno,” you tease, tilting your head. “i’ve never actually seen you do anything.”

yoongi narrows his eyes. “i showed you my boards.”

“yeah, but that’s like—” you wave a hand, “—showing off a bunch of guitars and never playing one.”

yoongi clicks his tongue, shaking his head. then, without a word, he stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his board.

“stay here,” he murmurs before stepping toward the bowl.

taehyung and jungkook are already watching as yoongi drops in, casual as ever, carving the curve of the bowl like it’s second nature.

and okay. fine. maybe you underestimated him a little. because yoongi doesn’t just skate. he’s good.

like, really good. smooth and effortless in a way that looks instinctual. you don’t realize you’re staring until jungkook nudges your arm, smirking.

“damn,” he muses, watching yoongi flip his board before landing clean. “you got a crush or something?”

your stomach flips. “shut up.”

jungkook just laughs.

yoongi moves like he’s been doing this forever. he doesn’t hesitate before dropping in again, knees bending smoothly with the curve of the bowl, shifting his weight just right before pushing into his next trick.

your eyes stay locked on him, unable to look away as he kicks his board up into a perfect flip, landing clean, not even the slightest stumble. he’s completely in his element. focused, sharp, like nothing outside of this moment exists.

you exhale, dragging your fingers across the edge of your sleeve.

“you’re staring,” jungkook teases under his breath, leaning close.

you glare, shoving him away. “i’m watching.”

jungkook snorts, clearly unbothered. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

but you don’t take the bait. not when yoongi lands another trick, smooth and seamless, and something tightens in your chest.

because damn. you never doubted that he could skate, but you didn’t expect this. the precision. the ease. the way he moves.

taehyung whistles low, impressed. “he’s showing off.”

you blink. “what?”

taehyung nods toward yoongi, who’s gearing up for another drop-in, his hoodie pulled up over his head now, mint-colored strands falling into his eyes.

“he wasn’t doing all this last time we were here,” taehyung muses, tilting his head. “probably trying to impress someone.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach does a weird little flip anyway.

jungkook smirks. “wonder who that could be.”

you elbow him in the ribs.

yoongi lands another clean trick, kicking his board up into his hands before finally stepping off, exhaling through his nose as he pushes his hoodie back.

his eyes scan the park once before landing on you, and—

oh. he’s smirking.

a knowing little thing, subtle but there.

your face heats instantly, and you hate the way jungkook and taehyung both make noises of confirmation at the same time.

yoongi strolls over, board tucked under one arm, sweat gathering at his hairline. he stops in front of you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“so?” he says, tilting his head. “believe me now?”

you cross your arms, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “eh,” you hum. “i guess you can skate.”

yoongi huffs, shaking his head like. he leans in slightly, gaze flicking over your face, voice quieter when he murmurs “you were watching pretty hard for someone who just guesses.”

"fuck off," you say with a scoff.

taehyung points a dramatic finger at you, his eyes wide with mock intensity. “my turn!” he announces, loud enough to catch the attention of a few other skaters nearby, “this is for you.”

you blink. “uh—”

before you can even ask what he means, taehyung grabs his board, squares his shoulders, and launches into what you assume is supposed to be an ollie.

except his timing is completely off. his foot misses the pop, his weight shifts too far forward, and then he’s face-planting straight into the pavement.

it happens so fast you barely have time to react. one second he’s in the air, the next he’s sprawled out on the ground, limbs tangled with his board, the dull slap of skin meeting concrete ringing through the air.

there’s a brief, stunned silence, and then jungkook wheezes. yoongi snorts so hard he has to clap a hand over his mouth, and you press your fingers to your lips, trying—and failing—to suppress your laugh.

taehyung groans, lifting his head just enough to glare at the three of you. “y’all suck.”

jungkook clutches his stomach, barely able to get words out. “bro, i can’t breathe—”

yoongi shakes his head, stepping toward you. his arm hooks around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest, your laughter cutting off with a small, surprised inhale.

his voice is lower, teasing but warm, as he murmurs, “that’s what he gets for trying to impress my girl.”

your stomach flips. the words settle heavy in your chest, something warm spreading from your ribs outward, curling into your fingers, making your breath hitch just slightly.

yoongi doesn't let go right away, his hold lingering, fingers flexing slightly at your hip like he’s perfectly comfortable keeping you there.

taehyung, still facedown on the pavement, mutters, “i hate all of you.”

yoongi hums, completely unbothered. “you’ll live.”

the skate park trip lasts another hour before the collective hunger settles in. someone suggests maccas, and there’s no argument. because really, there’s no better way to wrap up an afternoon of skating than cheap burgers and greasy fries, so you all walk.

yoongi’s close beside you, like he always is, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shoulders relaxed. taehyung walks ahead, still rubbing at his scraped-up elbow, while jungkook pushes his board lazily along the sidewalk, rolling it forward with the tip of his shoe.

“so,” jungkook starts, voice full of something already obnoxious, “are you two, like… together or what?”

your reaction is immediate. “no,” you blurt, way too quickly, way too defensively.

yoongi huffs. it’s quiet, barely a breath, but you hear it. so does jungkook.

his brows shoot up, not expecting the level of urgency in your denial. yoongi, for his part, doesn’t say anything, but you feel the way his shoulders tense for a split second. the way his head tilts slightly, side-eyeing you.

you don’t look at him.

jungkook whistles low. “damn. that was fast.”

“right?” taehyung snickers.

your face heats. “because it’s not a thing.”

jungkook hums, unconvinced. “sure.”

taehyung nods. “yeah, totally. absolutely no thing happening here.”

you glare, shoving him as you walk past. yoongi stays quiet.

you don’t glance at him, but you feel his presence beside you, the weight of something tense hanging in the space between you. it doesn’t go away for the rest of the walk.

the mcdonald's is busy when you arrive, buzzing with the usual mix of skateboarders, students, and exhausted parents just trying to survive the afternoon rush.

the four of you shuffle into line, the overhead speaker crackling with some pop song that’s been playing on every radio station for months. jungkook and taehyung are still laughing about something behind you, but you don’t catch it. not when yoongi’s standing beside you, gaze straightforward.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe out of habit. maybe to see if he’ll react. but you nudge his arm, light, just a little bump against his sleeve.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t nudge back. doesn’t even look at you.

your stomach twists, something uncomfortably hot settling behind your ribs. yoongi doesn’t usually ignore you, at least not like this. not in a way that feels so intentional.

still, you don’t say anything.

the line moves forward. when you finally reach the counter, yoongi steps up first, rattling off his usual order without looking at the menu. and then he orders yours, too.

exactly how you like it. down to the make sure there's no pickles.

you blink, caught off guard, but before you can ask, yoongi beats you to it. “i know you don’t have money on you.”

you swallow, shifting on your feet. “oh.”

yoongi doesn’t glance at you. just hands the cashier a crumpled bill from his hoodie pocket.

“thanks,” you mumble, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

yoongi just hums. no teasing. no smug little comment. and that makes your chest ache even more.

you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, shifting closer before tilting your head up, peering up at him through your lashes. “… are you mad at me?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose. not annoyed, not exasperated. just something.

he tugs you against him. not rough, just a simple pull, his arm looping around your shoulder. his hoodie smells like faded detergent and cheap cigarette smoke and something unmistakably him.

“i’m not mad,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just shove them into your own pockets, fingers curling into the fabric. “… promise?”

yoongi sighs, his grip tightening slightly before his chin rests against the top of your head. “yeah,” he mutters. “promise.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent reassurance. a quiet see? i’m not mad. “don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

and you nod, leaning into him.

the playground is quiet this time of day, mostly empty aside from the four of you and the occasional kid passing by with their parents.

jungkook lounges at the bottom of the slide, food balanced on his knees, absentmindedly sipping his coke. yoongi sits a little further off, at the edge of the sandpit, one leg stretched out, the other bent, balancing his burger in one hand.

you and taehyung are on the swings, feet planted in the sand, your bags resting on your laps. the metal creaks slightly as taehyung shifts, twisting just enough to face you, an amused glint in his eyes.

“yours any good?” he asks, nodding toward your milkshake.

you hum, taking another sip. “mm-hmm.”

he leans in, offering his cup, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “wanna try mine?”

you blink at him. “it’s the same flavor.”

he pauses, then laughs, shaking his head. “yeah, but maybe mine tastes better.”

you frown, taking his drink anyway, sipping through the straw before handing it back. “nope. exactly the same.”

taehyung snorts. “right. obviously.”

you don’t catch the way he watches you for a second longer than necessary, or the way yoongi’s gaze flicks over from where he’s sitting.

your fries are nearly gone when tragedy strikes. you shift a little too much, and what’s left of them topples straight into the sand.

you let out a groan, staring down at them in dismay.

taehyung doesn’t hesitate, nudging his own toward you. “here,” he says, tone light, almost teasing. “you can have some of mine. since i’m so generous.”

you smile, grabbing a handful. “thanks, taehyungie. you’re my favorite.”

taehyung blinks, not expecting that response, then recovers quickly, smirk returning. “oh, am i?”

you nod, popping a fry into your mouth. “mm-hmm.”

“better not let yoongi hear that,” he muses, leaning closer, voice dipping just a little lower. “he might get jealous.”

you glance over at yoongi, who hasn’t reacted at all. still sitting there, picking at the wrapper of his burger, expression unreadable. then you shrug, completely missing the way taehyung’s eyes narrow in amusement.

“he’ll live,” you say, reaching for another fry.

taehyung watches you for a moment, absently sipping his milkshake, before tilting his head. "so, you and yoongi," he starts, casual. too casual. "really not a thing?"

you pause. it’s a split-second hesitation, but it's there, and taehyung doesn’t miss it.

you glance over at yoongi before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts before your brain can catch up. he’s still sitting on the edge of the sandpit, half-focused on peeling the wrapper off his burger, but his jaw is tight, his fingers a little too still.

you swallow, forcing yourself to look back at taehyung.

"no," you say, a little slower this time. "we're not."

taehyung hums, he’s turning it over in his mind.

"so, hypothetically," he muses, stretching out his legs in the sand, "if someone, say, me, wanted to take you out—"

you blink.

"—you wouldn't be off limits or anything, right?"

your lips part slightly, confusion flickering across your face before you shake your head. "uh… no?"

taehyung grins, dragging a fry through his ketchup before popping it into his mouth. "good to know."

you don’t even have time to process that before he shifts again, leaning slightly into your space, his voice dipping just enough to make your ears warm.

he nods toward yoongi, then toward himself, smirking. "technically, you’re with me right now."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "you wish, taehyung."

"oh, i do," he says smoothly, sipping his milkshake like it's nothing.

you shake your head, tossing a fry at him, and he catches it without missing a beat.

from the edge of the sandpit, yoongi exhales sharply through his nose.

the conversation drifts after that, slipping into something lighter. taehyung teasing jungkook about his tragic attempt at a kickflip earlier, jungkook firing back with a dig about taehyung eating dirt at the skate park.

you listen, half-engaged, but the weight of something still sits in your chest.

yoongi hasn’t said much. hasn’t looked at you much, either.

he finished eating a while ago, now idly toying with the straw in his drink, long fingers tapping a slow, absent rhythm against the plastic cup.

then, after a moment, “we should go.” his voice is even, casual, but something about it makes you straighten a little too quickly.

“yeah,” you say, standing, dusting sand off your jeans. “sounds good.”

taehyung flashes a grin, tilting his head up at you from his swing. “what, leaving me already?”

you roll your eyes. “yeh, i’m done with you losers.”

jungkook snickers from his spot at the slide, but doesn’t comment.

you move to fall in step beside yoongi like you always do, but when you do, he kind of shrugs past you. not harsh, not in an outright dismissive way, but pointed enough that you feel it.

your feet hesitate for a split second before moving again, catching up despite the slight hitch in your chest.

yoongi doesn’t look at you. doesn’t say anything else.

just walks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed ahead like there’s nothing to talk about. but you feel it. something in the space between you feels different. feels off.

and you don’t know what to do about it.

the walk home is quiet.

it’s not an awkward silence, not exactly, but it’s not the usual kind either. not the comfortable kind that’s filled with shared looks and nudges and stupid little comments that don’t really mean anything but still feel like something.

this silence is… something else. something heavier.

yoongi walks ahead, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, his pace easy, unbothered. you trail behind him, dragging your feet just enough to make yourself feel pathetic.

you don’t want to feel like this. don’t want to care that he’s keeping just a little too much distance between you, or that he hasn’t looked at you once since you left the playground, or that your stomach still twists a little too tightly when you think about the way he brushed past you.

but you do care. you care a lot.

you bite the inside of your cheek, arms crossed as you stare down at the pavement, forcing yourself to keep moving, to pretend like this doesn’t feel like some kind of punishment for something you don’t even understand.

when you finally reach his house, yoongi steps inside first, toeing off his shoes without a word before heading toward his room.

you hesitate at the entrance, shifting your weight between your feet.

technically, you don’t live here. technically, you could just turn around and go home. but you don’t. you never do.

so, with a quiet sigh, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

you linger by the entryway for a second longer than necessary, watching yoongi’s back as he disappears down the hall. he doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for you.

so you swallow hard, shoulders curling inward, and follow after him anyway.

by the time you make it up to his room, yoongi’s already in the bathroom. the door isn’t closed all the way. just slightly ajar, steam from the sink curling into the dimly lit hallway. you hesitate for a second, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve, before stepping inside.

he doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

just stands there, leaning over the sink, brushing his teeth with slow, methodical strokes, his hoodie peeled off and discarded somewhere on the floor. his hair is slightly damp at the ends, probably from splashing his face, mint-colored strands curling just slightly.

you grab your own toothbrush from the cup beside the faucet, running it under the water before squeezing out too much toothpaste. yoongi doesn’t glance at you, so you don’t glance at him either.

the silence is thick.

your shoulders brush as you move, barely, a light little thing that normally wouldn’t mean anything. except tonight, it does. tonight, you notice.

tonight, it feels like yoongi not nudging you back in the maccas line. it feels like yoongi shrugging past you instead of waiting.

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the way your brows are slightly furrowed, the way your mouth presses into a thin line as you scrub your teeth a little too hard.

this isn’t normal. normally, this is easy.

normally, you’d be bumping into each other, making faces in the mirror, shoving at his arm when he spits toothpaste too aggressively into the sink.

but tonight, he just brushes his teeth, and you do the same, and neither of you say a word.

when you finish brushing, you hesitate. just for a second.

toothbrush still in hand, you glance at yoongi out of the corner of your eye, watching as he rinses his mouth, spits, and swipes his hand across his face. he doesn’t look at you, just flicks off the faucet with a sharp movement and reaches for his towel.

your stomach feels tight. you should say something, but you don’t.

instead, you put your toothbrush back in the cup and turn toward his room, stepping past him without a word.

but before you can take another step, yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. his touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm. fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, stopping you cold.

your breath catches, pulse stumbling.

“what do you want from me?”

his voice is low, but there’s something frayed at the edges. something not entirely calm.

you blink, caught completely off guard. “what?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, hands tightening slightly.

“what do you want from me?” he repeats, slower this time.

your heart pounds against your ribs. his face is so close, eyes dark, searching, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep his voice even.

“because i—” he swallows hard, fingers flexing against your arms. “i want you. wholly. completely.”

your breath stutters. his grip doesn’t loosen.

“there’s no one else in the world i want more,” he says, voice rough. “but i need to know if i’m wasting my time.”

your throat goes dry, your mind races. the air is thick between you, heavy with something you don’t know how to name, something you don’t know if you can handle.

yoongi’s eyes flick over your face, searching for something, for anything. and you don’t know what to say.

you swallow hard.

yoongi’s fingers twitch against your shoulders, breath warm where it ghosts across your face. he’s so close, too close, looking at you like he’s begging for something—an answer, a reaction, anything.

“what do you see when you look at me?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

your throat feels tight. “yoongi—”

“because when i look at you,” he continues, cutting you off, “i see the girl i kissed in the kitchen on my birthday. the girl i’ve been sharing a bed with for the past six months.”

the words settle heavy in your chest, pressing down, down, down.

“the girl i’m—” he exhales sharply, jaw clenching for a beat before forcing the words out. “the girl i’m hopelessly in love with.”

your breath stutters. his eyes flick over your face, searching, desperate.

he’s shaking now, just slightly. just enough that you feel it, just enough that you know this is costing him something.

“so tell me,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s scared of what comes next, “what do you see?”

he’s laid himself bare. no more room to dodge, no more room to pretend. it’s your turn.

but your mind is racing, spiraling too fast, trying to catch up.

before you can think, before you can second-guess, before you can talk yourself out of it, you kiss him.

it crashes into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his t-shirt, fingers curling tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

yoongi freezes. just for a second, just long enough for you to think you’ve fucked up, but then he moves. his hands slide from your shoulders to your waist, gripping, pulling, needing, mouth pressing firm against yours, breath hot and uneven as he exhales into the kiss.

it’s messy and urgent. six months’ worth of unsaid things spilling out all at once.

yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between frustration and relief, like he’s wanted this for so long he can’t believe it’s finally happening.

and you don’t know why you ever tried to fight it.

yoongi’s hands are firm at your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, his body heat sinking into yours. he lifts you, hands gripping beneath your thighs, shifting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom counter, your knees falling open around him as he steps between them, slotting himself exactly where he belongs.

you gasp against his lips, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but yoongi just smirks, a slow, teasing thing as he exhales sharply through his nose.

his fingers squeeze at your waist, holding you in place, keeping you trapped against him.

then, voice low, amused, “deja vu?”

your breath catches, stomach flipping. because fuck.

the birthday. the kitchen.

his hands on your thighs, his body between your legs, the first time you let him kiss you like this.

your mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out. you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the way he’s looking at you. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.

yoongi’s smirk softens just a little, but his eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “got an excuse to stop this time?” he murmurs, tilting his head.

you shake your head. “no.”

yoongi hums, pleased, his fingers flexing against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, before pulling you into him, mouth crashing back against yours.

yoongi kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been holding back for months, fingers digging into your waist as he tugs you impossibly closer.

his hands move without hesitation. skimming up your sides, brushing beneath your shirt, teasing at the waistband of your shorts, testing how far you’ll let him go.

when you don’t stop him, when you only tighten your grip on his shirt, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, he exhales sharply against your lips.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back.

you nod, breathless. “yeah.”

that’s all he needs.

his hand slips past the elastic of your shorts, fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your underwear, pressing right there, just enough to make your stomach tighten, heat pooling deep in your core.

you gasp against his mouth, back arching slightly.

yoongi smirks, lips brushing against yours as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, teasing, barely enough pressure to satisfy.

“you’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice laced with something dark and pleased.

you bite your lip, hips shifting toward his hand, but he just hums, keeping the pace agonizingly slow.

“you like this?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

his fingers press down a little harder, circling just right, and you make a quiet, desperate noise. yoongi groans at that, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, his mouth brushing against your jaw.

“thought about this,” he mutters, lips ghosting over your skin, “so many times.”

his fingers move faster now, pressing, rubbing, teasing you to the edge, the heat between your legs burning beneath his touch.

“yoongi—” your voice breaks, head tipping back against the mirror.

his lips press against your throat, his breath heavy. he strokes over your clit again, pressing tight little circles that make your stomach twist, make your thighs tense around his waist, make your breath stutter out in sharp, quiet gasps.

yoongi groans against your skin, low and throaty, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. he slides his fingers lower, pushing your underwear aside and teasing at your entrance, dragging them through your slick before pushing in.

a sharp inhale rips through you, your nails digging into his shoulders, his shirt fisting in your hands.

yoongi groans again, deep this time, his fingers sinking into your cunt nice and slow, stretching you open.

“fuck,” he mutters, mouth pressing against the corner of your lips, his breath hot.

his fingers curl, stroke, press into that soft, sensitive spot inside you, and your whole body tenses, a soft whimper slipping from your throat before you can stop it.

yoongi feels it, feels the way you tighten around his fingers, the way your hips jerk toward him, and groans, his forehead pressing to yours.

“yeah? you like that?” he murmurs, voice dark, rough.

you nod, breathless. “y-yeah.”

he exhales sharply, and his fingers keep moving. slow at first, dragging in and out, teasing you open, before pressing deeper, his thumb slipping up to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles. your thighs tremble around him.

“you always this wet, baby?” yoongi rasps, eyes flicking to yours, heavy-lidded, heated.

you don’t get the chance to answer, because then he’s crooking his fingers, pressing right fucking there, and all you can do is gasp, head falling back against the mirror with a quiet, breathless moan.

yoongi watches you. watches the way your body reacts to him, watches the way your lips part, the way your hands clutch at him, your whole body responding to him like you were made for his touch.

his breath shudders out.

“you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers deeper, harder, coaxing another whimper from your lips. his own brush against yours, not quite a kiss, almost. “tell me,” he breathes. “tell me you want it.”

your whole body reacts before your brain even catches up, hips rolling instinctively into yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from you.

“i—” your breath shudders, voice barely above a whisper. “i want it.”

yoongi curses under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours for half a second before he drives his fingers into you again, pressing hard, and you squeal, the sound high-pitched and desperate. before it can fully escape, yoongi’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers pressing against your cheek, his own breath coming out shaky.

“fuck,” he groans, voice thick with something dark.

his fingers don’t slow. they move fast and rough, pumping into you, curling deep, his thumb rubbing messy, urgent circles over your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge until your whole body is trembling, tightening around him, begging for it.

yoongi groans again, his hand still over your lips, muffling every soft, broken noise spilling from your throat.

“be quiet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing himself in the way you react to him, the way you feel around his fingers.

you can’t be quiet. not when he’s touching you like this, not when he’s looking at you like this. eyes heavy, jaw clenched, breathing ragged as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

you whimper into his palm, your hands clutching at his wrist, your whole body tightening as pleasure crashes through you, sending a sharp, blinding wave of heat down your spine.

yoongi groans, watching the way you come undone around his fingers, feeling the way you squeeze down, hips stuttering against his hand.

he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth until the tremors in your thighs start to fade. when he does, he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply, his fingers slipping out of you just as slowly as they slid in.

“we’re not done,” he says, voice low, utterly wrecked.

his breath is still heavy, his forehead pressed to yours, hands sliding back down to your hips, gripping. yoongi grinds against you, his hips rolling forward just enough that you feel him. feel how hard he is through his jeans, the way he presses right up against you.

your breath stutters, fingers tightening in his shirt, and yoongi groans, voice rough, barely holding himself together. “fuck, doll.”

your stomach flips. the name isn’t new. he’s thrown it around before, teasing, casual, just part of the way he speaks. but this is different.

his lips brush over your cheek, jaw, down to your throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses between his words. “you feel that?” he murmurs, voice thick, almost shaky.

you nod, swallowing hard, and yoongi hums, dragging his mouth back up to your ear.

“this is what you do to me,” he breathes.

he grinds again. harder this time, pushing against you, making you feel him. letting you know exactly what you’ve done to him, exactly how much he wants you.

his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the bare skin of your waist, warm and possessive, gripping like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

“gonna make you feel so good, doll,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath your ear, smirking against your skin when he feels you shudder.

his hips roll forward again, pressing just right, sending a spark of heat straight through you, and a soft whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.

yoongi groans at that, his grip tightening. “yeah?” he murmurs, teasing. “like that?”

you nod frantically, breathless.

yoongi smirks, lips grazing yours. “good,” he mutters.

then he kisses you hard, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer as his hips roll into yours again, again, again.

your fingers move down fumble against the waistband of his jeans, your breathing uneven, hands barely able to keep up with the urgency buzzing through your veins.

yoongi feels it. feels your desperation, your need, the way your hands shake slightly as you try to pop the button.

he smirks. "impatient, huh?" his voice is low, teasing, lips brushing over yours as he exhales, the warmth of it sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"take these off," you whimper softly, frustrated, fingers tugging uselessly at the fabric, and yoongi chuckles.

“here, doll,” he murmurs, his own hands coming down to cover yours, moving with an effortless ease, his fingers brushing against yours as he pops the button open, then drags the zipper down, slow and deliberate.

he holds your gaze the entire time, watching the way your eyes flicker, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, too eager.

"there we go," he murmurs, voice thick with something almost fond.

his hands shift, moving to the waistband of your shorts now, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, grazing warm over your skin.

“lift your hips for me,” he mutters.

you do, without question, and yoongi chuckles at that, his lips curling just slightly, pleased, before he drags your shorts down, letting them drop to the floor.

his gaze dips, his fingers skimming over your bare thighs, and he hums, voice deep, teasing. "much better."

your breath is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation, but somewhere in the back of your mind you manage to think just clearly enough to gasp out, “wait—do you have a condom?”

yoongi huffs, lips brushing against your jaw as he mutters, “yeah, yeah. hang on.”

then, before you can say anything else, he pulls away, stepping back with a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his messy, mint-tinted hair.

you watch as he disappears into his room, the absence of his warmth making you ache, leaving you cold in a way that has nothing to do with the air against your bare skin.

you hear the faint slide of a drawer opening, the sound of something shifting inside. then the drawer shuts, footsteps padding back toward the bathroom.

yoongi steps inside again, his gaze flicking over you. still perched on the counter, thighs spread, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the foil packet to his mouth and tears it open with his teeth.

your stomach flips.

his eyes are dark, focused, his breath steady as he pulls the condom free. “gonna be good for me, doll?” he murmurs, voice thick, nearly a growl.

you nod, too breathless to speak, and yoongi smirks.

then he steps between your legs again, his hands warm and possessive at your waist, his mouth ghosting over yours as he mutters “good girl.”

yoongi doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble.

his fingers move smoothly, easily, like he’s done this a million times before, even as his chest is rising a little too fast, his muscles tense beneath his skin.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down in one slow, fluid motion, along with his boxers, just far enough to free himself, and your breath catches. he’s hard, aching and heavy, flushed at the tip, standing thick against his stomach.

yoongi exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back, and then he’s sliding the condom over his cock, his fingers sure and steady, his gaze flicking up to yours through heavy-lidded eyes.

“you watching me, doll?”

your cheeks burn. “no....”

yoongi smirks, the corner of his lips curling, completely unbothered by your blatant lie. “sure you aren’t.”

his voice is amused, teasing, but there’s something darker beneath it. something satisfied at the way your thighs shift, the way your breath hitches when his fingers tighten at your waist.

the condom rolls into place, snug around the base, and yoongi gives himself a slow stroke, groaning under his breath before stepping closer, slotting himself between your legs once more.

his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pulling you to the edge of the counter. his length presses against you, hot, throbbing right against your cunt, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.

yoongi chuckes, but there’s something wrecked in his eyes now, barely holding it together. “still want this?” he murmurs, voice rough, hands squeezing at your skin.

your fingers curl into his shoulders. “yes,” you breathe.

yoongi groans, low and deep in his chest. “good,” he mutters. then he aligns himself and pushes in.

the stretch is intense. your breath stutters, nails digging into his skin as he pushes in slow but insistent, filling you inch by inch.

"fuck," yoongi groans through clenched teeth, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

you whimper, your walls clenching down around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him, the way he’s stretching you open, making space inside you that wasn’t there before.

"tight—" yoongi grits out, his hands squeezing your hips, forcing himself to take it slow. his arms tremble slightly as he holds himself still, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. "so fucking tight, doll," he murmurs, voice strained, lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

you moan softly, head pressing against the side of his. yoongi shudders against you, his fingers twitching where they grip your thighs, his body tense like he’s barely holding on.

"shit," he exhales, his voice wrecked, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, breath heavy.

you’re both completely still, bodies locked together, hearts pounding in sync. yoongi grits his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose. then, his lips brush against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. "tell me when, doll."

your fingers tighten in yoongi’s shirt, legs trembling around his waist, your whole body thrumming with need, stretched tight around him but craving more, needing him to move.

you tilt your head back against the mirror, breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps.

"please," you whisper, voice wrecked, barely able to get the word out.

yoongi groans, deep in his chest, his hands tightening at your hips. "yeah?" he rasps, his voice low and gravelly. before you can even nod he snaps his hips forward.

the force of it knocks the breath from your lungs, sends a sharp, blinding spark of pleasure through your spine. yoongi curses under his breath, pushes in deeper before pulling back and slamming into you again and again, fast and hard.

every thrust sharp, his grip bruising, his breath hot against your neck as he groans against your skin, completely losing himself in the way you squeeze around him, the way you take him so perfectly.

"fuck, doll," he grits out, voice shaking, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "so fucking good."

your hands scramble for purchase, gripping at his shoulders, his hair, his arms, anything to ground yourself as he drives into you, his pace unrelenting.

"wanted this," he groans, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. "wanted you for so fucking long."

your breath hitches, your body tightening around him in response, and yoongi feels it.

"shit," he groans, slamming into you harder, faster, deeper. "say it," he demands, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. "tell me you wanted this too."

your breath stutters, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach it’s almost painful.

"i—" your voice breaks, another moan slipping free as he fucks in deep, his cock kissing that sweet spot, his pace just a little too much, just enough to make your thighs shake.

yoongi smirks against your lips. "c’mon, doll."

you clutch at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back, legs tightening around his waist as you finally choke out, "i wanted this."

his body shudders against you, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, his rhythm faltering just slightly before he picks it up again, faster, harder, driving into you like he’s trying to make up for all the months of waiting, of wanting, of not having.

"good girl," he breathes, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead to yours, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath hot and uneven. "so fucking good for me."

your stomach flips, heat rolling through you like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. yoongi feels it. feels the way your body tenses, the way your legs shake, the way your walls clamp down tight around him.

"you gonna cum for me, doll?" he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, but there’s something almost soft under it, something needy, something that says he wants this just as much as you do.

you nod, breathless, your body already so close. yoongi groans, his pace punishing, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you.

"then be good," he rasps, voice breaking. "cum for me."

your head tilts back, mouth falling open as a sharp, broken moan escapes your lips, and yoongi reacts on instinct. his hand slaps over your mouth again, muffling the sound, his palm hot against your skin.

"shhh, doll," he groans, his forehead dropping against yours, his own breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. "you gotta be quiet."

his words barely register over the sheer pleasure that slams through you, waves of heat rolling through your body as you gush around him. your whole body shakes, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, the pressure between your legs snapping so hard you see white.

yoongi grits his teeth, his pace stuttering, his hand still firm over your mouth as he groans deep in his chest. "fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice low, wrecked, almost pleading.

his hips don’t relent, driving into you through the aftershocks, his pace growing more erratic, more desperate, chasing his own high as you pulse around him, your body still milking him for everything he has.

"so fucking tight," he mutters, his lips brushing over your damp skin, his breath hot, ragged. "tou're gonna milk me dry, doll. gonna cum so fucking hard—"

his words send another sharp, overwhelming wave of heat through your already-sensitive body, another muffled whimper slipping past your lips against his palm.

yoongi groans, his movements turning sloppy, his body tensing. and then, with a sharp, wrecked moan, he breaks.

yoongi slams into you one last time, his whole body tensing, a deep, wrecked groan spilling from his lips as he cums, hips jerking against yours, fingers digging into your skin. his breath is shaky, uneven, his forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling slightly as he rides out his high.

his hand is still covering your mouth, his palm warm against your flushed skin, muffling the soft, breathless whimpers still slipping past your lips.

it takes a second. a long, heavy moment where the only sounds in the bathroom are your mingled breathing, the faint hum of the overhead light, the distant creak of the house settling.

and then yoongi exhales hard, his body relaxing against yours, his grip loosening as he finally lets his hand drop from your mouth.

your lips are swollen, your chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, your whole body still reeling from the intensity of it all.

yoongi leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. so gentle, so tender, reminding you that even after everything, he’s still him. "you okay, doll?"

his fingers brush over your cheek, his touch light and his gaze flicking over your face, checking. making sure you’re here, with him. making sure he didn’t just wreck you beyond repair.

you swallow hard, blinking up at him, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. "yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse, spent. "i’m okay."

yoongi hums, his lips twitching just slightly, a hint of something soft beneath the haze of pleasure still clouding his gaze. "good," he murmurs. "‘cause that was—" he exhales sharply, a small, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

you laugh, quiet, breathless, your forehead tipping against his. "yeah," you murmur. "it was."

neither of you move right away. neither of you want to.

right now, it’s just you and him, breathing in the same air, existing in the same space, his hands still on your waist, your legs still wrapped around him, his lips still close enough that all it would take is the smallest movement to kiss him again.

and you want to. but before you can, yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you, an amused smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"well," he mutters, voice teasing, "guess we gotta shower now."

you groan, tilting your head back with an exhausted sigh, "can't we relax a bit first?"

but he just grins, leaning in to press another lazy, lingering kiss to your jaw. "c’mon, doll," he hums against your skin, lips curving as his hands squeeze at your hips.

"round two?"

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

[fumiliar]

kento nanami would unconsciously close jars a little bit too tight due to his fear of spoiled food, causing you to need his help every time you wanted to access a jar he had used in the past. yet, he never realised how tight these jars were and the level of difficulty in opening it.

slowly, he started to realise a pattern. every single jar you'd ask for help to open, it would be a jar he had used recently. the jam he used to eat along with his bread daily, the jar of mayonnaise, every single other jar he had opened, you asked for assistance.

realising this pattern, he started loosening the jars by just a little bit every time he closes it. and you just stopped asking for help, that's when his suspicions were confirmed. you were struggling because of him...

a little voice in him tells him to tighten a jar once in while, to see you asking him for help as he desperately missed. but he just can't bring himself to consciously continue this behaviour, his love for you stepping over any personal need of his, knowing that in the end, a simple pleasure towards him could cause a debilitating stress towards you, he couldn't bear that thought.

[miihho]

⋆𐙚₊Dommed ! ><

Context: Just Min su being called a pup'

Nsfw!

"hmff… Noona,” Min-su moaned, eyes glassy and teary as he gripped your waist tightly while you bounced up and down on his cock. “S'too much noona…” His voice trembled with pleasure, vulnerability radiating from him as he whimpered, desperate to hold on. “Aww, c'mon on, pup. I know you can last a little longer for me,” you encouraged, earning a soft, pitiful noise from him, completely lost in the sensation of your soft, tight walls clenching around his overstimulated cock.

“Haa—noona, but s'too much,” A broken whimper escaped his lips, his puppy eyes glistening with tears as he watched you. With time, his pathetic begging faded into barely audible whines, completely wrecked by the pleasure. He just couldn't help it! >< he was going dumb over how good your pussy felt, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through him.

"Fuck—" you gasped, his cock hitting all the right spots as you slammed your you gasped, his cock hitting your sweetest spot, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through you with every slam of your hips. down, both of you spilling over. "I know my good pup can endure my pussy, unless... you're not my good puppy. Are you my good pup?" you teased, watching him blush, shyly nodding in response.

"M'your good pup."

"Who do you belong to?"

"Yours," he panted, the submission melting off him in waves.

"That's a good boy, my good puppy." As if your words were a trigger, his cock twitched violently, bucking up into you as he came again, completely lost to pleasure. He had already lost count, moaning as his hands gripped your hips tightly, filling you up and releasing his seed deep inside. Some of it oozed out, making you chuckle softly. "Fuck, you're so cute, cumming for me with just a few simple praises." He averted his gaze, a deep blush creeping across his cheeks gosh he's so fucking cute.

⟡ ݁₊ .Bonus ! ! ۶ৎ

𖹭 He’s the PERFECT obedient puppy, the kind who’ll do anything for you without ever asking for a reward. His training is impeccable, responding to your every command with a sweet ‘thank you noona..’ and a soft ‘please noona,,’ You can’t help but shower him with all the rewards he deserves for being so good>< I mean he’s just a blissfully dumb service puppy, entirely focused on pleasing you. A devoted little puppy slave, brainwashed into fulfilling your every desire, existing solely to make his master feel amazing. </3

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

when ateez cooks for you 🍝:

[seokjinsonlyone]

even more niche boyfriend things i think bts would do

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

namjoon:

not a newborn baby but is a big proponent of the kangaroo care concept; like loves to cuddle you while he’s shirtless; him on his back you laid on top of him, skin touching skin at every possible contact point; it does it for him every time

sends you pictures of animals he finds wandering around when he’s out and about 

takes soooo many pictures of you; don't get me wrong there's a fair share of couples photos like you're definitely taking selfies together whenever y'all go out but he takes twice as many off guard pictures of you as posed ones; definitely has a pic of you during golden hour forlornly looking out a window as his lockscreen

asks you to make him a playlist and listens to it whenever he misses you even if it's really disjointed and doesn't fit his mood simply bc you made it and he's always in the mood for you <333

learns to be more gentle around you so he becomes 5-7% less clumsy when you’re around

if you went to a party together i think there’d only be like one hour max where you’re separated from each other any more than that and y’all both start getting fidgety from missing each other bc if you’re in the same space you absolutely have to be together; when you do meet back up he tucks you up underneath his arm and kisses your temple and y’all are sickly cute for the rest of the night; like enough lovey dovey pda to make someone nauseous

always amazed at the amount of stuff you manage to bring out the house; like you'll come out after him and he sees you walking towards the car, arms stuffed to the brim with water bottles and lotions and umbrellas and whatever else you deemed necessary for the day's outings, so he has to rush to help you before you drop everything; eventually gets hip to the fact that you're a a girl and you're always gonna have bunch of things and starts pre-loading your belongings so you won't have to struggle

Oblivious Boyfriend™; as smart and emotionally intelligent and mindful as he is, he's not a mindreader; like he be so focused on his feelings for you, his passions, and his work that he lowkey don't know wtf going on outside of that; so if there's something going on around you or something wrong with you or you have a problem with him you're gonna have to spell it out lest he be none the wiser

doesn't like when you watch him work out because you're more of a distraction than anything but he does like going to you straight after working out; he gets a real kick out of the way you ogle him and feel up on his biceps while he's all pumped up 

he really likes when you call him cute nicknames; joon, joonie, joonie boonie, namu like it lowkey make his heart soar; his personal favorite is joon bug you call him that and he would literally steal the moon if you asked 

seokjin:

tests out all his new recipes on you; feeds you bites to taste along the way so you're not too hungry because he's a perfectionist and it takes him extra time for him to plate it; "the presentation is just as important as the taste!"

likes when you’re in the same room as him while he plays his games; not necessarily watching him but just your company is enough; switches between focusing on the game and engaging you in conversation so you won’t get bored; would actually love it if you did take an interest in whatever game he was playing; would take his time explaining the back story of each character and their strengths and weaknesses; would start a separate game so that you could play and have you sit between his legs while he helped you with the controls

has to kiss you at least 3 times before leaving the house; once when you wake up, once while you’re going through your morning routine, and once before you leave; more kisses may be shared but any less than three and he swears his whole day is thrown off

he’s going to pick at you; there’s just no way around it it’s in his nature; he won’t do it enough to make you actually annoyed but enough that you wanna smack him around a little; which… he likes things like that

has no problem singing and dancing whenever y'all are casually listening to music but if you actually wanted him to sing for you he'd get all shy, red in the ears and neck and would have to take a couple days to practice before following through

begs you to join him for tennis practice bc he wants you two to become the next venus and serena

y’all will do that one couples trend on tiktok where they paint each other and then reveal the pictures at the end and it’s not like yours is fantastic or anything but you can tell that you at least tried; meanwhile when you see seokjin’s painting you can’t tell if you’re looking at a distorted walrus or a possessed squirrel either way it is NOT you no matter how much he insists it looks like you

stays sending you thirst traps; like whenever he looks good whether it's bc he's all dolled up for some event or he's fresh out the shower with his hair slicked back or he just sees himself in a mirror and remembers he's worldwide handsome, his phone is out, he's putting a sultry look on his face, snapping a pic, and sending it straight to you

you binge watch animes together; no one will see or hear from either of y’all for like 5 days straight, complete radio silence; and when someone finally knocks on the door they see that y’all been camped out in the living room no phone in sight on season 6 of whatever anime y’all started last friday night  

must feed you every time you meet up; like if he has not seen you eat something in the time you spend together he has not completed his boyfriend duties; even if he comes to your place he has to make sure you have at least eaten a snack; doesn't matter how much you weigh he absolutely can not have you wasting away on his watch

yoongi:

gently tucks your hair behind your ear

always offers you his arm to link when it’s cold out so y’all can share each other’s warmth; he absolutely will still be wearing slides with no socks tho and you fuss at him about it every time

lets you play in his hair; just sits there nonchalantly while you give him the most ridiculous hair styles; pig tails, corn rows, mohawks; as long as you don’t cut nothing he doesn’t care fr; takes a picture when you’re done with that big gummy smile on full display bc of how silly he looks

says he's not a big social media person but one of his favorite past times is sitting down with you scrolling down your fyp for hours; makes you send the funniest videos to him so he can watch later

you’re one of the few people that he gains energy from being around so he likes your presence even when you’re not particularly doing anything; like you just be sitting next to each other or like be hand in hand on a walk around the neighborhood not even saying anything but in his head he’s thinking about what a great time he’s having 

if you're up late at night and start feeling peckish he'll make you some snacks even if he doesn't plan on eating; still scolds you about how eating late at night is bad as he's enabling you; ends up eating with you too

he doesn't like watching dramas with you; he'll claim it's bc of the plot but really he just doesn't like how you be kicking your feet and giggling at the male leads

not the best with verbal affirmations so whenever he does go out of his way to compliment you he ends up just as flustered as you are; “you look pretty today” and his cheeks are flushed more than yours 

always preps you to bargain and gathers together all coupons before y’all go grocery shopping; “just bc i’m rich doesn’t mean i like to be ripped off” 

he's always listening to you even when it seems like he's not; you could be rambling on about something and you think he's not paying attention so you stop midsentence and be like "are you even listening to what i'm saying?" and he looks up from whatever he was doing and then repeats back to you everything you said; has a great memory in general so he remembers everything you say and do even the small things that you forget about

hoseok:

sends ‘thinking of you’ texts just to let you know when you’re on his mind

if you start dancing to a song he gets all hyped up and he’s joining you immediately; hands on your hips moving you as he pleases; it’s a club wherever you and the music are

makes you one of his little beaded bracelets that says “ur my hope”

if you fell asleep in a position that looks uncomfortable he’d gently rearrange you until he got you in a more normal position; 100% the type to carry you bridal style to bed if you fell asleep for the night on the couch 

the type to pop up at your crib with an insane amount of the most exquisite, top tier take out and you gotta try to figure out who he think eating all this; doesn't even try to fight the boujee allegations when you tease him for bringing out caviar and truffles 

always takes pics of you when he thinks you look good; like you could be running late and you’re rushing trying to get out the door but hoseok is just gonna spend a good 30 seconds checking you out while you’re fussing at him and then be like wait a minute and starts posing you; has several organized folders of you because of this labeled by genre of your look; it’s easier that way so when he’s showing people pictures of you they won’t accidentally get a peek of something meant for his eyes only

loves the idea of you becoming his family so he really likes bringing you home; warms his heart to see you getting along with his parents and his sister; sets up a group chat with you him and his sister to help y'all talk more but lowkey gets pouty when y'all do get closer and be chatting and hanging out without him 💀

if you're not already together he'll facetime you in the morning; he won't have much to say at first other than a groggy good morning; but after he comes to terms with the fact that he has to be awake and takes a couple sips of his iced americano he's his usual ball of energy sunshiny self; will have you up doing morning stretches and light calisthenics at 6:30am

every couple weeks y'all go to the nail salon together and get mani-pedis; he leaves the acrylics and jewels and glitter to you but the overall color scheme and design aesthetic for your nails match; takes like 17 pictures of your hands together to show off

loves cuddling up to you on the couch so you can play in his hair; like each time his head is resting on your chest and your hand is running through his hair lightly scratching at his scalp he swears he’s reached nirvana 

jimin:

will drag you out the house in the middle of winter to drive down to the beach and watch the sunset together; you’d be huddled up together you sat in between his legs leaning against him his arms draped around your neck pulling you into him; you’d stay there sitting in the sand even after the night settled in just talking until you were shivering and sniffling then he’d take you to a cafe to get some hot cocoa to warm up 

randomly calls you in the middle of the night bc he misses your voice; smiles the entire he’s getting scolded for scaring you bc you thought something was wrong bc he called you at 2am

kisses your forehead, nose, and lips in that order every time you part ways 

hates knowing there's other people staring at you so like if you're out together and wearing like a hoodie or something and he notices you're garnering attention he zips it all the way up and pulls your hood over your head and tightens the strings so no one can see you; in turn knows you hate the thought that other people even think of him so he pretends they don't even exist; like you can literally point somebody out and be like "omg aren't they so pretty" and he's gonna avert his eyes in the opposite direction won't even look and just be like "you're so pretty. there's only you"

number one advocate for a lazy morning; snuggles into you, his head on your chest trapping you in; looks up at you with a goofy smile and preens when you press a kiss to his forehead

squishes your cheeks in both his hands when you're being too cute for him to handle

like the true feminist he is, he supports your rights and wrongs!!; like you get into it with somebody and then tell him the story afterwards he's hyping you up the entire time telling you that you were right and what you should've done and what he would've done if he were you; he's just always gonna be on your side

riles you up just bc he likes the reactions you make when you’re irritated 

it’s tea city when it comes to you two; like whatever you know he knows and whatever he knows you know; gossiping is actually one of your favorite bonding activities; he likes to play it up and drag it out whenever he finds something out; like he’s gonna text you and be like UR NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!!!!! and you’ll be like WHAT and he’ll be like I HAVE TO TELL YOU IN PERSON OMG!!!! 😱 when it’s like noon knowing darn well he not getting off work until 10pm at the earliest 😭

likes to go with you when you have to “run errands” bc it’s usually just you doing girl things like getting coffee and then going to the store to buy snacks and skincare and he thinks it’s really adorable how you light up when you see small things in cute packages

taehyung:

has a series of like 12 hour logs in his phone recents list bc he stay falling asleep on facetime

makes it a point to hang out with your male friends just to assert dominance; doesn't matter if they have partners of their own or are completely uninterested in you he still wants to look them in their eye, shake their hand, and then put his arm around you to tie up any loose ends that may be dangling around

helps you pick the eyelashes out of your eye whenever one gets stuck

asks you to come over with the sole purpose of convincing you to take a nap with him; will straight up lie on the phone and tell you he wanna hang out and do this and that and then when you get over there he like let’s nap first; your cuddles just gon do it for him every time

uses kisses as bargaining chips; like if you need him to do something like idk take out the trash he's only gonna do it if you give him 3 kisses so you give him one as a down payment and the other 2 after he completes the task; (he was always gonna do what you asked but kisses make everything better)

likes to keep his hands free when he's out and about so he's always adding extra stuff to your purse; because he's always in your bag, he knows its exact content; you'll be frantically searching for your lip gloss and he'll ask what you're looking for and when you tell him he'll pull it out of some random side pocket he moved it to so he could make room for his stuff

will randomly wake up out of his sleep and call you just bc you crossed his mind; takes like 30 seconds to respond to anything you say bc he only half awake; the call lasts for like three minutes before he hangs up to go back to sleep 

as a big fan of roleplay at least once in your relationship he's gonna make y'all get all dressed up and go to a bar separately and act like strangers and he's gonna pretend to pick you up

if you sent him out to pick up period products last minute he’s the type that ask if you wanted lemon or lime flavor bc one package is yellow and the other is green 😭; alternatively would ask what’s your coochie size when he noticed the numbers on it

he’s not gonna let you win at any game you play; doesn’t matter how much you whine and pout he likes winning too much; god forbid you’re actually good at something he’s gonna try his very hardest and will even practice so that he eventually beats you; will give you all the prizes tho

jungkook:

if he gets bored while you’re asleep he’s gonna start messing with you; his favorite go to games are flicking your bottom lip until you tuck it in or start to gain consciousness and stacking cheerios on your forehead; his personal best is 9 of em 

hooks his chin over your shoulder to be nosy when you’re watching something on your phone that catches his attention

he understands that you’re not as nocturnal as he is but sometimes when you stay over at his place and he feels restless he can’t help but crave your attention; will wake you up at 4am gently with kisses so you can try some of the food he made; you’ll be half asleep with him kneeling in front of you feeding you some spicy noodles; he’ll patiently wait for you to finish chewing before he asks you if it’s good; makes you take at least one more bite before kissing your forehead and letting you go back to sleep; tucks himself up next to you about an hour later after he finishes cleaning up after himself 

you make funny tiktoks together; they never leave the drafts of course except for when he finds it particularly hilarious and sends it in the group chat 

threatens to beat up anyone who upsets you; like you tell him a story about someone who was upsetting you at work and his first response is "bring them to me. i'll take care of it"; and lord don't let someone get carried away at a club or something like if a guy starts hitting on you and won't take no for an answer before you can even tell them off he's already at the scene one shove away from being breaking news on every media outlet in the world

gets pouty when you have a night out without him but he understands the need for balance so doesn’t put up too much of a fight; his only stipulation is that if you can’t make it home on your own or your friends can’t drop you off that you always always call him; the thought of you getting into some randos car late at night when you’re not even mentally there all the way sends chills up his spine; he can’t sleep unless he knows you’re at home safe and sound anyway 

doesn't consciously have a preference for how you dress like he thinks you look good in whatever but you in a dress or a skirt itches a particular part of his id that would have carl jung doing backflips; like whenever you pop out in a dress or a skirt he's coming up to you and giving you a kiss on the lips while his arms wrap around your waist and 10-30 seconds later they're dropping down and his hands are toying with the ends of your garment and grazing your thighs underneath it; it just does it for him every time

you're his safe place <333; he goes through periods where you're the only person he wants to see; he will scare you half to death like you'll get off work and go home and you hear all this noise and whole time it's him in your kitchen making sandwiches for lunch; will make up for scaring you by tucking your face into his neck while his arms are wrapped tightly around you so he can breathe you in and then cupping your face and giving you kisses; you're his baby

you have matching hyperfixations; like one of you will get into something and won’t shut up about it and then being the supportive partner you are whenever you’re on social media you send the posts you stumble across to them; but then the algorithm picks up on it and the content keeps popping so often that you actually start being entertained by it too; then y’all won’t shut up about it and have inside jokes and no one ever knows what y’all are talking about bc it’s so deep down into the referential millennial dadaism

gets offended if you’re walking side by side and not touching in some way; like if you start walking ahead of him or something he’s gonna clear his throat very pointedly and when you look at him like ???? he’s gonna look at you like you’re stupid and pull you into him where you belong 

a/n: as promised she is back 🫡 thank you to everyone who encouraged me to repost 💕 pls continue to be kind my mental state is probably worse than it was before LOL

[carnalcrows]

MEOW - PARK MIN-SU

pairing: min-su x top male reader

synopsis: min-su reminds you of a cat- so you decide to put your theory to the test.

content warnings: 18+, bottom min-su, spit used as lube, full nelson, semi-public sex, mentions of a threesome

word count: 1.1k

The oppressive atmosphere of the living quarters was suffocating, with the grim reality of the games pressing down on everyone. Yet, in the dim, flickering light, your gaze kept wandering to Minsu.

He sat curled up on his bunk, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his eyes darting nervously at every sudden noise. He flinched when someone raised their voice, shrinking into himself like he wanted to disappear.

A scaredy cat, you thought. And the more you watched him, the more the comparison fit. His skittish demeanor, the way he seemed to seek small, hidden spaces, and even the soft, plaintive looks he gave when he thought no one was watching.

The idea stuck with you, an unexpected distraction from the horrors of the games.

Lights out came, and as the dormitory descended into uneasy silence punctuated by muffled whispers, you slipped off your bunk. Moving carefully to avoid the patrolling guards, you made your way to the dingy bathroom where Minsu had retreated earlier.

The flickering bulb overhead cast a pale glow across the cracked tiles. You found him near the sinks, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, head ducked as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

“Minsu,” you called softly.

He jumped, almost slipping on the damp floor. “What—what are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Relax,” you said, raising your hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to check on you. You seem... tense.”

He frowned, his expression somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” you said, stepping closer, “you remind me of something.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“A cat.”

His reaction was immediate—his face flushed red, and he stammered, “A c-cat? Are you serious? Why would you—”

You grinned, leaning casually against the sink next to him. “Yeah. A scaredy cat, to be exact.”

Minsu’s mouth opened and closed like he was trying to come up with a retort but couldn’t find one. His flustered expression was too good to resist.

“See?” you teased, stepping closer, watching his ears go pink. “You even look like one when you’re embarrassed.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, looking everywhere except at you.

“Sure you don’t,” you said, tilting your head. “But I think there’s one way to prove my theory.”

Before he could ask, you leaned in, your lips brushing his in a fleeting, deliberate motion. Minsu froze, his wide eyes meeting yours as his breath hitched.

For a moment, he stayed like that—still, hesitant. But then something shifted. His hands gripped the front of your shirt tightly, and he pressed back, his lips warm and insistent against yours.

What started as cautious quickly turned messy. His lips moved clumsily against yours, a mix of eagerness and inexperience, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. You tilted his chin slightly, deepening it, and he let out a muffled sound of surprise that sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss grew hungrier, his breathing ragged as he pulled you closer, fingers clutching at your shirt like he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go. Your hands found his waist, steadying him as he leaned into you, his back brushing against the cold, tiled wall.

Minsu let out a soft, breathy whine as you nipped at his bottom lip, and you couldn’t resist teasing him. “You sound like—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, but his flushed face and half-lidded eyes betrayed him.

You pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, trailing down to his jaw, and that’s when you heard it—a soft, low vibration.

You froze for a moment, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Are you... purring?”

Minsu blinked at you, his face turning impossibly red. “No! I—I’m not!”

But the sound was undeniable, a steady hum coming from his chest.

“Oh my god,” you said, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re actually purring.”

His hands flew to his face, muffling a groan of embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled, the vibration still faintly audible.

“And you’re adorable,” you countered, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the way he melted against you.

Your hands slowly went to the hem of his sweatpants, tugging on the strap. He yelped at the friction, wide eyes looking up at you.

“Do you want to do this? I can stop if you give me the word,” you stated, to which he said nothing for a moment, before he brought his lips to yours once more. 

Taking that as a sign to continue, you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with one firm tug, revealing his aching cock.

You flicked the tip, making the other man let out a small squeal.

Cute.

He steadied himself by placing his hands on your shoulders, as you lifted him up onto the sink. Your hand travelled past his length to his hole, that was twitching around nothing. 

Two of your fingers went towards his face, prodding at his lips. “Suck.”

Minsu complied, meekly letting your digits into his mouth, swirling them around with his tongue. The sight alone made you hard. You wondered how his mouth would feel around your–

Soon, you removed your fingers and placed them at his hole, slowly sliding one finger in. Minsu gasped at the intrusion, his hands gripping onto your shoulders much tighter than before.

You slid another digit into his hole, then another– three fingers were gently pumping in and out of his hole. Your other hand was covering his mouth. As much as you wanted to hear his pretty sounds, you didn’t want to risk a guard barging in.

Once you felt that he was fully prepped, you removed your own sweatpants and boxers, before removing your fingers from his entrance and replacing them with your hard cock.

“This might hurt just a little bit,” you whispered in his ear, before slowly sliding the head in. Minsu gasped, the sudden intrusion doing wonders to his brain. He had never felt this full.

You on the other hand, let out a low groan. ‘He must be a virgin,’ you thought. You had never fucked anyone this…tight.

You gently bottomed out into him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear to calm him down. You lifted him up from the sink, and held him in a full nelson, before starting to thrust into him. 

The new angle was making your cock hit his prostate with every thrust. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he let out a loud moan. Your other hand hand gone to his waist to hold him upright.

You fucked into him like a wild animal, savouring his every sound. Logical reasoning had flown out the window a long time ago, you were going to die anyway.

“Fuck–I’m cumming, please–,”Minsu rasped out, to which you only sped up your thrusts.

“So good f’me baby, that’s it–”

The bathroom door opened.

“Minsu my boy! Better vote O tomorrow– What the fuck.”

“...”

“...Can I join?”

“No.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.