#tumble

[leilanihours]

paige x reader inspired by taylor swifts you are in love 😋😋😋

# YOU ARE IN LOVE

pairing: paige bueckers x photographer!reader

word count: 2177

warnings: none !

summary: the picture-perfect story of your love.

⭑ from lani: i kinda love this 🤭 i hope ygs do too 🤍

masterlist !

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with paige was something out of a romantic comedy. like all the best love stories, it all started with paige practically running you over.

———

you watched intently as marquette player, liza karlen, was quickly bringing the ball up the court. uconn scrambled to get on defense but it looked like the golden eagle was about to get a wide-open layup for the lead. 

it all happened so quickly - one second you were snapping pictures of the scene in front of you, the next you were tumbling to the ground.

for about half a second, you were laying on the wooden floor behind the baseline. but almost as soon as you registered the fall, you were being pulled to your feet.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” a voice apologizes, “are you good? are you hurt?”

you straighten yourself up before lifting your head to glance at the person talking to you, and of course, it was none other than paige bueckers. as you gazed into her light blue eyes, you saw hints of concern and guilt in them.

“hello? are you okay?” she repeats, waving a hand in front of your wonderstruck face.

realizing you were staring, you stutter, “yes- sorry, i’m good. are you good?”

you look around, realizing that one of the teams had called a timeout after presumably a massive defensive block on paige's part.

“i just body slammed you and you’re asking me if i’m good?” paige laughs.

“hey we can’t have you getting injured, you got a chip to win for us,” you joke, laughing with her.

“right,” she smirks, “well, i’m glad you’re okay. we need our prettiest photographer getting the best flicks.”

you don’t miss the way she winks at you before jogging over to her teammates in their huddle. you let out an airy giggle as you watch the blonde get lectured by her coach, her hand nervously rubbing the back of her neck.

it was the shortest of interactions, but it had you buzzing with adrenaline, excitement. you replay the exchange, your mind focusing on the way she said “we,” as in her and her teammates.

but was that really what she meant? you had never talked to any of the women on the team, there was never the right time or place. 

as you begin to overthink and let your mind wander, you are alerted back to the present when the buzzer signals the end of the timeout. you could worry about paige and her flirty comment later, but right now you had a job to do - get “the best flicks.”

“ no proof, not much, but you saw enough “

———

so that was the first time you had ever talked to paige. it was nothing short of awkward and confusing, but it repeatedly played in your mind like a broken record.

the next time you conversed with the blonde was more…more. you didn’t exactly know what to call it, but let’s just say it left you with a bit of a crush on the basketball player.

———

you were about to start packing up your camera gear as you wore a huge smile on your face. uconn was going to the final four. they had just survived southern california - it was an insanely entertaining game.

with juju watkins and paige bueckers matching each other’s energy and skill, the arena was buzzing with anticipation the whole night.

you were a uconn senior and you couldn’t have more love for your school. it was where you were getting your bachelor’s in digital communication and media, where you truly fell in love with photography, specifically sports photography.

just as you were about to put your camera in your bag, a voice caught your attention.

“hey!” you look up to see paige bueckers, once again, making her way over to you. 

“uh, hi?” you greet with furrowed eyebrows, not entirely sure why the girl was trying to talk to you. 

“you were the one i bumped into, right? in that game against marquette?” paige asks. 

huh, you think, she actually remembers.

“yeah that was me,” you answer.

“thought so,” she smiles before reaching a hand out to dap you up, “i don’t think i got your name, though.”

“it’s y/n,” you grin, swiping your hand against hers.

“so, y/n, did you get any good flicks tonight? specifically of me?” paige smirks as she points to your camera.

“i mean, i got some sick ones of nika, not sure about you, though,” you tease with a shrug.

“you got jokes tonight, cute,” the blonde rolls her eyes playfully.

“c’mere, i’ll show you,” you laugh in surrender.

as you turn your camera back on and begin clicking through some of the pictures from the game, paige sneaks one of her large hands onto your waist as she stands tall beside you.

you feel her arm draped over your lower back with her hand loosely grasping your sweater as her eyes are focused on the small screen of your camera.

you look up at her, only now realizing how close you were to each other. your shoulder brushes against hers as she feels you staring, tilting her head to look down at you.

your breath hitches when her eyes meet yours, a sly grin plastered on her face as she scans over your face. you watch as her gaze lingers on your lips, then on the chain hanging from your neck.

it was like there was some sort of magnetic pull between you two, something that was undeniable, unbreakable. 

maybe it was the way you would occasionally lock eyes with paige through your camera, the growing connection flowing from the court, through your lens, and into your soul.

maybe it was the way every single picture you took of paige somehow managed to be your best, how you found her to be your own good luck charm in such a short span of time.

or maybe it was the way paige subconsciously looked for you before every game, searching for that familiar face that she had grown to find comfort in during the chaotic haze of a game.

whatever it was, it remained a common thought in each of your minds.

each wordless interaction, each unspoken acknowledgement, each silent appreciation - it was like you two needed each other in ways you couldn’t say with words. 

“ no proof, one touch, but you felt enough “

———

when you were with paige, it felt weird. not in a bad way, but in an interesting way. time never seemed to function properly when you were in the presence of the blonde. 

you could be chatting with her before a game, wishing her luck, and it would feel like you knew her your entire life.

she could be sitting on your bed as you edit your pictures, rambling about the randomest aspects of her day, and it would feel like she had done this every time she felt lonely or lost.

or in a more literal sense, she could treat you to a late-night frozen yogurt run for all of twenty minutes, but it felt like decades the way you two talked about everything under the sun.

you could go on a two-hour long sunrise walk with her before she had to go to practice, but it would only feel like five seconds considering she had to leave you.

in each of these instances, you and paige had managed to build a bond of insurmountable gravity. you deemed each other to be best friends, but it was a disgrace to the fate of the universe that you were nothing more.

paige felt it in her chest that the status of your relationship wasn’t what it was made to be. your own friends did, as well, but paige would be the one to make you fully realize it.

———

as you hopped into paige’s car, you sat comfortably in the passenger’s seat, but there was an unfamiliar vibe in the atmosphere. you turned your head to the blonde behind the steering wheel, finding her staring blankly out the window.

“you okay there, p?” you laugh nervously.

“uh, yeah, i’m okay,” she says quietly.

as nice as paige was, she was never the type to stay quiet around people she cared about. not unless something was bothering her.

“you know you can talk to me, paige. it’s me.”

turning to face you, her face softens when she observes the genuine concern on your face. she tilts her head slightly, dragging her eyes over your delicate features as if she wanted to memorize the harmony of them by heart.

“paige?”

“yeah, um…” she starts, “i actually do wanna talk to you.”

“i’m listening,” you reassure, placing a hand over hers resting on her leg.

“you’re my best friend, y/n. and i’d like to think i’m yours…”

“mhm..” you nod along, unsure where this was going.

“but i don’t wanna be. your best friend, i mean…”

you’re taken aback by this, “what? you...don’t wanna be friends anymore?”

“no, i don’t, but-“

“that’s why you called me here? to end our friendship?” you accuse, slowly becoming angry with confusion.

paige laughs at how quick you were to defend your bond, brushing a loose hair out of your face. you look at her with furrowed eyebrows, still completely lost as to what her point was and why she was laughing. 

“if you just let me finish what i’m tryna say…” she says, waiting for your confirmation to continue. you nod, the blonde mirroring your nod before speaking, “i don’t wanna be your best friend…’cus i wanna be your girlfriend. if you’ll let me?”

your eyes widen slightly in shock, not expecting those words to come out of her mouth. your heart rate picks up as you register what she’s actually saying. you can’t help but stare at paige with your lips parted as you think of how to respond.

“y/n? can you say something? please?” she asks softly, begging almost, as she tries to decipher your reaction.

after a beat of silence (a common theme in your relationship), you finally answer, “i’d really like that, paige.”

she lets out a breath of relief she didn’t even know she was holding in. her shoulders relax as the tensity in them melts away at your words.

“yeah?” she smiles.

“yeah,” you nod, “but only if i get to be your girlfriend.”

“i think imma take that deal,” she laughs before swiftly placing her lips on yours.

you found yourself once again appreciating the tranquil environment, the calm embrace. it reflected how your blossoming relationship with paige didn’t need to be put into words. 

mostly because you understood each other on such an emotional and spiritual level, but also because you couldn’t do it justice if you tried.

so you told your story with pictures, your own photographs. images that would last a lifetime in the eyes of your love.

“ one step, not much, but it said enough “

———

all of which brings you to now. it’s been exactly one year since paige had officially asked to be your girlfriend. she surprised you with a date at a drive-in movie, one that was playing some romantic silent film from the early 1900s.

as you sat in the bed of your older brother’s pickup truck (the one that paige had to secretly kidnap for the night), you admired the serenity of the scene surrounding you. 

fellow viewers talking in hushed voices, other lovers tangled up in comforting embraces, faint humming from the film rolling as it projected onto the large white sheet, the feeling of your girlfriend’s heart beating against you as you laid on her chest.

there was nothing that could make this moment better.

“i love you, y/n,” you hear paige whisper into your hair.

okay, maybe there was something that could make it even better.

you sit up from your spot nestled into the blonde, facing her and looking into those blue eyes you had always treasured. there was nothing but pure adoration and sincerity behind them. 

your heart swells like music at the end of the third act in a romantic comedy. you’re grinning widely at the girl sitting in front of you as your hands come up to brace either side of her face. 

your lips meet hers in a deep kiss, one that says everything that needs to be said and more. but, of course, it doesn’t hurt to say it out loud officially.

“i love you too, paige,” you smile against her lips, “so much.”

it felt so perfect, everything about it was perfect.

the way her lips locked with yours as if they were destined to fit there. the way it wasn’t some big, loud gesture. the way it was the middle of the night when the world was at its quietest, the way the lights of the outdoor theater and along the sidewalks were dimmed to glow just right. 

the way it was so unapologetically you and paige.

“ you are in love, true love “

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[hopepoint]

had polytan thoughts on my drive home but what if the boys are all together, maybe staying in a hotel for some kind of promotion.

yg's room next to sj's because the younger wanted to be a little closer to his hyung (even though they live less than 10 min away from eo)

and vmin naturally find each other's rooms, but when th gets there jk is already in jm's room so they enjoy their time together until they all itch to bug their eldest hyung sj, so of course they tumble into his room grinning and bubbly with excitement-

except, yg beat them there, sitting right next to the bed in an armchair that is a little too small for his body to be curled into it along with his laptop balancing on the armrest. th ends up curled at the base of the chair, his hair tickling yg's legs but he doesn't care

because it's been too long since this many of them were in one place. yg types something up as th hums underneath him and eventually, he lowers his legs so th can wrap himself closer.

when they got there jm and jk settled on the bed, im now scrolls at the foot of the bed while jk watches sj play a video game on his laptop, both of them crunched against the headboard. Yet, they both manage to tangle their legs with jm's in an odd jumble of limbs.

and sj can't even falsify annoyance when jk knocks his knee against his be it means he is actually there, it means there aren't kilometers of space and a phone screen separating them from eo. he is really there, hugging his waist and shoving his short-haired head into his neck.

eventually, th makes it to the bed flopping on jm who wiggled his way between sj and jk's legs. the two sleepily groan from th's impact but jm's laugh drowns them out. he tells them hs went to his room and is now texting him asking if he is still awake.

because hs knows jm has him on emergency bypass, all of them do. of course they do. so jm's phone continues to chirp w/ea of hs's texts until jm tells him sj's room number. because of course hs looked for him, worried he fell asleep without brushing his teeth after an exhuasting plane ride.

and when hs gets there he finds nj nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot t in front of sj's door. he is so lost in thought when hs wraps his arm around his much wider waist he jumps. his already red ears burn more and he asks if they are still awake.

be of course even if nj wanted to go in he would rather walk away from a room full of comfort than bother them by waking them all up after an exhausting day.

he puts them first always. and hs knows when to push, so he squeezes the taut muscle of ni's side and knocks on the door. and when it opens he pushes nj inside, pushes him toward the five people who look to him for comfort like he does them.

hs makes a beeline for m and th, flopping onto their tangled bodies which naturally make room for him like a lost piece of their puzzle. but still nj lingers at the foot of the bed, hand clutching the comforter watching the five in bed slowly melt closer together.

then a hand in his, if he could call it that, it's the tips of yg's fingers tracing his calloused palm and then wrapping around his wrist. his touch light and soft, giving him ample opportunity to untangle himself from his grasp. but of course he doesn't, of course he follows.

he follows him to the other end of the room and they grab the couch pressed against the wall, slowly and sleepily they maneuver it to jk and sj's side of the bed.

nj motions for yg to take the side closest to the bed, closest to everyone else, but y coxes him onto that side with that same soft grasp. groggily sj groans about jk rolling over to spoon ni, but the eldest still tucks himself behind the younger in a warm embrace.

yg tucks his head under nj’s chin resting his cheek against his chest, and nj feels him relax against him. slowly, after he is sure everyone has fallen asleep, soft shores filling the room, nj falls asleep. all of them tucked away in a room full of their greatest comforts.

[dayofkaryn]

Since tonight feels like a wake, my last semi-viral tweet, for posterity, before I have to learn how to put crisp gifs on every tumble.

BTS as AO3 commenters:

HS: There for every single update

NJ: Comment is as long as the fic

TH: “I don’t usually comment but”

YG: Just lists quotes he liked

JK: In vocal agony from the pining

SJ: Review put in the bookmark

JM: Screams, says will come back with more later, doesn’t

[kayuhansepeda]

Surat Kaleng “Untuk ombak, yang menyembunyikan lautan perasaannya”

Dapat surat kaleng lagi, ini untuk ombak.

Siapapun.

Dear ombak, jika ada napas yg tertahan, hempaskan.

Jika ada kata yg tersendat, lepaskan.

Sebab percuma mengendapkan, ia tak akan jadi hilang.

Happy listening sompi ;) yg mau kirim surat kalengnya boleh langsung message via tumbl atau kirim ke sepedakayuhan@gmail.com

Tak perlu khawatir dan malu, namamu aman :)

Available on:

🚲 spotify, apple podcast, anchor.fm/kayuhansepeda

[ramengir]

Akhir 2023 ni tumblr... aku mau cerita. Sedang dalam masa pengen nangis dan air mata dah ga bisa keluar. Aku sekarang lagi sakit ada benjolan di leher. memang kalo googling penyebab penyakitnya apa malah bikin parno. Lalu denger bahasan dari dr. zaidul akbar tgt seorang ibu yg ada benjolan leher pas ditanya lebih dalam ternyata ada emosi yang tidak ter-release karena sebenarnya dia ga mau tinggal di anak nya yg ini pengennya di anaknya yang satunya. Aku mikir ih sesimple itu kenapa emosi ga bisa dilepaskan kan bisa bilang.

Nyatanya memang hidup ga semudah itu marimar.

Banyak hal dalam hidup yang ga bisa diubah secepat yang kita mau atau berjalan sesuai kehendak kita.

Aku flashback, emosi apa yang menumpuk jadi sampah di dalam tubuh yang bikin sakit fisik.

Banyak ternyata, balik lagi di rumah dekat kuburan dan harus se atap beda dinding sama paman suami yang suka ngambil makanan ga bilang karena beliau terlalu malu untuk minta adalah yang utama. Ga ada yang bisa aku lakukan, rumah ini juga punya mertua. Kami datang kembali kesini disaat paman sudah jadi benalu di rumah ini.

Aku memang jahat tumbl,aku akui karena aku benci orang tidak produktif.

Lalu salah masukin anak TK : sekolah yang ga sesuai yang aku mau, kurikulum yang ga sesuai dengan yang aku mau. Pun bagi raport kmrn pun anak ku dapat nilai bohongan padahal nulis aja belum bisa. Salah aku ga observasi lebih dalam.

Lalu melihat financial rumah tanggaku yang stagnan. Punya hutang karena operasi dan kebutuhan.

Membandingkan diri dengan orang - orang terdekat karena itu.

Sampai ada omongan sakit-sakitan terus. Sakit batuk pilek, sakit gigi, sakit omicron hingga sekarang sakit benjolan.

Amarah terus yang kurasa. Bahkan saat menunggu jodoh pun amarah ini kurasakan namun kenapa dulu aku ga sakit? Mungkin Karena dulu aku bisa bersembunyi dari dunia sekarang ga bisa .

Emang boleh menyalahkan / menjadikan orang lain alasan atas sakit kita? Hahaha ga boleh sih. Tapi cukup tau aja. Marah pun ga akan menyelesaikan masalah. Aku hanya perlu berdamai dengan diri sendiri.

Katanya hidupku ga beruntung tumbl kayak prabowo yang gagal terus dalam pemilu kalo ga break the habits gak akan pernah menang.

Karena servo mechanism ku negatif makanya aku ga beruntung. Lucu juga ya manusia mencari alasan logis untuk memuaskan ketidakberdayaannya.

Ya Allah, makasih ya aku masih disayang padahal aku hamba yang tak tahu malu. Allah kasih semua di waktu yang tepat tapi manusia kadang ga pernah puas.

Sakitnya harus banyak2 puasa ga makan nasi, tepung dan minyak (padahal semua kesukaan ya ampun), banyak makan rimpang juga sebagai prebiotik.

Kepikiran juga kalo umurku pendek, amal sholeh ga ada.

Apa pindah rumah jadi solusi?

Sekarang ga tau maunya apa soalnya ga punya kemampuan untuk ubah itu semua hanya bisa jalanin aja.

Berdamai dengan diri sendiri, berdamai dengan Tuhan. Ridho akan keputusannya.

[hardprincessgardener]

Betapa Elit Slot Rtp Untuk Bertaruh 2023 Sekarang

Bagaimana jika anda dan bbrp teman yg lain lagi kesepian dan btuh tenang utk rileks saja sejenak dan lupain smua beban yg lagi menimpa dan jarum yg mentuntik di akupuntur dgn mengubah nya jadi perolehan duit yg tertotal cukup wuaw dan mgkin ini dpt terorganisir atau kandangin mulut dri diktator si manajer yg suka memrintah nmun juga gak becus lalu lagak dri insentif hnya sepantaran dgn win tumbling yg terkenal sbgai pemula hadiah dlm rezim slotter utk itu saya makin pintar dan yakin utk merembuk kan rekomenan yg pangkalan gacor psti sdh judimaxwin3.com tertangkis utk bukan preferensi nya ngecewain smpai bandar pelosok pun tatap scara offline nasib dri ruko kecil kasino di pedalaman yg nampung berbhasa thai ini utk lancarin kegiatan sblm capai di geruduk ini ada barking nya jika bisa menyetop berkoar demi yg gak faedah sbaik nya simpan energi mu preserv dan lampias hantar kan ke spek jadul tampilan.

Dan jg info ini jgn smpai bocor pda tgan yg hnya bisa membuat onar dan jadi dalang ricuh bkin sekeliling table pun hrus risih dan berdiri utk menajam kan matanya sbgai peringatan utk kondusif, sbgai markas utk menyokong aspirasi dri byk masyarakat gk scara general tpi lbih pda sistem yg terdukcapil saja cntoh member ratusan tergabung dan tersaring lah yg jdi panutan serta lagi dan lagi dalam berantas mecahin solusi ngeslot tantrum kami asal kan itu dekat dgn usungan sinetron dewa yg slalu di puja utk turunin berkah sambaran nya bkn utk menghujam sanksi tpi sbgai entitas pelindung dri kawasan kuno dari gelap yg mengintai sejadi buah ideology yg pas utk di cucokologi dgn prasmanan web dafatar rekening depo ongkos nangkring gacor nyata nya acuan berpihak zeus psti scara eksplisit terperisai dri mempose kan elektabilitas treatening rungkat yg mnjdi keresahan warga bromo nah skrng terserah bapak ingin engkau buat menganalisis kan teori utk dpt efisien tnpa ngeluarin kejuruan masak kali gopek smpai kandas.

[localreport]

Has BIGBANG disbanded for good? YG Entertainment’s stock takes a tumble

[psychicpaperpenguin]

Langkah Tidak Salah Milih Gacor Situs Sumbang Cuan Slot

Ketika hadapin game yg mngkin anda memilih utk lebih menerawang jalur yg beda sdikit lebih ambisius tpi terarah maka kurang relevan dgn modal kecil slot lain yg terlalu norak beri ketekunan bakal jejak kapital beruntun smpai blm patah dan memelas di nodain oleh kalah yg masih juga di ganti rugi smpai merasa gak merugi sdikit pun berkat potensi kembalian uang yg tersedot konsep nya akan memuntah kan kembali dgn ikhlas hanya slotmaxwin2.com ngambil sepeser utk jaga ronda malam menganggap ini beri sumbangan saja kpd agen pemuas beribu kali masa lgsung ngedown hnya krna minor kecil kalah hitungan jari sudah bernama dua pilihan kuncir antara menang berjabat tunai rupiah besar atau pun hnya kalah dgn tergores sdikit bukan masalah di besar kan, sbgai pengikut dari lama tau budi membalas saling pekerti jadi gak mempan utk menggeser tahta kesukaan situsku hnya dgn sekali terjatuh dong.

Sangat tertuju pada target dan inventaris gacor yg senantiasa pilihan kekayaan seolah berada di tgan mu sndiri, apabila anda sdang hari di omelin dan membuat pesona mnjadi bergejolak maka anda butuh penyedap slot dgn penjamin menang bisa puluhan kali krna dlm riset utk membuat ngembalikan ceria dan kebugaran kita lebih medikasi cocok pada game yg mines nya berada di bersandar dgn tumbling yg slalu jadi fiturisasi pling laku di spesial nya alias nominal nya di maklumin sahaja. Tpi saat anda lagi dan lagi merasa permslahan terslesai kan oleh tim pelayanan cekatan kita berganti stiap dua belas jam, sperti ada koneksi dgn kategori pedih namun membuat nagih juga tentu kepuasan yg jarang mendua krna bbrp lambang pada demo yg sdikit dejavu skrng benaran berhasil melandas kan kegigihan nya sbgai konkrit kalo anda berhasil kasih hentakan yg telak akan guncang seisi konfigur dari mesin smpai anda lawan yg sepadan utk diajak berduet. Berteman saja dengannya krna afdol jika sebutannya jalan potong singkat kpd jackpot tpi pasti marabahaya lebih mengintai setiap sudut latih kacamata elang kita. Lalu impian dri selisih rtp yg tercampur perlahan perpendek kesenjangan senyawa.

[everythingkimhongjoong]

Koreans are dumb to think that Lisa won't be able to have a sucessful career outside of YG. Like, be for real. She is popular worldwide. Seeing as one of her biggest hits is in English and was a TikTok trend for the longest, she has a big shot at a career in the USA. If she leaves YG, I can see every big American companies trying to sign her. I can see Sony, Columbia or Atlantic trying to go after her.

Koreans are delusional and it took nothing for them to turn and start hating on Lisa for being Thai. I hope Lisa sees that. They only love you because you are signed to a Korean label. If you try to grow as an artist, they will turn on you. The best comments I saw were these:

+22, -0] I still don't understand why people are so mad about the prospect of her leaving. She fulfilled her contract terms and has every single right to leave if she wants, and she hasn't even said she was going to at all yet, they're still in the deliberation stages... Why all this talk about "don't hold her back," "don't spend money on trying to hold her back," ㅋㅋㅋㅋ YG will obviously do what's best for them, and obviously they've calculated that she's making them enough money for them to want to hold on to her still

+19, -4] I think a lot of the comments here are out of touch... None of you seem to understand the international sentiment... You're so used to only reading Korean news ㅋㅋ Lisa will be fine even if she leaves. It's our side that's wanting her to stay.

[namjoonchronicles]

tumble | yg

↳ genre fluff, established relationship, slight smut at the end

↳ words 5k ↳ summary preparing for close friend’s wedding gifts is a given for young married couple. an unexpected encounter with an old flame led to an unwanted rekindled feelings but karma reminds you who your heart truly belongs to, because it’s all about the actions, not words.  ↳ notes this i wrote during first week of university of my final year, trying to run away from responsibility. midway, my friend @hellotherehoneybee​ was having a difficult week at hers too, so i wrote this extra fluff for her, i hope she noticed. thank you for working so hard! (i wish someone would comment on the work i put on the banners of each of my stories, but nevermind) ↳ warning attempts of infidelity (not by you) ↳ song ‘happiness is a butterfly’ lana del rey

Nimble fingers punched the numbers on the passcode pad, just outside the door. Crumpled papers on the floor. Supreme skateboards stacked on the wall. Yoongi walked in, greeted by a line of guitars at the corner of his studio. His attention was on the phone, preferring to text over calling. His face was shone by the light from it. His feet kicked away the crumpled papers on the floor to get to his computer. There’s a frame of baby breath on his table next to his stationery. A picture of you next to his desktop. Bothered by the melody he endlessly replayed in his head, he plans to record the notes in digital form. He hasn’t decided which work of his he wanted them in, but any of it would be just fine. Today, he is expecting a guest that will contribute to the guide. Jimin springs in first, as usual.

“Why do you lock the door knowing that I’m coming?!” Jimin groaned outside the door. He is leaning against the frames, knocking repeatedly.

This is exactly why he had those locks put up. Several young producers lined up. Yoongi is teaching them how to make music. With a wry look and dry greetings, Yoongi invited them in and started the meeting. The project is rather simple. Yoongi has provided a raw sample to the aspiring producers who will try to make lyrics. These melodies are then sung by Jimin. Yoongi whipped out his sample from his computer and he will give exactly 30 minute for the producers to think of ways to make the music a song. The young producers wrote down notes given by Yoongi. They write and they erase. They wrote and erased. Write. Scratch. Write. Scratch.

Noticing this, Yoongi gave a soft smile. It reminded him of himself when he was just starting. The uncertainty, the overwhelming feeling of not knowing if the lyrics are good enough, or just plain dumb. As an underground rapper with social anxiety, he was afraid to be ridiculed the most, and he is pretty sure that these producers have the same fear. What he is about to say is nothing new. In fact, he advises it frequently in his lectures. Clearing his throat and with the aura of a seasoned lyricist, he said,

“Go with your gut feelings. Understand the feel of the sample and what you could derive from it. Let your mind run wild. First rule of writing music is that there are no rules.”

He emphasizes on creativity. Jimin was trying to write the lyrics too. He wanted to learn to write faster. “Jimin, your problem is that you’re a perfectionist…” Yoongi spat, “Your mind goes haywire at the possibility of writing everything, you have no clear direction. That’s why it’s so hard. You select a theme, and you stay on it…”

“But Namjoon…” Jimin began.

“Namjoon is a genius. His diction is out of this world, and he has been writing lyrics for years. Don’t compare yourself to him or rather, learn with him rather than coming to me, uninvited,” Yoongi swivels in his chair as the three other producers hang their head low.

Jimin puckered his lips and muttered curses under his breath.

Yoongi reaches for the journal he kept by the book rack. When he opened them, a warranty card fell out. He crouches down to get them. It was from the phone you bought. He caught you buying a phone on an online store when he returns to the studio, earnestly picking a good one. You even asked him about these specs and technology terms you don’t know about. Some of it was written down as notes in this journal along with his own scribbles of song lyrics. You wanted to buy a phone for your mom and pretend that it was from your dad. Your mom always complains that your dad never gave her gifts and is reluctant to spend money on her. Yoongi didn’t need the extra information but you gave it to him anyway. Yoongi learnt from you that your mother had been using the same phone for a decade, and nothing can be updated anymore. And because your father isn’t doing anything about it but think about himself, you decide to buy your mom a good new phone. Saving your father’s face by pretending it was him who bought it.

You didn’t know this but, Yoongi fell in love with you once more.

That phone comes with a warranty card that is now made its home in his old journal. You know he wouldn’t throw any of his journals away.

Glancing at the digital clock on his shelf, he wondered, just how his favorite person in the world is doing…

Yoongi entertained questions from his students. Explaining the build up, the body, climax and ending. Sharing what is fun and what is not, in writing music. What’s cliché and what’s attention grabbing. But his explanation was cut halfway when his phone vibrated, and swiped his thumb over the caller ID and answered with a small, “Hello?”

Jimin and the students studied his face. At first, Yoongi seemed pretty laxed, and then he stood up, abruptly. Instantly and visibly tensed.

“Where are you?” Pause, “Okay, stay right there, I’ll be right over…” He grabs his coat from the hanger and his tongue glides along his drying lips upon ending the seemingly urgent call. He appears distressed but it is masked by his calm exterior.

“Is something the matter, hyung?” Jimin asked. “I have to leave, I am sorry because I  have to cut the classes short. Make sure you email me the verses by noon tomorrow. I will deduct marks for late submissions…” Yoongi said in one breath and yanked the door open, had them leave the studio at once and locked them.

Namjoon was standing outside the hall, watching Yoongi as he trudges through. The older one was putting on his jacket albeit roughly and as quickly as he could. Namjoon couldn’t even get a proper greeting in return. It seems Yoongi is troubled by something.

Troubled by something is indeed accurate.

A few hours ago.

You thought you made a great choice. It’s what you wanted when it was your wedding, and you’re sure that Jungkook would like it too. Knowing just how obsessed he is with having everything the same color code, the sapphire blue kohiki plates would have fit in right into his kitchen like it’s one of the built-in. Yoongi always thought that Jungkook’s gifts are the hardest to choose because he is picky, but also not very picky. He has specified interest but also not very specified. You know more than anything that Jungkook is neither of those things. Ever since you knew the boy, he had always been grateful for any gifts he was given. It didn’t matter how expensive or how rare, it’s the thought that counts. Many years ago, Jungkook came to your house, when you and Yoongi were still dating, and he frequently used the kohiki bowls you have. He said he liked it. That's how you came to decide that his wedding gift would be just that. For his wife, you don’t really know her well, but you had Yoongi book a Swarovski perfume after recognizing that she frequently carries the fun sized bottle around when she’s out.

“Would you like to also see the latest collection of our Kohiki plates, Mdm. Min?” the salesperson politely addresses you and you thought that simply looking wouldn’t hurt. You after all had time to kill today.

Your hands glide over the impressive finishing of the white kohiki plates, truly in awe of the time and the craftsmanship involved in making this. They came in many sizes and as you narrowed down to the end of the gallery, you recognized a collection so similar with the one at home. You turned to the salesperson with a beaming smile, almost child-like. The man bowed at you and explained to you how this particular collection was especially sought after and high in demand, they decided to keep it in collection. Yoongi’s personal family collection had been imitated countless times in the past centuries, they eventually trademarked the design to be named, Empire Min’s timeless collection. It had served countless royalties in the whole world and the tableware was of grand prestige. Sometimes, it dawns over you that you married quite an incredible man with a lineage of such esteem, comparable to those of aristocracy.

Min Yoongi’s family may have stranded far from the royals now, but the traces are there. His delectable face, porcelain skin and honey-succulent voice, are as good as a blue bloods’. His family registrar was kept in the national museum and you had a glimpse of it during Chuseok every year, where they pay homage to his ancestors and it’s quite unbelievable that something from centuries ago was still available today. You didn’t ask a lot about how his family branched off the King, but you do know that the surname Min belonged to four most important Queens in the Joseon dynasty. Is that where his beauty originates from?

You smiled to yourself as you saw his signature underneath the gallery as the last few descendants of the Queen.

“The gifts are wrapped up, we will have it shipped personally to Mr. Jeon Jungkook as per addressed…” the salesman ensured you with an assuring voice.

Kohiki plates aren’t cheap to say the least. But Min Yoongi doesn’t like you worrying about it. Much less, he’d rather have you spend his hard-earned money because he doesn’t always know what you like. One last thing, a visit to the gallery with your trustee art enthusiast, Kim Namjoon.

He stride over as he ended the call. He looks everly dashing in those turtlenecks and grey blazer. His pectorals and buff body looks great in it. He wore those glasses that made him look like he was a postdoctoral student. Only he isn’t. He shoves his phone into his breast-pocket and his face shifted from a serious one to a cheeky expression. He presented his arm for you to take and embraced in a small talk with you.

“You just ended your lecture?” you asked him. “It took a little longer than planned, sorry about that…” he chuckles, handsomely.

“This gallery better be lit…” “You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

Namjoon guides you into an exhibition, guarded by several men in black suits and ear-pieces. The whole way there, you realized that there was no one around. It is only given, because Namjoon owns it. It seems he had it shut down for the day, because the most important painting is arriving from Versailles, and he wants nobody to have a look on it. Except you, of course. And it’s easier to do painting shopping without people hustling in and out trying to catch a glimpse of the ‘Kim Namjoon’. Namjoon talked to you about the randomness of things as he introduces to you his favorite works. He was talking about his sudden trip to Paris and how he regrets it, then talking about a wrong purchase and the books he is currently reading. All in a quiet voice, the kind you give to your lovers.

But you know that’s just Namjoon being flirtatious like it’s his second name.

Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks. This section of the gallery feels like it’s cut off from the rest. It has been endless modern art since the entrance until a few paintings back. This one felt like it was Rome or the Renaissance. The sculptures and dramatic scenes, the skin tones and flesh, it was a whole other world. You turned to Namjoon, questioning him with your eyes. You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like this type of art.

“I had a change of heart… while trying to understand yours,” he confessed. And it sounded strange because he let those words glide out as if he had no control over it.   He stepped back, pressed his lips together for saying more than he thought necessary, dropped his shoulder and turned to the art he loved.

“I understand it now,” he added, speaking to the frames, “Why do you like them so much… There’s so many stories to tell from each of these characters…”

You remember explaining to him about eyes in realistic paintings. How you wonder what they’ve seen, and what they have experienced. These endless thoughts usually trouble Namjoon, up to when he was about to sleep. You look beyond the surface of this painting and put feelings in them. That’s when he realized that emotions can be painted. Namjoon owed it to you, to having understood himself. And as he explained just how your art classes changed his perspective in life, he introduced to you the painting he thinks fit Jungkook the most. When you saw this painting unveiled before your eyes, you couldn’t agree more. It would look best in his spacious living room. Namjoon watched you as you signed the insurance paper to deliver the artwork. Watching you from afar like this felt foreign. With the history you both had, who would have thought that he would spend his life dreading the future he could have had with you.

It is all too late now.

The ring around your finger isn’t his. Maybe it’s for the better. He couldn’t have cared for you better than Yoongi does.

The most difficult thing about this relationship is, getting stuck between caring too much, and not caring at all.

“So you’ll deliver them to Jungkook’s house soon?” your eyes darted up at him as he approached the table.

“Leave it to me…” he said with a broad smile and dire confidence from a seasoned seller. A billion dollar man like him, could get away with anything with that smile.

Namjoon hooks his finger around the flaps of the door handle of your car and watches you climb in. Winding the window down, he rests his elbows and fixes his eyes on you, a coy smile on his pretty lips. You darted at him a look. A look you’d give to your malice doing little brother to warn him.

“Go on dates, go meet people, Namjoon… How long will you live this way?” “How would you know I’m not meeting people?” “You stacked books in my online bookstore, and still use my Netflix account to watch movies…” “Books and movies are better companions.”

You looked at him through your lashes and in those particular moments of silence, glances were exchanged and feeling somehow attempted to rekindle, however, before it could, you looked away.

“I’m going to Yoongi’s office, I’ll tell him you said hi…” “But I didn’t…” “Goodbye, Namjoon.”

The white Mazda CX-3 glides away, seamlessly. Stopped at the junction, and entered the main road. All these while, Namjoon kept watching. And it seems like, all his life, he had been watching. Because that was all what he was courageous enough to do.

“‘She loved him too early, and he loved her too late…” Namjoon muttered to himself.

At the junctions, your car pulls to a stop as the traffic light turns red. The building you were in were kilometers away but the scent of Namjoon’s body lotion hasn’t left. You always refrain from reading too much anything Namjoon does because you’re not who you were anymore. Your loyalty is with Min Yoongi now and it should be. Rather than feeling like you used to feel for Namjoon, it actually narrows more to pity. Namjoon had it all. He had your endless support, you had been his emotional anchor, and he had taken you for granted for many years. Eventually, you pick up your worth and search within yourself what you’ve given him. What you found out when you peel yourself away from everything that is Namjoon, is the fact that he had given you nothing but his concerns. There was no give and take. All he does is take.

Finding yourself, led you to finding Yoongi.

Yoongi was nothing easy to have. So it daunts you that difficult men might have been your type. Yoongi is rash and dry on his best day and even more harsh and unapologetic than anyone you have ever met. It came to a point where you exploded, thinking that even as life swallowed you whole and his arms was the only thing that could save you, you’d rather be swallowed whole. When Yoongi heard such a damning insult to his being, he got even. As harsh as Yoongi appears to be, he was a softie right under the flesh. Under his blank expression and inattentive eyes, he is all soul and bones. The more you know him, the more you realize that you both are strikingly alike. From the way you solve problems to the way he speaks, you both are a lot more common than you are different.

He is so intelligent and witty and blunt. You can ask him about literally anything and he always has an opinion about it. Because of his wide arrays of interest, you can never run out of topics to talk about. He is a great fun, and always adventurous although he prefers to whine about it at first. He said he hates camping but when you forced him to come with you, he looked like he has been camping his whole life. Lit the bonfire within seconds, adapted the forest life and just casually calm. The kind of calmness you hadn’t felt in awhile, you felt in Yoongi’s presence. Camping nights are always so romantic with him playing the guitars and you requesting songs you know he doesn’t know. There will be crinkles around his eyes before he looks down, embarrassed for not knowing that song. Once you give him a listen, he could play by ear.

He is adorable when he is confused or terribly tired. One night, he asked if you would come over his studio’s rooftop to spend time together. He spoke two sentences and fell asleep while you were talking. He unknowingly leaned his head on your shoulder as he dozes off. You brushed his hair away and thumbed his cheeks. His lips pouting cutely as he slept. You sat awfully still for hours, hours that he is still paying off with himself. To this day. It is astonishing how he could look like the cutest little kitty and also looked like he could swallow you whole.

His dangly multi earrings, gorgeous eyes and veiny arms, his multifaceted talents are as endless as his sweet words. Yoongi could make you feel heard without you saying a word.

The pedal planted to the ground, screeching tires and loud crashes. The windows on the driver side shattered and the airbag deployed. Loud ringing in your head as you try to gather your thoughts. What’s happened? You drove ahead a little more, because if you didn’t the road would have been congested. You pressed the hazard light on and parked on the side of the road to avoid other cars.

Hooking your fingers around the car handle, the door was pushed open. The car that collided with you stopped behind you. Your Mazda could continue driving but you don’t want to risk it because the shell of the tire was a little dented. The sharp ends were grazing your tire if you continued. The driver whose car you collided with was eerily quiet but he kept staring at an interval. You gathered your purse and fished for your phone.

“Please don’t get mad…” you huffed, “I got into an accident…” The back of your wrist on your forehead as you looked around in worry.

“I am at a round-a-about pass on Samsung Building 77 street… I’ll send the location,” you breathed, oddly a little calmer than he expected you to be. It all happens too quickly. You weren’t sure who was in the wrong. The last thing you remember was using the signal stick to turn to the right and the car on the right wanted to head to the left, surreptitiously ignoring the signal you gave. It seemed ages for Yoongi to get there, but when he did, he parked a little further and got off the car, jogging to where you are. Your eyes stung and got watery as he came to get you. You were so grateful that he wasn’t angry and in fact, just wanted to know where you were so he could be where you are. He held onto your hand as he went to inspect the car and its damages.

“What are you going to do with my headlight?” the owner of the other car came over, uninvited. Yoongi instinctively pulls you behind him at the forwardness of this man.

“Take it easy, let’s check the dashcam to see who was actually in the wrong, let’s take this to the police station…”

“What police station, it is more than obvious that she was driving recklessly and not paying attention!” The man tried to go over Yoongi to get to you but Yoongi held his palm outward at this rude man.

“Like I said, we will take this to the police station and they’ll decide who is in the wrong and needs to pay for the damages…” Yoongi once again marched against this man and stared dead into his eyes while dialing on his phone. He placed his phone on his ear and continued to warn the man with his body language.

“The insurance company? Yes, I have a car you need to tow. We’re along Samsung 77th Street by the roundabout, how long will you take to get here? 10 minutes, okay…” Yoongi spoke on the phone. You held onto Yoongi’s arm tighter. One hand in his tight grip, the other clawing on his sleeves, slightly below his elbow. Your eyes unfocused. You were biting your lips. Chewing on them.

Yoongi climbed into his car after you. Pressed the car engine on and thumbed your knee. You weren’t as calm now.

“What if it is actually my fault? What if I was the one driving foolishly…?” You stuttered.

“We will let the police decide okay? We hadn’t even seen the footage from the dash cam yet, he could just be manipulating you to think that you were in the wrong, just by the look on his face I know he’s the type to drive like a drunkard and blame people for his mistakes…” Yoongi’s large palm covered your entire knee.

“You want jellies?” he tries to console you. “What about the car?” you looked over the car seat to the view of your stranded Mazda.

“The insurance company will have it towed, don’t worry… It’ll be okay,” he smiles and chuckles lightly, “This isn’t a big deal, accidents happen all the time, honey.”

The car pulled to a stop at the red traffic light, and he extended his arm to gather your hand to kiss your knuckles. You looked at him with watery eyes, full of guilt and despair and you said to him in broken voice,

“I’m so s-sorry… I’ve troubled you,” you bursted into tears, “I just went out to get gifts for Jungkook’s wedding and it all happened so fast…” Yoongi gathered your head in one hand, pulling your face into his nape. He plants kisses on your head and fondly smiles against your hair. . . . .

The police decided to hold the man accountable. He was clearly changing lanes without signals, and he was also ignoring your obvious signals. Not only was he driving past the speed limit at a roundabout in broad daylight, he had the audacity to shift the blames towards you. The dash cam was proof that he was a reckless driver so he had his driving license suspended and he had to pay for damages you faced. Yoongi laced his fingers into the gaps of yours as he turned around from the man. Yoongi smiled smugly and took you out of the police station. With the reports done and you were acquitted from any traffic misconduct, the car insurance company will cater to all the repairing. Yoongi will have to drive you everywhere for now but it wasn’t something he minds doing.

You let go of his hand and proceed to walk to the car, hugging yourself while he watches you from behind. Your steps weren’t hurried, rather they were a bit slow but for some reason you thought it was far better to not hold him. In your head, you are still scolding yourself and knowing you as far as he did, he understood it. He climbs into the car, avoiding eye contact as his index finger sunk into the engine button. You were dazed, looking out the window at everything on the outside. Noticing this, Yoongi stops by your favorite mall. He said he wanted to get some tools and appliances for the sink at home. Every three months, Yoongi would have the sink maintained by pouring cleaning liquid and have it stay there overnight so it won’t clog anytime soon. Usually, when this happens, he would buy dinners outside and take you out for breakfast the next morning.

Both of you once experienced the sink clogging before, and the whole kitchen was flooded with foul-smelling liquid. To make matters worse, Yoongi was away for business in Tokyo, and you had to handle them alone. Some plumbers walked in to help, and even if Yoongi was grateful for their help, he would rather his house be under his maintenance. That's why he keeps a schedule for every heavy duty appliance in the house. This is to avoid unnecessary over spending and inviting unnecessary people inside the house. He has a yearly check for the washing machine, the refrigerator, the electric stove, the air-conditioners and the oven. He is always making sure that everything is safe for you to use.

With the car parked so swiftly, Yoongi joins you in the mall's lobby. There aren’t many people around since it’s weekdays. And as if you remembered that you needed a conversation, you jerked your head up and to the side, at your husband.

“Oh right! You have a class today?” “Sent them home early with an assignment to mark later…”

He pauses, momentarily. Lifting his left wrist for the time, he yanked his sleeve up. He then, out of a sudden let out a sigh,

“Should we have dinner here or…” his voice drawls, “I plan to start on the sink right away when we get home…” “That sounds great, I don’t feel like cooking…”

You lifted your eyes at the elevator door opening before you. Yoongi lets you step in first. You move to the back of the elevator at the corner, by habit and Yoongi joins you. He could see from your face that the accident hadn’t left your mind. So when the elevator arrived at the second floor, instead of the fourth where the hardware stores were, he took your hand and walked out. You didn’t question him right away but you thought it was odd.

“Ice-cream…” he beamed at you.

He ordered your favorite. Waffles, drizzled with chocolate syrup and some fruits. Then you talked about Jungkook’s wedding gifts and plans on that day. He asked you about the venues since you were the one that booked them. You excitedly say that it was in great shape. The venue was a garden, it has this magnificent backdrop of a man-made lake and Jungkook’s fiancé loved the idea of exchanging vows at the view. However, your smile swept away when you spoke about the wedding dress.

“Why?” Yoongi spoke softly. “Because she seemed conflicted to follow what her friends’ recommended instead of what she truly wanted. She texted me yesterday, saying that she hated her wedding dress,” your shoulders dropped. “Why did she hate them?” “Her friends basically forced her to get this dress from a designer they know. From what I heard he was pretty famous, but she originally wanted her old classmate to make one for her. So now she regrets it, because the dress was not her style,” you sighed yet again.

Yoongi looked at you through his bangs and a small smile formed in the corner of his lips. Always taking in other peoples’ problems as your own, always thinking of others and always solving other people’s problems like your own. Yoongi could feel how devastated you were to hear that story first hand, and he is certain, as you were scooping those waffles into your mouth, you are thinking of ways to fix it. Typical. When you make a folded taco, you would take the ugliest one so he could have the prettier sets. When you buy medical supplies, you always make two purchases, one for him. The bigger portion of cake is for him, the larger piece, the better half. Even when you ate something you think is tasty, you would buy one for him at home.

In one ways or another, you are constantly thinking of him. It gives him butterflies. How lucky was he to be able to find you. How can someone look past such a genuinely beautiful person. Inside and out. Whose love is this true and this devoted. Only a dire fool, that is.

From the ways you love him, he is most certain that you haven't changed any part of you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “I bought you something… I saw this at the bookstore, it's a moon and star water globe and I thought it would look good on your studio desk…” You rummaged your bag for the item while your husband sat there, staring at you with a fond smile. Literally, a woman’s bag is a wonder. There’s all kinds of things in there. Receipts from 5 years ago, set of cutleries for travelling, hand sanitizer, tissues, a notepad, a glue gun and candies. Coins.

He picks the old receipts up between his index finger and middle finger.

“Why do you keep these things?” he chuckles. You looked over at him and snatched them.

“Are you worried that a cop may come and ask you, where were you, four years ago at 2:53 pm so you can whip out that receipt from your back and be like, ‘I was at the Hunts Restaurant sir, I had a bento and tea. I have receipts to prove it?’ For your alibi?”

“I might…” you dashed. Half of your head disappeared into the bag, still looking for the globe.

Yoongi picks up Band-Aids, some unopened menstrual pads and coupons from your favorite pizza place that expired four months ago.

“Honestly…” he comments.

“Aha!” You exclaimed, “The globe…”

The globe, like its name, has moon and stars on it. His nimble fingers examined it, closely. You were so expectant of what he’ll say.

“It’s pretty…” he said. “Isn’t it…” you gushed.

You return them into your bag because Yoongi don’t have one. Once again, you reminded him to put them on his table later on. He assures you he will, he even kept it in the car’s dashboard, so that when he returns to the office, he’ll make sure to take it with him. On the ride back home, you fell asleep. He made sure that he went over the bumps on the road gently, making his turns like a grandma on the wheel. He parked the car and waited. Fishing out his phone and he took pictures of you sleeping. He scrolls down messages from work, check on items he bought online, read a few emails...

Then you inhaled sharply, awake. Stretching your fingers.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you mewled sleepily. “Based on experience, you take 10-15 minutes to wake up when the car stops... “ he nonchalantly passed. You smiled at his bluntness. He endured 10-15 minutes of silence with his sleeping wife despite the turmoil he went through today. You couldn’t have married a better man. Even if there was a better man out there, if it isn’t Yoongi, you don’t want him.

Yoongi wasn’t lying when he said he wants to work on the sink immediately. You held the torch while he examined the sink. He wants to change the tap and clean the drainage hole. While he was struggling under the counter, you can’t help thinking that you were so fortunate. From how he handles things, to how he comforted you in times of need, to how he is made of husband material, you are certain, that God made this one, especially for you.

When he rolled out from underneath the sink, he caught you daydreaming. And he threw a sheepish smile at you. His thin white shirt is now drenched with spots of sweats on his chest and along his back. And he snarkily say,

“Wanna shower?”

You bit your lips at his remarks, playing coy at his forwardness. When in all honesty, you were down for it. And all the showers you will have in the future. . . .

Deep in you, knees dug into the mattress, between your thighs. His veiny arms gripping hard on the bed sheet. The sounds of heavy paintings, squelching cascaded in the room. He hovers sloppy kisses along your jaws like he was possessed and he said in his husky voice,

“That guy Namjoon… don’t feel right…” “I’ve been meaning to…” hisses in the delectable pain, “Talk about him…”

You propped your elbows up, leaning against it, brushing sweaty skin with Yoongi, you spoke is rasps,

“He said some strange things, so I am going to… delete him.”

Yoongi bit his smile, his porcelain skin glistening with the sweat that drenched him. His hand glides down your torso, with touches so hungry and starved kisses. He drew out a long deep moan, dove his face into your neck, chanted your name like a mantra--like a man standing on the verge of sanity, licking on the taste of infinity. .

.

.

.

.

Copyright © February 8th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs makes me happy!

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Tithe 1/2(?)

Summary: Younger Gods AU "one-shot." What if the fae gave the little lightning god to Hell as their tithe?

You don't need to read YG to enjoy, all you need to know is: the reader character's lightning god father conceived her with a mortal to cheat a faerie deal. The fae put a magical collar of golden ash boughs around her neck to contain her.

Master list for further reading.

I said it would be a one-shot. I lied. This fucker has grown longer than I planned, and I'm also struggling with the second half, so enjoy what I have. Your interest will determine if I write the original smut/second half/ending I had planned, so seriously do drop a comment or message. Otherwise I will focus my efforts elsewhere (on more Sandman stuff, of course). This was a very, very experimental piece for me.

Behold! The first "one-shot" of the 500 follower celebration. Now there are 1000 of you. Holy shit.

Warnings: Hell, torture, neglect/abuse (non-sexual) of a minor

P.S. Do you know how hard it is to write a character with NO pronouns? Ruler of Hell indeed.

Part 1

Children tumble into Hell more often than the parents of the waking world dare believe. They confuse innocence with inexperience, trusting youth to protect their little angels. But even a child can learn to hate. To steal. To break rules and call down judgement. Children sin every day.

It is the same faulty logic humans use to assure each other bad men of the right faith will go to heaven, or that good people of the wrong faith might find a peaceful afterlife. They have thousands more excuses for their children, but they forget that children live before they die, and they do die, no matter what their fairy stories promise.

Children suffer accidents and illness, too. Anything can kill a vulnerable young soul. Some fall out of trees or high windows. Others perish in fiery wrecks with their parents at the wheel.

And some are sold.

Lucifer Morningstar knows this well, but when the fae King Alberich enters with his tithe, no mere mortal kneels before the throne of Hell. Alberich has grown desperate. He’s misjudged his sway over his court, and he knows if he forces a fae to serve as his court’s hundred year tithe to Hell when a half-mortal pet sits his feet, they will only keep him alive long enough to be the next gift to the infernal dominion.

This sacrifice hurts him, clearly. His frustration ticks with a muscle in his clenched jaw, rage curls his fists, and a sneer fouls the gracious words of a tithe-bringer. As he offers his growling pleasantries, the child’s hands keep twitching up to her neck, and Lucifer notes how the boughs of her collar twist and cinch and bite with the king’s rising temper.

It’s potent magic, and it’s tied to the king.

Alberich doesn’t intent to let the tithe live very long once she’s passed to new hands, and that is a slight difficult to ignore.

But it is not the collar or the wrathful king that snare the Morningstar’s focus.

Alberich must have been wicked indeed to inspire his little pet to look at the ruler of hell like that.

For the first time since the Fall, eyes turn to the Morningstar full of hope. Innocent eyes. Desperate eyes. A child’s eyes. Life, helpless rage, and tears that smell like petrichor draw the lord of Hell’s attention. If nothing is done to save her, the child will suffocate, and the tithe will be a useless gift. Another soul. Another husk of rotting flesh. But there’s a touch of the divine in this one, something attentive and precious in those hopeful eyes, and the Morningstar has the power to keep them.

“I accept your tithe gladly.”

The child shudders, finally clutching the collar as it jerks tight around her neck.

“We do not need the collar. Remove it.”

Alberich flushes and rushes to lie. “It is a gift, your majesty. To contr-”

“It. Is. Not.”

There is no doubt, no room to debate. It’s clear to all Alberich’s machinations are transparent as glass, that’s he’s bested and cornered, that he ought to bow his head swiftly before the Morningstar’s loyal Lilim takes it from him.

The Morningstar smiles sweetly, and asks in a voice like honey, “Did you hope to cheat me, Alberich? If I wanted dead tithes, I would ask you to dig up graveyards to fetch old bones. Do you think we need protection from a demi-god child?” A short silence is enough for the king and his entourage to hear the howls of the damned and the gleeful roars of demons torturing them. Even the wind’s voice trembles in agony as it stirs the fires of the throne room.

“Now remove the collar, and perhaps I’ll consider letting you remove yourself from my realm intact. At least for the next hundred years.”

He takes the warning and bows to the will of the Morningstar. He utters a word that sounds like a newborn’s cry and an old man’s death rattle. It whispers with the pulse of a shadow heart leeching the pulse of flesh and blood. Around the child’s neck, the boughs wither and crumble away in golden dust, leaving the ring of bruises, cuts, and scars bare for the first time since infancy.

“Now leave us.”

The fae king does as he is told, and Mazikeen stands by the door to defend her sovereign’s privacy. The Morningstar rises from the throne, descending the steps of the dais. From the floor, the girl stares up with hope practically burning in her face, and tears of relief drip off her chin, onto her knuckles, where her hands linger over her throat, amazed.

Long fingers take the tears and the chin and lift them up to better see the wonder shining there.

“Have you a name, sweet little storm god?”

She tries to bow her head, but the Morningstar’s grip forbids it, so she lowers her eyes until Lucifer’s tutting forbids that, too. Returning her full attention to her new keeper’s gaze, she finally says, “They called me precious and pet. They said I didn’t need the name my mother gave me.”

Lucifer runs a thumb along the tears, marveling at the adoration trapped in each drop. Childish devotion, pure and sweet and belonging only to the lord of Hell.

Lucifer Morningstar smiles.

“Well, then. We shall call you Rain.”

----------------------------------------------

Rain understands torment, and although the Hell in which she finds herself now has no sky, or flowers, or green grass, she prefers it to the first. She breathes in dust and sulfur, but she breathes.

It is still Hell. The ash, blood, and burned face of Lucifer’s Lilim remind her. The king has given her to a greater monarch, the collar is gone, and she will never see the sun again.

She will be sad later, she decides, because – at least for the moment – she has a mighty protector.

Demons leer when they come to seek an audience with their sovereign, and a few ask the Morningstar for an opportunity to break in the new tithe. Lucifer responds by lifting Rain off the floor and onto satin-covered knees before dispatching the ones who dare hunger for that which does not belong to them.

Word travels fast, and soon the demons learn not to ask. Not to look.

The ruler of Hell picks dead flowers and old leaves out of Rain’s hair, flicking them into the open fires dotting the room. Long, pale fingers examine Ran’s neck, murmuring questions that make it easy to believe the ruler of Hell cares about the aches and pains left by the collar. It’s easy to believe, and she desperately wants to. After all, the collar is gone by ruler of Hell’s command.

The sunless days of Hell see her in the Morningstar’s company or they do not see her at all.

“We must keep you safe,” the monarch tells her before putting her in a little cell that first night. “When you are not with me, prying eyes, claws, and teeth may find you. You will rest here, and I will return.”

She spends the first night with her heart in her throat, convinced this is her punishment for eternity. She’s had angry thoughts, made vengeful little plans. Karma must repay her for those, and she will never escape this little hole. A normal child would sleep, but she has yet to learn that skill.

When the Morningstar returns, she decides the ruler of Hell couldn’t be better named. The monarch kept true to every word, and her hope flares back to life. As Lucifer guides her by the hand throughout the endless day, she tries very hard to listen, to watch. She knows she is small, and she must learn everything in this strange, horrifying place. She must repay the Morningstar and ensure someone comes to fetch her from the cell every day. Kindness never grew from nothing. She must give Lucifer reasons to remember her, because even she is old enough to know being forgotten in Hell leads to the darkest fates.

She learns to answer to her new name quickly. It pleases the Morningstar, and she feels safest when her monarch is pleased.

Food arrives unasked for, and though it isn’t good food – “There is nothing good in Hell, sweet” – it fills her belly. Except on particularly bad days. When Lucifer loses. When the Morningstar is thwarted and angry. Rain stays in the dark, and food doesn’t appear the first day – or sometimes the second – once she’s released. But her fasts never last long, and the Morningstar delights in feeding her well again, worrying she’s grown thin, becoming a doting nurturer over the damage inflicted by the Morningstar’s own hand.

Lucifer keeps her dressed in clean, flowing gowns that are nearly robes. Soft greys fold around her, and a subtle sheen of every imaginable color glistens in just the right light. She knows she’s marked in some way, not only by the company she keeps, but by the care given to her appearance.

But it’s the same as the food – the fabric is beautiful, but never enough to keep warm away from the fires in Lucifer’s chambers. It gives the ruler of Hell more reasons to keep her physically near.

Even in Hell, she grows. Soon she’s too big to sit on knees, so she sits beside them, resting her head where the Morningstar can reach her hair. Or she waits in the shadows with Mazikeen, the only place beyond the cell and the Morningstar’s reach she is told she is safe.

She mistakes her first sleep for death, and when the Morningstar opens the door, she asks if she’s still alive.

“Of course, you are.” Lucifer wears a mask of concern, skin deep, but animated by genuine curiosity. “What made you fear you had? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don’t know.”

“You cannot remember?”

“I don’t know if I slept. I’ve never tried it before.”

In the following days, Lucifer riddles out the truth – the old magic is finally fading, and Rain not only can but must sleep. The Morningstar wants to watch, and instead of tucking her away behind the door, the ruler of Hell has her rest on a bench.

She doesn’t drift into an easy sleep. She falls. It scares her awake again, and the Morningstar keeps her there, promising her mortal mother’s blood will give her dreams if she can conquer her fear of the endless nothing behind her thoughts.

Because she believes the Morningstar, she tries. Because the Morningstar has her hope, she dares brave the fall. Again and again, sleeping and waking like a storm tide striking the high cliffs.

Until she is stands in a spring-green meadow with boiling grey clouds overhead. Before she can wonder over the magic that has pulled her out of Hell, the clouds burst, and sheets of rain wash over her face with a purr of thunder.

For the first time, she wakes with regret, and the Morningstar knows.

“Of what did you dream?”

“A storm.”

Curiosity sated, Lucifer returns her to the cell the next night.

----------------------------------------------

She dreams in the dark cell, chasing the scent of ozone as she wakes. The Morningstar greets her in the dim light, and she takes up her role as Lucifer’s attendant, ward, and distraction depending on her monarch’s mood. She excels in each position, and although there’s never a drop of precipitation in Hell, her name reflects her fluidity of purpose.

Rain.

The Morningstar’s relief.

“Every tortured soul in Hell yearns for something soft and bright,” the Morningstar tells her. “If you would walk among them, they’d tear you apart just to keep a piece of you.”

What the Morningstar doesn’t say is that the ruler of Hell suffers the same curse as the lowliest soul, that Lucifer craves something soft and bright just as much as the demons clamoring in the courtyard below the royal balcony wish to destroy it.

Time softens caution, and there is plenty of time in Hell. Eventually, one of the demons dares again, and this time they do not ask.

She’s on the precipice of becoming a woman, and her clothes have been tailored to fit her new shape. Her cell cradles her like a cold womb, a place where she can pause her existence, perhaps be unmade if she stays long enough. Is she even real when the Morningstar has no need of her? She overcame her fear of the dark years ago. Now it is only a comfortable dread.

One night – or the time she’s come to think of as night – when the door screeches and shrieks under long claws, she jumps awake. The comfort in her darkness evaporates, and all she knows is that the shadows will make a flimsy shield if the door should fail. She hears it bend and crack, beaten by something large and hungry.  

Her cell offers no space to retreat. It is made for her alone, so there is no need, and she may only have good things at the Morningstar’s side.

Russet light stabs through the cracks, overtaking the blackness inch by inch, and bestial eyes peer through. Long claws hook through the gaps, tearing away metal and stone until the door hangs bent and ruined. No longer an obstacle. Only a prophecy.

The demon’s voice crackles as it reaches for her. “Thirsty. Need the Rain, Rain, Rain cloud.”

White eyes dripping ichor follow her as dodges the first grab, but it fills the door, and she only delays the inevitable by seconds. It rushes into her cell, pressing her flat against the wall as claws long as her arm wrap around her, holding her like a toy with limbs pinned in its grip.

“Give us Rain, Rain, Rain.”

Its grip squeezes the air from her lungs. She can’t even scream as it drags her away, out the palace and through the gates. When it finds a quiet place it likes under a bridge, it rearranges its grip, and she takes a deep breath to call for help, to pray for the Morningstar.

Jagged teeth snap into her torso, and she screams instead. The demon’s mouth is so large, it eclipses her lower ribs and the soft places above her hips with one bite. It has row upon row of teeth, some like a shark, others like a lion, a few blunt like a man’s, and they all hurt in terrible, different ways. They cut, and pierce, and grind her into pieces as her scream fades.

She hangs limp in its jaws.

It tilts its head back so her blood pours down its throat, tongue like sandpaper demanding more from every inch it can reach. It isn’t enough, and the demon shakes its head, tearing fresh gashes to staunch its thirst. Her next scream is only a gasp. The demon groans.

“Tasty Rain, Rain, Rain. Good Rain, Rain, Rain.” It speaks with its mouth full, every syllable drawing the teeth out and down again – sometimes into new bites, sometimes into old holes.

Her lungs rattle with blood, and the red warmth rolls from her broken skin to drip over her face, down between her toes.

She’s hard to kill, Mazikeen told her, but she won’t survive much longer in the demon’s grip.

A sense she only discovered after the Morningstar removed the collar stirs. It is wrath carried by a hurricane, quick lightning begging to escape and strike. It reaches to the sky, but the air, moisture, and electricity it summons have no place in Hell, and nothing answers her call. She feels like she’s tugging on a rope attached to a wall. Pointless. Hopeless.

Her only hope is in the Morningstar.

“What are you doing?”

She knows the voice. So does the demon. It drops her, and she lands with a wet slap and a puff of ash. The dust tickles her throat as she tries to force her fluttering lungs to draw a proper breath, but her diaphragm is torn, and instead of air, blood bubbles over her lips.

The demon actually brushes more ash over her mutilated body, like a dog trying to bury the evidence of its misbehavior.

“Is that my sweet Rain?”

She can’t answer, but the Morningstar’s voice is light as spun sugar. The demon’s master already knows. This is a game played on the way to the gallows.

“Fou – Found her.” It isn’t exactly a lie, but the half-truth won’t save the demon while her blood still drips from its teeth.

“I can see that.” The Morningstar steps closer, and the edge of a white robe brushes through Rain’s vision. A rattle of chainmail announces Mazikeen as she kneels, turning Rain so the Morningstar can view her face.

She stares up with the same dreadful hope she offered upon their first meeting. Help me or kill me, but make this suffering end. Only you, only you, only…

She will miss her dreams if she dies, but that is all. She has nothing else. Even her body and soul belong to Hell, to Lucifer. Death is transformation, not escape.

The cool, dry air turns her blood tacky, and ash sticks to her lashes as she blinks up, waiting for a merciful blade or a healing hand. She’ll take whatever she’s given, because her fortunes begin and end in the Morningstar’s will.

The fair ruler of Hell smiles down at Rain, dismissing the demon with the barest wave. “Set the hounds him. Let them have their fill. He should give them good sport after such a grand meal.”

As the demon flees, squealing, the Morningstar’s eyes stay with Rain, whose own vision begins to fade as she fights for consciousness. It’s a battle she’s already lost, but she clings to awareness just long enough to press her face into the cool hand that strokes her cheek.

Healing in Hell never comes as a blessing. It’s used to keep fragile bodies alive for more pain, to restore enough life and vitality for the suffering to continue. That alone makes many beg to just die, but Hell thrives on excess. Medical care in Hell is its own torture. Magic twists bones back into place slowly, grinding the nerves beyond the point of agony. Mending flesh itches and burns. Through it all, the demonic power crackles like flame through the patient’s blood. Her veins glow with it, and she’s reminded once again that life in Hell is no gift.

The Morningstar hovers throughout the procedure, graceful but tense, full of unwelcome emotions the monarch easily stirs into rage. When at last the blood is gone, the holes mended, and only tears run down Rain’s face, Lucifer steps forward to take her face in hand, peering deep, searching for something she doesn’t understand. Something already given, or something she never had. In the Morningstar’s grip, she feels small, much less than the woman she’s becoming and once more the child fighting to breathe on the throne room floor, dazzled and horrified by the greatest of all angels.

“This will not happen again.” Those words should offer comfort – finally – but they echo like a strike on the bell at the outer gates. An end curls out of a beginning, and they twist into a new era like a choking vine.

Lucifer moves her cell to the edge of the royal chambers, and a single lock becomes twenty. Rain listens to their clicks and clangs as a lullaby in the dark. They are the last thing she hears before she sleeps, and the first thing to break the silence of a new day.

Mazikeen brings a veil. When demons come to the throne room, Rain pulls it over her face. Only in the most private moments, when none but Mazikeen stands guard, and the Morningstar is confident in the room’s security may Rain take it off.

It isn’t enough.

The Morningstar has strings of bells forged and chained around Rain’s ankles. Even if she cannot scream, someone will hear her move.

As if anyone would try after the last demon to steal her away becomes steaming dog shit. The Morningstar ensures his dying screams carry throughout the realm, a warning and a promise to any creature foolish enough to take what belongs to the ruler of Hell.

She has become something the Morningstar fears to lose.

----------------------------------------------

When the Dream Lord comes for his helm, Lucifer tucks Rain away in her cell. She doesn’t see him, but his visit shapes her future. Mazikeen opens the door once he leaves, and Rain smells the brimstone tint of her master’s rage. The demon hands her food and water and closes the door again, because she is a good servant, and when their monarch has calmed, Rain will have a purpose again.

The Morningstar does not mean to forget, but there are other things to consider, to mull over and hate – too many to remember the little storm god.

It’s fortunate the little storm god is accustomed to loneliness. She can’t remember a time she wasn’t at least a little lonely, and she struggles to imagine anything better than the days spent beside the Morningstar. There isn’t love, there isn’t trust, but there is something, and a starving child – or woman – will always choose something over the void. Time alone won’t kill her. She’ll emerge refreshed and hungry for the Morningstar’s attention, which will make it all the better.

With food in her belly and the locks thrown against her, Rain has nothing to do but sleep.

There are no stars in Hell. No storm clouds, either. Hell has no real weather and no real sky, because weather is change, change is life, and Hell is for the dead. So, when she looks up and sees cumulonimbus scudding along a lavender sunset, she knows she’s in a dream.

She falls back into the long grass. It feels impossibly soft, gentler than her distant memories of rose petals and rabbit fur.

Misting rain washes over the field, kissing life into skin starved of the sun in over a decade – maybe longer; days and nights stretch or shrink by the Morningstar’s whim. It could be a century since she heard a real wind combing through dry cattails.

Life makes so much noise. Even quiet places have a pulse.

She breathes the free air, and the clouds breathe with her.

Eyes closed, she tries to pull the dream into her heart, into her lungs, and gut, and all the hidden places it might survive a little while in the infernal realm. It’s easy to forget she was born for lightning and hurricanes when her life is full of black marble, ash, and flame. She’s learned what she is by absence rather than discovery.

The dream hurts, aches with the illusion of freedom, and she won’t give it up until the choice leaves her hands. Eventually, she’ll have to wake and drink water. Eventually, she’ll have to return to Hell and eat food. Eventually. Not now. Not for a while yet.

She watches the purple sky turn blue, then black as the imagined atmosphere fades, and brighter lights make way for the cosmos. Millions of stars, many too close and colorful to be real, glitter overhead. The Milky Way bends through the chaos, and it looks so tangible she wonders if she could walk along it, out of her field and up into space.

But that requires getting up, and she’s happy where she is.

The night fades, and the Morningstar welcomes the dawn. Only a hint of peach flushes across the horizon before fresh storm clouds roll in, growling with thunder and flashes of lightning. She sits up to welcome it, and the downpour lashes her face clean of yesterday’s tears.

She spends another three days in the meadow before the tug of her body’s needs shakes the ground beneath her. Eventually has arrived, and she rises to meet it. As the colors fade and her mind gathers itself to leave, she sees a dark shape at the edge of field, waiting under the trees. He could’ve been there for hours, but she only just notices him before the dream folds in on itself.

She wakes, and pours water down her aching throat. Once that settles, she takes another bite of bread, and wriggles into a better position against the stone while her stomach settles. She has no idea how long she’ll be in her cell this time. Mazikeen’s gift suggests it may be months, so she consumes her rations carefully. Just enough to live, to dream a little longer.

And just like that, she falls asleep again.

The dark figure waits at the tree line, and the continuous thread jars her so badly she wonders if she never woke in the first place. Her reality could be the dream, the dream the truth. But life isn’t kind enough for that, and the fantastic hope disintegrates the moment she imagines it.

However, she understands as she holds the stranger’s gaze through the storm that she isn’t alone.

There is a stranger in her world of longing, and he waits for her. Eyes like her night sky call through the wind and sheeting rain, and she thinks she may know them. Did they watch her from beside the Milky Way? Has he spied on her?

Questions string tight between them, a link that pulls, and his gaze becomes a summons.

Once he’s confident she’ll follow, he turns and walks into the shadows between the oaks and sycamores. She leaves the meadow and steps willingly into the dark, where the rain cascades in slow, heavy drops from leaf – to leaf – to the forest floor. It patters in whispers over twisted roots, stirring the loam to perfume the air with sweet decay and new life under the shelter of the old wood.

He waits under a maple tree, its leaves flushed scarlet.

When she nears, he says, “Hell has not suffered a living dreamer in an age.”

He feels out of place in her dream, a stranger, but he knows her, and even if she’s never met him, she still recognizes something about him. It isn’t just his eyes. It’s the shadows under his feet, the way the light reflects off his skin. He could be glimmer of lightning in distant clouds or the yearning in ancient trees reaching for fresh rain.

“You know me?”

“I am Dream of the Endless. I know all dreamers.” He looks down, scrutinizing, and she raises her chin to meet his examination.

She has nothing to hide, and she refuses to cower in her own imagination. In this place, unlike all others, her dignity and will are her own.

“I know all dreamers,” he repeats, softer, “and you have such long dreams.”

He is asking something, but she can’t grasp what he wants. Does he want her reassurance that she’s well? Does he want her gone from his realm? To drag her sulfur stink and lonely wishes somewhere else?

She cannot live without them.

“Are you going to take them from me?”

He shifts to face her rather than the tree. Whatever he wanted to hear, she didn’t say it. His stern expression flickers with a ghost of surprise. “No.”

Habit demands she bow her head, compose herself and find something to make him warm to her. A pacifying performance. She knows the way of rulers, but she doesn’t want to play the humble subject, and it is her dream. He says he won’t take it, so she will not compromise it with false deference.

“If my long dreams bother you, blame yourself. The Morningstar has forgotten me because of you. There’s no escape from my cell but these dreams.”

His nostrils flare, and the light sharpens in his eyes. “Are you behind the bolted door in the Light Bringer’s chambers?”

“Yes.”

He comes closer, toe-to-toe, like he wants to touch her, examine her, but he keeps his hands in the pockets of his robe.

“I saw it when I came for my helm. I wondered what great terror the Morningstar would lock away so securely, yet keep so near. Now I see.” He doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t close the distance. But his eyes trace her face, lingering and searching. A smirk almost too quick to see flickers through his expression. “It was no monster in the vault but a treasure.”

“A tithe,” she corrects, “in a prison.”

She does not like to think those words, but they are the truth, and her dreamscape inspires honesty, all the parts of herself she cannot embrace in her waking life. Her storms and her meadows. If he wants to walk with her here, he must weather it all.

The Dream Lord’s lashes flutter, and other tales hide in his eyes. It isn’t only her pain he sees when he looks down at her, snarling against his memories.

Now she sees his question.

“You cannot save me, Dream Lord.”

He closes his eyes, and she returns to the meadow. It’s like the whole forest steps away, so one instant she’s with him, and the next she’s alone.

Part 2

[oftenderweapons]

Illicit Affairs — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 11.2k

Genre: Smut. A tiny little bit of angst and fluff too but. Smut.

Rating: 18+

Hi bumblebees! Thank you for staying with me so far and for being so kind with hey works and my continuously shifting schedule.

Quick plot! Hoseok and Giggles have just met: Giggles was the substitute for Mickey’s vet and she helped the doggo and Hoseok during an emergency, however the hour they spent together was enough for Hoseok to develop a quite intense crush for the young woman. He decides he wants to invite her to a date and picks his apartment as the location, going out of his way to try to impress her. However, the elegant dinner miserably crashes once his poor nerves abandon him. Fortunately, Giggles can take the reins, but is also willing to give them up at the right moment.

Special thanks to beta extraordinaire, @hobiandsprite​ I really love you. Please, don’t be sad and let those giggles out every now and then.

Moving on to The Big Stuff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, swearing. Basic BDSM training, Sir!Hoseok x sub!reader; safe sex, briefest mentions of masturbation (male and female), grinding, humping, making out, lots of tongue action, food play (and very messy one at it), cum play, cum eating, mild choking kink, one (1) breast slap, mild fetishism (panties, perfume/smells). Hoseok is overall very controlling, especially while he’s giving her basic training. There’s some sort of exhibitionism (if you like,,,, squint). Also Hoseok is a neurotic mess, Giggles is also quite tense and both like each other a lot, which leads to a few moments of weakness here and there. Mentions of vet emergency (don’t worry, Mickey is doing alright, he was just suffering from the hot temperatures).

Here you can check my full masterlist

Enjoy 💜✨

Jung Hoseok was nervous.

He was tense, palms sweating, nape drenched in perspiration.

He was a ball of nerves and he had never felt like this in a long time. Maybe ever since his first performance in the U.S.

Not like the day of their debut, but close.

And all of this for a stupid date.

He just wanted to know you, see if the image he had built of you actually corresponded with your actual personality.

He cracked his neck and shoulders, pacing back and forth, wondering if it were a good idea having you at his place.

After all, you were Mickey’s vet. He could be safe with you, right? You wouldn’t expose him now, would you?

It was the first time he ever brought someone in his home and he was way too nervous to feel comfortable.

He immediately picked up his phone.

“Jung. Hoseok. I don’t even know why I picked up this call. Why aren’t you getting prepped and polished for your date?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet and gravelly from the other side. It was seven pm, he shouldn’t have been sleeping, Hoseok mused, shaking his head once he realised Yoongi was spending the weekend with Kitten and the two had probably been dozing off on the sofa all afternoon.

“I think I fucked up. I like this apartment, I can’t jeopardise my home.” He panicked, finally losing his cool.

Yoongi inhaled and groaned as he stood up, leaving Kitten alone to rest undisturbed. “She seems a kind person. A smart one too. Just talk to her.”

“You know I suck at talking!” Hoseok whined, combing his hair off his forehead. “I don’t know why I want to impress her so bad.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Because you have a crush on her.”

“But I don’t even know her!” Hoseok protested, sitting on the sofa for a second before standing up again.

“That’s the key ingredient of a crush. Once you start getting to know her, you either grow out of it or fall in love.”

Hoseok cocked his head and toyed with his earlobe nervously. “Do you think she’ll like me? I mean, she looks so sweet, and so innocent and I can’t even imagine her being into—”

“Don’t judge. Strange fits sometimes work. Think Jimin and Princess. Seokjin hyung and Angel. They work. Strange, I know, but they do.”

Hoseok exhaled.

“Stop pacing. Don’t be too hard on yourself. First date is always a bumpy road. Maybe you’ll find out she’s not your thing and all these worries will be gone by the end of the night.”

“What if I like her and she doesn’t like me?”

Yoongi softened. “It’s all part of the game, Hobah.”

Hoseok nodded. “I have to go see if the chef needs help.”

Yoongi grinned. His friend was really going out of his way. Once, all he wanted were hotel rooms and quiet, curvy brunettes with so many sins they had officially given up on heaven at least a lifetime ago. “No matter how it goes, I’m sure you’ll find someone right for you.”

Hoseok nodded curtly before realising his friend couldn’t see his reply. “Thank you, Yoongi.”

“Sweep her off her feet, Casanova.”

With a bubbly laugh, Hoseok interrupted the call, headed to the private kitchenette. “Can I help you in any way?” Hoseok asked, still keeping his hands on his stomach, trying not to touch anything that could possibly cause a disaster — which considering the setting and his poor cooking skills meant everything.

“It’s okay. I can take care of everything. Don’t worry. Relax.” The chef almost wanted to take a second to pat the younger man’s back. He was probably six years his senior but the stress of a first date was timeless.

And the poor guy was sweating disastrously.

“Okay, then I’ll go check the table.” Hoseok murmured.

“Already settled. And the cake  is waiting in the fridge. It’s still too hot for it.” The chef replied as he turned off the stove since the sauce for the noodles had reached perfect texture. “Maybe a small glass of soju could help?”

Hoseok shook his hands in panic. “Oh, no. That would make it all worse. Why is it so hot in here!”

He walked away from the kitchen, once more staring at the table near the wide floor to ceiling windows. The view would soon turn stunning, the Han river running like a pitch black road, cutting the city in two, Itaewon lighting up in the distance and emerging like a glowing mirage against the night sky.

What if she’s scared of heights?

He banged his head against the wall, pacing again, texting the group chat.

HS: “What if she suffers from vertigo?”

SJ: “You didn’t place the table by the window, did you?”

Hoseok tugged at his hair, undoing a button on his shirt. Why was everything so fucking hot?!

HS: “Should I move it? I have ten minutes! I can move it.”

TH: “Don’t. You can place her with her back to the window if she feels uncomfortable.”

JK: “You’re such a loser, hyung. Relax, it will work out.”

HS: “DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX YOU UNGRATEFUL RASCAL”

JM: “Okay, let’s calm down. Personally I would feel even worse with my back to the window. You can move to the coffee table. It will feel more informal and you will FINALLY GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS,

JM: “she probably just wants to chat over fried chicken while you’re going to make her uncomfortable with all that finesse.”

NJ: “Gotta agree with Jimin on this one. She’ll simply want to chat. You’ll want to chat and get to know her.”

YG: “I told you it will be alright now stop spamming.”

HS: “AND I SUCK AT CHATTING”

JK: “yeah, you kinda ramble”

JM: “not helping Guk.”

The doorbell rang.

Fuck.

He pocketed his phone and headed to the door. “Yes?”

“Uhm… It’s confusing here, I think you need to pick me up.” You said anxiously over the intercom.

“I’m coming. Wait in the foyer.” He slipped on his shoes and got in the elevator, cracking all the joints of his fingers as it descended, going through the process again once he had cracked them all. He dumbly wished he had more fingers.

The door opened and there you stood with your back to him, your shoulders covered by a messy tumble of hair.

“Hello?” He called, making you turn around immediately.

His stomach turned upside down when you hit him with your sweetest, most radiant smile as you faced him. “Hi!”

He felt dumbstruck. You looked adorable, way too pretty for him. Way too incredible for anyone in the universe. “Hello.” He repeated, feeling a nervous smile constrict his face.

It almost looked like a grimace. For a second you thought you had somehow disappointed him. Maybe your dress was too informal? Were you too underdressed?

Staring at his outfit, you realised you were.

“You look very handsome.” You flattened your dress nervously, aware of every movement you made, feeling ridiculous.

“Oh, thank you.” He emitted the most neurotic laugh. Pull yourself together, Jung Hoseok, he innerly scolded himself before gesturing to the lift. “Shall we?”

You nodded, your glee completely lost. Staring at your dumb flats, you approached the opening doors and entered, Hoseok following suit.

You both stayed silent for a couple floors. “How was your day?” You managed to find the guts to ask.

“Uhm… Okay, I guess? My family came to pick Mickey up the other day so it’s been very quiet and a bit lonely.” He smiled but he looked sad.

You nodded. “Pets really change the whole feeling of home.”

He noticed you pressing your hands together before your lap, tucking your elbows against your sides as you tried to shrink yourself enough to disappear. You knew you should have bought a nice dress for this. You cursed your childish tastes and your sweet saffron dress, too demure and cheap for him. You had maybe spent 30,000 won on it, probably the equivalent of his shoelaces.

Screw that — obviously even his shoelaces cost more than that.

You started sucking at your lips, frowning at yourself for messing up your lipgloss. Out of nerves, you started twisting slightly side to side, your dress moving slightly with the motion, your eyes still focused on your shoes.

He was intimidating. Why in the world did you accept a date with him? He was way out of your league! All it would be was one date you would remember someday in your old years, annoying your grandchildren with that one time you had dinner at one of the most incredibly powerful and famous artists of the world.

Hoseok surreptitiously dried his palms against his trousers. He looked at you. His stomach turned again. He wondered how he would manage to eat all that food. All he could do was look at you and take in the cute freckles, that peppered your nose and cheekbones, and your arms too.

“You have freckles.” He noted absentmindedly, a thought unwillingly turned into speech.

You turned your head to him, batting your lashes confusedly. Was it a good thing or a bad thing?

“Yes.”

“You look like a strawberry.” Jung Hoseok, what the fuck.

You frowned. Again, was that good or bad?

“No one has ever told me that before,” you replied with a tense giggle.

He cocked his head at the sound. That was sweet. He liked that. Could he make you laugh like that again? “And you look very pretty in the dress. That shade of yellow really compliments you.” He confessed, feeling his whole face blush.

This felt like his first crush, when he would hide behind corners not to face the girl he liked, and when he would hide his face because it made him feel strange to be looked in the eye by her. She was way too pretty for him.

Thank the heavens, you thought as the doors finally opened on his floor.

He was drenched in sweat. He could literally feel the back of his shirt stick to his skin. He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

He smiled again, this time more relaxedly as he led the way. The lighting was perfect, the deep night sky splashing its colour over Seoul, the billowing darkness of the Han, the magical glimmering of Itaewon, like a flock of fireflies in the distance.

“Goodness gracious,” you exclaimed, walking toward the window and looking out, completely ignoring the table. “This is… It’s like flying.”

He smiled and let his shoulder sag in relief, his elated exhale cooling his heated chest. “I was panicking because it kind of hit me that you could be scared of heights. Like one of those last minute panic thoughts.”

You turned to him to comfort him. “It’s—”

You noticed the table. You noticed the gargantuan quantity of bowls and dishes and plates and cups spread all over it.

Suddenly it all made sense.

“Was this supposed to be a formal dinner?” You asked, your whole face scrunched in perplexity.

He froze in utter confusion. “Just dinner.”

“Are you okay?” You asked, looking as his left eyelid started pulsating with small flutters.

He hurriedly placed his hand over it, turning his back to you. “Yeah, just… Hot weather, blood pressure...”

You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was drenched. “Jung Hoseok,” you called calmly.

You could feel his heartbeat get three times faster.

“Hoseok. Turn around,” you told him sweetly, rubbing his shoulder-blade softly, completely ignoring the way the fabric stuck to his skin.

He turned to you, still cupping the left side of his face with both hands.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, feeling the ridge of his shoulder with your fingertips.

He nodded shyly, giving you the smallest pout.

“And you got a full meal for this? Were you trying to kill me by overfeeding me?” You asked with a tiny smile.

“I— I didn’t know what you like and I hired a chef so we could have excellent food here at home and—”

“This wasn’t necessary, you know that right?” You rubbed your thumb against the muscle and bone of his shoulder. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, but it seems like you went maybe… slightly out of your way for this.” You noticed more details, like the flowers and the candles and… wait, he hired a chef? There was another person that would take part in your date as a silent, distant viewer?

“Is it too much?” He asked, frowning and grimacing.

You offered him a lopsided grin and tipped your head to one side, then to the other, back and forth in a so-and-so gesture.

He covered his whole face with his hands and collapsed on the sofa. “Shit, I fucked up so bad.”

You crouched down before him, making sure that the dress didn’t expose too much of your thighs. “It’s okay. Would you like to have a formal dinner?”

“I just wanted to make a good impression.” He whined, tugging at his hair once more.

You touched his forearms, trying to ease his tension before realising that you were technically strangers and maybe he didn’t like being touched. You scolded yourself for your over-tactile approach, and your dumb habit of treating everyone like abandoned puppies. Embarrassedly you placed your hands on your lap, his face raising to meet yours as he felt your fingers leave his skin. Had he done something wrong? Had he made a fool of himself one more time, without even knowing?

“You already made a good impression—”

“I wanted to confirm it!” He wailed exasperatedly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tried to calm him down. “We can walk this walk or do something more low-key. More... relaxing,” you suggested, smiling easily, calmly.

He could feel himself calm down. “Would it disappoint you if we just… I don’t know... ate some noodles over a glass of soju and beer?”

You giggled. “That would make me ecstatic.”

“Let me go call off the chef then.” He stood to his feet. “Thank you so much.”

You shrugged and beamed at him. “No biggie.”

In two minutes the chef came out of the kitchen, bowing at you while you still sat on the sofa. “Good evening. I wish you a good meal. I hope you’ll enjoy the food.”

“Thank you for your hard work! I’m sure I’ll enjoy it!” You replied politely and warmly, watching the man collect a bag from the entry room and bow to Hoseok as he accompanied him out.

“He had already finished cooking.” Hoseok exhaled. He looked ten years younger and significantly less stressed. “The meat had already been grilled, it just needs to be warmed up in the oven.”

“You mean there’s more food?” You asked, eyes wide in terror.

He started shaking his hands in equal fear. “We don’t have to eat that too. Maybe just a couple short ribs?” He wondered.

You stared at the rice and side dishes on the table. It was probably four times what you normally ate, and that was without considering his half of the table. “You have glass noodles?” You asked, and he nodded excitedly at your interest.

“With aubergines and mushrooms and pork belly?”

You felt your mouth water. “Can we have those though?”

He smiled excitedly. “The chef was stir frying the vegetables so we would have to finish that.”

You shrugged. “I can do that while you go get changed, if you’d like. Wear something fresh and cozy.”

He looked around nervously.

You immediately realised what was wrong. How could he let a stranger wander through his house? And he wasn’t just anyone. He was a celebrity. A famous person. What if he thought you would sneak through his private spaces and sell information about him to the press?

“Uhm—”

“Oh my god. No, it’s okay. Who would let a stranger stay in their home while they’re in the shower. Dumb me. Sorry.”

He blinked a couple times. “It's the first time I have invited someone in my house, except for my close friends.” He looked down and smiled, his cheeks shooting up in a complicated mix of sadness and joy. “I'm nervous because of that too.”

You nodded. “I know it could sound dumb to say but I care about you. And I'm not interested in gossip and press and all of that. I will respect you and your home. It's basic human decency,” you said, sitting next to him. “I only suggested you go get a change of clothes because that cannot be comfortable and I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted out of that.”

He looked up at you with big, soft eyes. “It would really be okay?”

“Yes, it would, Hobi.” You flinched at the nickname. “Hoseok. Sorry.” You wanted to tear your own tongue off.

However, just as much as you felt disappointed at yourself for the small slip, he felt warm about you calling him by a nickname. He wanted you to say it again. And again. And well… again but in other ways.

“I'll be back in five minutes, just to rinse off and get comfy.”

You nodded. “I'll wait here and then we'll get the noodles ready.”

Hoseok felt extremely relieved once he changed his clothes. The loose linen joggers felt like a soft cloud around his legs, air already circulating better against his skin. And the satin shirt made him feel classy and casual at the same time.

He was pleased at the comfort-looks ratio of his outfit and exited the room confidently. He was further reassured once he found you scrolling through your phone, sitting there innocently, smiling at him once you saw him appear.

“Okay, ready to go?” He asked, standing in front of you, all set to accompany you to the kitchen.

You nodded and took his hand as he helped you up. “Let’s go.”

He smelled amazing, like anise and patchouli. Something sweet and manly at the same time. It suited him perfectly.

Standing a bit too close after he tugged you up, you surreptitiously tried to sniff him, your eyes falling shut once the vaguely honeyed fragrance met your nostrils.

He observed you as you stood there, clearly entranced. Heat crept up his cheeks as your breath tickled down his neck: he was slowly becoming aware of your presence, of the warmth that your skin radiated, of the way a strand of your hair skimmed his arm.

“I like your perfume,��� you whispered.

He felt his knees grow vaguely wobbly, a swoony, shy smile stretching his lips.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised his face was just a few inches away from yours, his blush visible in high definition right before your eyes.

He looked so incredibly, adorably embarrassed. “Thank you,” he replied quietly, almost afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.

Your eyes met his, and for a second he hoped you would get on your tiptoes and kiss him, but you casually turned around and started walking away, turning to him only to ask about the kitchen.

Trying to keep his delusions on the low, he led you to the kitchen, where all you could see was the tidy chaos of creation.

A few bowls were piled neatly in the sink, together with lined up utensils. You let him show you the several drawers and cabinets, explaining where to find a frying pan for the vegetables, the noodles already cooked and marinated in the secret sauce the chef had prepared.

All he could do was stare as you easily made your way through the motions, the main dish of your meal ready to be served after a few minutes, the vegetables keeping a crispy texture while the noodles hit a chewier feel once you mixed the two together.

You set both on different bowls and offered them to Hoseok. “I’ll put a couple short ribs in the oven.”

He nodded and reached the dining table, frowning at all the food spread there in cups and plates and dishes and bowls.

His disappointment was short-lived.

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmured gently, completely incapable of keeping yourself from tracing his spine in between his shoulder blades.

You watched his back straighten, the glossy satin glimmering at the shift of muscles and tendons underneath.

You wanted to see that again. No shirt on, next time.

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, trying to awaken yourself from your fantasy.

He set the bowls down and you sat in front of each other, thanking for the food quickly before you started chatting about which food was where.

The meal went on calmly while you talked about your family, your job, and the pets you had visited during the day. At the same time, he explained some of the undercover dynamics of his job, like all the training and briefing and preparations necessary before interviews, photoshoots, or even something as basic as a public appearance where all they had to do was stand and look pretty for the photographers. He teased the theme of the Run episode they had just filmed — which was almost fifteen episodes ahead to the one that had just been aired.

You chit-chatted for a long while, your conversation resembling the sound of chirping birds thanks to Hoseok’s naturally melodic intonation of speech. He was lovely when he stumbled a bit over his words, the ridge of his ears scarlet with embarrassment once a slip of tongue had him making a lewd allusion you caught with a mischievous grin he couldn’t quite catch since your eyes were glued to the table; he had been too busy being ashamed of his freudian lapsus to actually notice that you had enjoyed the reference.

He was saved by the sound of the oven beeping, telling him that the ribs were warm and ready, which made him excuse himself.

He returned just a minute later with more soju and beer, asking if you were okay with the serving or if you were full.

The smell was so inviting you let him convince you.

No matter the large dinner and the several dishes, you managed to eat way more than what you thought, only a quarter of the table remaining untouched.

“Okay, maybe we could pack up the leftovers.” You suggested, standing up once your conversation hit a natural pause, comforted by the feeling that Hoseok no longer felt like a stranger to you.

You helped him, easily getting acquainted with his living room and kitchen. It felt nice to get gradually more independent, enough that you could easily help him up with the containers and that you could assist him with organizing the tupperware in the fridge.

It was all going okay until you were standing in front of the open fridge, ready to close it when his hand landed on yours on the handle, holding the door open. He leaned against your back, grabbing a paper box from the top shelf.

“Sorry,” he spoke quietly, all chirpiness gone.

Shivers propagated from your spine to your limbs, your brain suddenly struck by the feel of perspiration coating your inner thighs. You felt wet and you weren’t sure if it was sweat or actual arousal.

His perfume came in again once he stretched to reach the box.

Hoseok’s attention moved to the mole on your neck as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Careful, it’s heavy,” he said, giving a quick look at your lashes, at the freckles peppered over your cheekbones, your face turned to the side, ready to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

His hand was hot against yours, his back light and solid at the same time.

He parted from you, feeling disappointed with the fact that he had to move, biting his lip as his arm struggled keeping the box upright.

You caved slightly as cool air replaced the warmth of his chest, still feeling the phantom presence of his touch.

“Let’s go back to the living room.” He bit his lip, grabbing another bottle as you almost ran from him.

You weren’t okay with what was going on. Not one small bit. You were not okay with the idea of getting drenched and making a mess of yourself on the first date. You were even less okay with the idea of going back home and spending all night with your hand between your legs, thinking about the mind-blowing sex Jung Hoseok was most definitely capable of performing. With a body like that and years of pilates lessons, there was no doubt he could rearrange your organs as your legs and arms bent to accommodate him and please him.

You were even less pleased by the way you craved to satisfy him. You wanted to hear him moan and whine with his melodious voice. You wanted to hear the symphony of his pleasure, the sound of his cries, the smashing of skin against skin, and maybe the legs of the bed scraping against the floor, the headboard thudding against the wall.

You wanted his perfume on your neck, against your chest. You wanted your thighs to smell like him, the scent of your sex mingling with his cologne. It was primal and visceral and obscure and thrilling.

And then a sick side of you wanted to wake up all the neighbours, let them know he was living the night of his life. And since you could only hope of getting a second chance, you found yourself ready to use the night you’d been granted, if fate would allow you an in to the sinful heaven you were imagining.

After all, you weren’t even sure he still liked you.

As he sat in front of you, Hoseok observed your side profile while you stared out of the window, completely lost in your thoughts, your cheeks reddened because of the alcohol.

He was so whipped for you.

However, he knew the initial thrill would eventually fade and leave him with an adorable, beautiful young woman who could never own his heart or tend to his vulnerable side. It had happened so many times before that he was just waiting for his interest to die down.

Because right as he stared at your dreamy expression, he realised he would never lay a finger on you.

You were far too precious for him to sully you with his dirty paws and devilish ways.

With a sliver of sadness tainting his smile, he placed the cake in the middle, preparing two forks, one on your side and one on his.

“I’ve heard champagne is great with strawberries,” he commented, opening the bottle and awakening you from your daydream.

You blinked a few times. “Oh, just a little or I’ll end up dizzy,” you replied with a small smile. “This cake looks beautiful.”

“I hope you aren’t allergic to strawberries or dairy products,” he mused, lifting up his glass to clink it with yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you repeated before answering his questions. “Luckily I don’t have any allergies. Usually I prefer eating fruit and vegetables, but I’m pretty cool with any kind of food.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hoseok replied before realising he’d better never see you again. You were too tempting, too pretty, too gentle and overall too attractive for someone like him. Chances were you would be a bit disappointed but would find a proper date within the next two weeks. Women like you were far too requested and treasured in a city like Seoul.

You were suitable from head to toe. You had a degree, a job, a place to yourself, you were accomplished. And then your innocent looks, your kind manners, the caring side he had the fortune of catching a glimpse of.

You would be taken in less than three weeks. He could tell.

It was a mystery to him how you were still single after eight months in the city.

He found the courage to look up from the dessert, only to regret it immediately.

Your mouth was wide open in an attempt to chomp on a huge strawberry, your lips rosy, your nose smeared with cream.

I shall not.

I cannot.

I should not.

He paused.

Fuck. I will.

He placed down his fork and stood to his feet, your eyes following him as he came to your side.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking at his stone-cold expression.

You put your fork down, staring back at him with concern.

His hand moved tentatively to your cheek, laying gently along your jaw.

Turning to him, you stared some more, your chest inflating and deflating rapidly and deeply — which was not lost on him.

Too afraid to look, you closed your eyes as he leaned down his thumb moving closer to your mouth, parted as you found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Your whole world was dark and hot once his breath fanned over your face.

With overwhelming desire coursing through him, Hoseok stared at every single detail, drinking you in with eyes so hungry, like he could swallow every freckle, every mole, every bit of plump flesh and bony edge.

With his hand trembling slightly at the strange position, he dragged his thumb against the tip of your nose, collecting the cream smeared there.

Your eyes opened in surprise at the unanticipated motion, meeting his lowered eyelids, his lovely lashes making an appearance against the fair skin.

And then his thumb met your lips, covering them in sweetness.

“You had cream on your nose,” he said, his eyes never abandoning the curves of your lips.

Jung Hoseok knew he was a sinner already. But with heartbreaking realisation, he knew the next action would deem his fall.

His tongue slipped out of his mouth, guided by a need so deep he could barely control. With the worst intentions, he focused on touching you as little as possible, trying to scoop up the cream caught on the gentle petals of your lips.

What he didn’t expect was for your own tongue to slide out and brush against his.

From there, it was only ruination.

His tongue slid in your mouth, catching on all the flavours of the dessert. It was strawberries. Strawberries everywhere; your freckles, your hair, your shampoo, your dress, he was possessed by them, drowning in a forest of strawberry bushes growing all over him, climbing into his mouth and underneath his clothes.

“Hobi,” you called weakly as he let you go, your body shooting up on your feet as you tried to chase after his mouth, tried to have his arms around you.

He moaned and caught you, placing his forearm against your lower back and holding your cheek with the other. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. “I promised myself I wouldn’t but you’re too hard to resist.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, kissing his jaw, trying to reach the underside of his ear. “Please.”

You tried to calm your breathing by inhaling deeply through your nose, which in retrospective was an awful move since his scent filled your lungs and all you could do was whine in reply, the sound ridiculous and embarrassing to your own ears.

“I’ll do bad things to you, honey. We should stop now,” he said, trying to be judicious.

“Please,” you begged again, rubbing your face against his neck, already trying to cover yourself in his perfume. “Just a kiss, please.”

Closing his eyes, he gave in, following the line of your neck, the sweet mole at the base, drawing your throat with the inner side of his lips.

“Hobi…” You whined once more before receiving a gentle tug at your hair.

“I’m getting there, don’t be impatient,” he growled, making your neck stretch backwards. Once more his tongue slipped out, drawing a line from the hollow between your collarbones all the way to your chin, stopping at your lower lip. “If you’re patient you get a reward, see? That’s how it works with me, sweetheart.”

He kissed your mouth, first delicately, tentatively, trying to feel you open up and give in.

Once you did, he locked your face against his with the hand of his nape, following your body as you walked backwards, reaching the sofa.

“What do you want to tell me, my pretty strawberry?” He teased once he allowed you to let go of him.

“Thank you.”

It was not what he expected, but it made his stomach churn with longing. He needed to please you more, give you more, just to hear those words again.

“You’re welcome, honey. Now, tell me. What do you want me to do, sweetie?” He watched as you sat on the carpet.

You remembered how soft it had felt earlier under your knees. “I wanna make out?” You asked, lashes batting. You didn’t want to sound eager.

“Just make out?” He asked, sitting down in front of you. There was no way he would allow you to blow him tonight.

You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He wanted to dive into them, to feel the magic they held glow inside his body. “Am I allowed to ask for more?” You questioned with the sweetest pout.

“You can ask me anything, honey.” He skimmed the skin of your jaw with the back of his fingers before feeling the hot curve of your neck under his palm.

“Would you think ill of me if I asked for more?”

He shook his head and smiled softly. He would never think ill of you. Not even if you asked him to fuck you for a whole audience of connoisseurs to stare. “You're my cute, little strawberry. I could never think lowly of you.” He cooed.

“What if I wanted you to… to fuck me?” You asked, biting your lip nervously before looking at him.

He thought about the consequences for maybe half a second. He felt awful because, at the end of all the reasoning he knew he would hoard you and every single ounce of pleasure he could coax out of your body.

“Are you sure you want that?” He asked, letting his hand follow the path between your breasts, down to your waist gripping your side.

You licked your lips and nodded. “I'll be so good to you.”

His grin was outright evil. “I know you will, baby.” He kissed your temple. “I need to go get protection if that's what you want. I'll give you a minute to think about it and if you still think so when I'm back, then we're gonna deal with your needy head, mh?”

You nodded, staring at him as he stood up, incapable of not studying his crotch where his cock was visibly tenting his loose trousers.

He chuckled as he watched you stare. “It'll be yours if you still want it later.”

Your eyebrows raised in disappointment as you watched him leave.

So… it was actually going to happen. Did you want it to happen?

What a stupid question! Yes. Of course.

You wanted him and it scared you and thrilled you at the same time.

His footsteps reached the room once more, disappearing once his feet touched the carpet.

“Okay. Here we go, sweetie. Are you still sure you want to have sex with me?” He asked, kneeling and moving your hair off your face, your head reaching his sternum from your seated position.

“Yes, I'm sure,” You confirmed curtly. “Please.”

Oh, to hear you beg. He could cum from that alone. It was intoxicating. And he wasn't even touching you. He could only imagine what sounds you would make once his cock would fill your cunt.

“You want the bedroom—”

“Here. Please.” You shut your eyes tight. You felt like an animal, willing to fuck wherever, and the immense temptation of feeling the plush carpet underneath your back, the city lights illuminating his skin…

Hoseok inhaled.

You were wilder than what you looked and such information aroused him immensely.

“Lay back, honey.” He murmured, extracting three small squares of foil from his pocket and laying them on the coffee table.

Slowly, you lowered your back to the carpet while he kneeled close to you, your legs rotating so that your feet laid right in front of his knees, your legs bent and pressed together.

“That's nice, ____. Lovely,” he said before placing his hands on your knees. “Would you like to spread your pretty legs for me?” He asked, his fingers sliding down your thighs, reaching the hem of the dress.

You looked adorable once you demurely parted your feet to offer him some space between your knees, the hem of the dress moving closer to your lap.

His legs slotted between your thighs and he bent down, reaching for your face. “Such a good girl,” he praised you, cooing once he noticed your cheeks redden. “So adorable.”

On all fours on top of you, you felt the unique shape of his mouth draw your throat before giving a lick. “I bet you taste like strawberries all over.” He started kissing down your chest, rubbing his cheek against your small breasts. “You make me feel like a man starved,” he continued, kissing your stomach, your abdomen, laying one small peck on the fabric covering your belly button.

“Hoseok,” you whined, feeling his hands around your hips.

He stopped brusquely, his body entirely leaving yours. “Now, now, sweetie. What did you just call me?”

You batted your lashes as you stared at him in confusion. “Hoseok.”

“Okay. If you want to have sex with me, honey, that name will not do.”

You stared at him some more.

“I’m Sir,” he affirmed sternly. “The moment you get wet between your legs, I become Sir to you, understood?”

You nodded quickly, breath and brain completely stolen out of you.

“No nodding, my cute berry. Either ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir’. Let’s try again. Is it clear what you must call me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He grinned and kissed your belly again, just a bit lower. “That’s excellent. Well done, ____.”

You smiled and placed your hands on his hair, feeling the soft locks as he looked up at you.

He growled at that, your fingers naturally curling in fists as you brought them to your chest. “A very good girl indeed.”

You propped yourself up to your elbows once he lifted the skirt of your dress.

He could barely believe you. “Goodness.”

“At first I thought my dress was stuck on my underwear when you called me strawberry.”

Under the cutest, loveliest, most girlish dress he had ever seen, he was met by another adorable surprise. You were wearing a playful pair of ruffled panties in gingham print, with a small strawberry embroidered on your mound.

“You’re going to kill me,” he moaned, eyes closing before he dipped his head between your legs, studying the patch of wetness on the gusset of your panties, drawing a line from there to your clit, eliciting a moan. “You’re so sweet. And so evil at the same time.” He bit your inner thigh, making you wince. “Can’t believe that song predicted you on my carpet.”

You giggled and arched your hips against his face, your wetness meeting his cheek lewdly.

He inhaled you, completely intoxicated before he came back up, his arms caging your head. “You really rubbed yourself against my face, honey?” He asked with a stone cold expression.

You were afraid again, but that didn’t keep you pussy from clenching around nothing.

“Yes, Sir.” You replied, the respect in your voice nothing but a taunt.

“If you make a mess you gotta clean it, sweetie. Understood?” He asked, grabbing your face and angling his cheek to your mouth. “Clean it.”

“Please, Sir,” you mewled, trying to push your crotch against him, crying out once you noticed his body was too far away for you to find something to grind against.

“Clean after yourself. Now.”

You did as he told you, feeling the salty, bitter tang of your arousal transfer from his smooth skin to your tongue.

“All of it,” he muttered once you stopped after the first lick.

You completed your task, his pelvis lowering to yours as a reward. “There you go. Now thank me.”

Your arms moved around his torso, trying to get him closer, just to brush your chest against the soft, smooth satin of his shirt.

“I said, thank me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You felt him cave immediately, giving you his hard and lithe body against your chest, your crotch, right in your arms as your legs wrapped around him. You felt crazy, grinding against him like a teenager, ridiculously reminded of how you used to go off by humping a pillow. “Please, inside,” you wailed, your sigh hitting his chest and disappearing underneath his shirt. Once you inhaled, his cologne felt like a bruising kiss, your hips meeting his harder, faster.

“You like my perfume?”

You nodded furiously.

Not again. He violently separated himself from you. “What did I tell you about replies?” He scolded you.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You looked down with repentance. “I like your perfume very much, Sir.”

“That’s right. Good girl. Now, after I praise you, thank me.” He pushed your dress up as his hand dragged heavily from your crotch to your throat.

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied obediently, watching as he got on his knees and tugged his trousers down, the white boxers underneath surprising you as they outlined his length perfectly.

“You want it out?” He asked, watching as you sat up straighter and licked your lips.

You were almost ready to nod when you caught yourself, Hoseok smiling proudly once he saw you correct your behaviour. “I want it out, Sir.”

“Excellent.”

He lowered his underwear too, his cock standing erect immediately, it fluttered even straighter once you kept looking, your hands touching your breasts needily.

Hoseok stretched to the coffee table, grabbing a condom and tearing the foil open, sliding the latex on quickly and firmly.

“My cute berry, I need you to be very careful about this. You know what a safeword is?”

You shook your head. “No, Sir.”

He momentarily covered himself, needing to get all your focus on his words. “Safewords are what you use to communicate with your partner in a BDSM scene. A safeword means that you don’t like what is going on and you want to slow down or stop. We will use the traffic lights system. If you say ‘yellow’, I will slow down, if you say ‘red’, I will let go of you entirely and help you recover from whatever it was that hurt you, mentally, emotionally or physically. On the other hand, ‘green’ means that you’re okay and you are ready to get back into the scene after a ‘yellow’. If I ask you your colour, you reply with those. All clear?”

“All clear, Sir.”

He grinned proudly. “Then explain to me how it works.”

“If I want to slow down, I call ‘yellow’. If I want to stop, I call ‘red’. If I’m all good, I call ‘green’ — Sir.” You added for good measure, knowing that one too many wouldn’t hurt for sure.

“That’s my good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled as he looked in your eyes. He knew he would remember you forever, even if he never developed any feelings for you. You were by far the most unique woman he’d ever had under him so far.

For a second he observed your cute, frilly undies, wondering if he wanted them off.

No. 

He took his cock out of his underwear, letting the waistbands of his trousers and boxers rest on his mid-thigh.

“Wanna keep these pretty panties on.” He murmured once he laid on top of you. “Tell me if the elastic band hurts you.” He said, moving the gusset aside and testing your wetness with his fingers, spreading the slickness over your folds. “So fucking soft. Dammit. Can't wait.”

He dipped his head against your neck. “You want it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You placed your hands on the small of his back, his eyes closing as he relished in your touch.

“Beg for it.” He murmured, dragging the tip up and down your slit.

You rolled your eyes. “No, Sir.”

“You won't beg?” He asked, looking at you.

You pouted. “Why do you want me to beg?” You asked with a frown.

“I need to know you want me, my sweet berry,” he pouted back. He touched your face giving you a few kisses to convince you. “I want to hear your sweet voice saying 'please', just one more time,” he whispered, feeling merciful, especially after all the ways he had already pushed you.

Your will bent to his. “Please.”

And just like that, his tip entered your warm, tight cunt, a moan exiting his mouth. “Yes, yes, ____. Yes, baby,” he groaned, at which you responded with a mewl.

“Hobi…” You cried, squeezing around him once he bottomed out.

“Don't make me punish you,” he murmured, exhaling raspily. “You've been such a good girl. Don't get naughty.”

“Sir, please.”

He started snapping his hips out, slowly, then in again, one inch at a time, so deep and slow, over and over. “Yes, baby. Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels too good, Sir, I'm…”

He hummed in pleasure, feeling the skin of your neck under his lips. “Too good. My berry, you're so tiny and tight.” His hips trusted in quickly and unexpectedly.

“Holy… Sir, please, again, please.” You squealed, feeling his thumb slide your panties further aside to reach your clit.

He breathed out with effort against your ear as your mouth reached his earlobe. “Fuck, not there, Berry. Not there,” he said, tugging his ear out of your mouth.

“But Sir—,” you tried objecting before his pace became irresistible. While one hand reached the crown of his hair, holding him against you, the other one met his glute, your nails sinking in his flesh. Your breath started coming in short hiccups, leading you to your climax as he outright hammered into you, his back curved away while his forehead stayed glued to your neck.

“Am I fucking you right, ____? Is it good enough for my golden girl?” He growled once he felt you tightening around him more intensely, with longer squeezes.

“It's perfect, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” you reacted readily, shaking your head as pleasure started overpowering you, trying not to hurt him.

“Cum, my sweet berry. Show me.”

The hiccups of your breathing started turning in tiny whimpers, then squeals.

You were ready to bury your head in the ground and never come back because you knew what would come next.

The squeals turned into an uncontrolled cascade of giggles. Giggles.

Hoseok picked his head up at the curious sound, only to see your palm covering your mouth in an attempt to bottle the stupid reaction.

Hoseok smiled through gritted teeth, going faster, harder, deeper now that he understood that the sweet gurgling laugh was due to your orgasm peaking.

He pinned your hand away from your face, basking in the desperate joy of your bliss before he felt himself ready to blow.

“I'm gonna slide out now,” he warned, making sure that your high had faded and your body laid limp and drained underneath him.

Your body relaxed against the carpet, your eyes closed, your lungs still working hysterically to give you back some oxygen after the ruthless fit of giggles. You whimpered once you felt him pull out.

“Look at me, honey,” he called, making you prop your upper back on your elbows as you looked down, only to be met by the sight of Hoseok slipping off the condom. “Let me cum on your cute panties, mh? Can I? I promise I'm clean, I can show you the—”

“Do it,” you replied, giving him official permission.

“Really?”

“Really— I mean, yes, Sir.”

He smirked and started pumping himself furiously, his expression frantic as his tip pressed to your mound and he came apart, his hot seed drenching the red and white cotton, an animalistic growl making his whole chest shake.

You welcomed him in your arms once he collapsed on top of you, right hand smeared in slickness. “I’m gonna call you Giggles.” He said, kissing your mole, the precise spot where he could feel your blood run underneath the skin, the hollow just under your earlobe. “It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

You felt your whole body blush. “It’s so stupid but I can’t stop it.”

“Don’t stop it, it’s adorable.” He sniffed at your hair, “you still smell like strawberries.”

“Must be my shampoo.”

“Fuck. So good.” He sniffed some more. “I thought it would kill me earlier, by the fridge.”

“I thought you would kill me.” You said, feeling his neck with your lips. “Your perfume might be aphrodisiac.”

“You’re too tempting.” He chuckled. “I might need another round.”

“I can’t believe you actually fucked me on your living room carpet.” You said, combing his hair as he still regained his energies.

“Aren’t you happy?” He asked, suddenly panicked.

“No, I mean. I’m… I’m really happy. I’m just… incredulous that this is happening to me.” You replied with a surprised laugh.

“Maybe I should give it another go to make sure you actually understand what’s happening.”

“Would you mind helping me understand on the dinner table?” You batted your lashes cutely and paired that with an angelic smile.

“Are you even real?” He touched your face with his clean hand, giving you an inquisitive look. “You appear, all cute and innocent and then you want me to get you all dirty and filthy?”

Your smile widened. “The other ones were a bit scared by this side of me.”

“I won’t be scared of your needs, Giggles.”

You blushed again and hid your face.

“No hiding,” he reprimanded before rolling on his side, leaving you some room to obey the orders he was about to give you. “Keep giving me those sweet giggles,” he said, tracing your belly with his fingertips before trying to tickle you.

The effect was immediate. You clenched your legs and slapped his hands away from you, the torturing sound parting from your lips in a series of childlike gurgles. “Stop! I’m gonna mess up!” You screamed, trying not to stain your dress or the carpet. “No! No! Wait! Yellow!”

At that he took his hands off you immediately, your body laying on your back breathless.

“You good, Giggles?” He asked, voice drenched with worry.

You nodded, still panting.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He questioned, watching you move your head in confirmation.

“Okay.” He looked at your dress, trying to find a zipper. “Should I—”

“Start with my underwear, please?” You asked, your breath laboured due to arousal rather than exhaustion.

He nodded and licked his lips as he slowly tugged your panties down, careful about keeping his release from touching the carpet or your legs. Once the garment unhooked from your ankles, he folded it carefully to keep the wet fabric tucked in.

“Kneel, Giggles.”

You followed his command blindly, watching as your hands slid up under your skirt and tugged your dress up, his palms meeting your ribs and dragging the fabric upwards, past your breasts, then up against your armpits and backwards to your shoulder-blades, slipping the the neckline past your head.

Dress off, he let it fall distractedly to the floor, his eyes going from your face, to your hair, to your nipples — sinfully rosy — following the line leading from your breastbone to your belly button. He kissed the first piece of skin that met his lips, someplace where his heartbeat felt like a drum, like the bass coming from an old boom box. It was so comforting in a way he barely understood.

He needed room to think. “Get on the table.” His voice was once more stern and distant, especially once you watched him grab the opened foil containing the tied up condom, then stand up and leave.

You followed his direction nonetheless, standing awkwardly by the table, watching the cake and stealing a strawberry since the orgasm had awakened a certain sweet tooth in you. You dipped the strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, relaxing just a little after you heard the water run in the kitchen.

He was probably washing his hands.

You took you time licking up the cream, only to start chomping down on the incredibly large fruit right after. That’s when Hoseok appeared.

He was shirtless now, the garment dangling from his spindly fingers before he laid it neatly against the back of the couch. You stopped mid-bite.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your snack, go on, honey.” He licked his lips and gave you a steamy look before going to the table and pocketing the condoms left. “Is it good?” He asked, walking to stand right in front of you.

You felt slightly unnerved as he seemed completely indifferent to your naked body.

“Sit on the table,” he ordered

You frowned and hesitated.

At that, he let his hands hover over your hips. “Shall I help you with it?” He asked, giving you the chance to avoid his touch before laying his fingertips delicately on your skin. “Gimme a colour, Giggles.”

“Maybe yellow.” You bit your lip, insecurity getting the best of you.

He moved his hands to your face, suddenly turning comforting. “Quick tip, my pretty berry.” He caressed your face in a way that made you feel way too at ease. “If it’s a ‘maybe yellow’, then it’s a yellow. How can I help you, ____?”

Your real name made you come down to earth. You shook your head and looked away, Hoseok suddenly scared of having gone too far.

“I’m not comfortable with the way I let you control me, maybe.” Which was not entirely true. You were not comfortable with the way you craved his control after spending maybe four hours with him — including the afternoon he entered the vet studio with Mickey in his arms and a hopeless, lost look on his face.

“It’s all up to you, ____. I know it’s a cliché thing to say, but the answer is really within yourself. I can’t make you more comfortable with how you feel,” he said, still not even considering your nakedness in front of him.

In such a moment his indifference was welcome.

You looked down, your hands disappearing into your hair. Maybe this was the only night you were granted. Did you really want it to end already?

He did not touch you as you mulled over every option.

“I’m… I’m not— We’re technically strangers, I shouldn’t be trusting you like this, you shouldn’t be trusting me like this either, I mean this is all so— all so twisted and wicked and fast and—”

Hoseok was ready for reality to slap him across the face. He was ready for your regrets and you walking to your dress on the floor and cursing your messed up panties which you most definitely could not wear to go back home. He was ready for you to call what you did a mistake and say that there was no way for a woman like you to be with a man like him.

“My mind tells me I shouldn’t, but I want it so much.”

He lifted his eyes from the floor, finally finding the courage to meet yours.

“I’m sorry, that’s not true. I’m comfortable with the way you control me.” Slowly you took a step back, your ass meeting the surface of the table. “I’m just questioning what that means to me.”

He nodded. It explained a lot about your innocent, greedy approach to sex. You were exploring and you had found something you didn’t expect to even remotely consider.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and sat on the table. “No, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot up before he regained his composure. “Colour.”

You allowed yourself to stare at his chest. He was so well-built. Harmonious. He looked like a painting. “Green. Very deep, dark green. Sir.”

He took a step closer. “Green?”

“Forest green. As green as a clover.” You felt his hand on your belly, dragging against your skin all the way to your throat, pushing you down as you lowered yourself on your elbows.

“If you feel uncomfortable emotionally or mentally speaking, you call a yellow. Please, promise me you’ll be very careful about it, Giggles. I care about your mindspace. It means everything to me.”

“I promise, Sir.”

He removed his hand from your throat and placed it against your cheek, placing a chaste kiss on your lips once he bent over you. “You’re talking to Hoseok right now, ____. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on how your mind’s doing. Promise it.”

You kissed him back, closing your eyes once his tongue caressed and molded against yours. Breathless, you parted from him. “I promise, Hobi.”

“I don’t want you to regret anything about tonight. It would break my heart, okay?”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you nodded. “I’ll take care. I promise.”

“Good girl. Now stay right there, lovely. Look what I got for you.” He found the cake, placed carefully away from your laying body. Skillfully, he dipped a strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, dragging the tip of the fruit across them like lipstick.

He bent down and licked a fat stripe following the seam of your mouth, only to repeat the gesture once more; however, this time you let your tongue lash out and tangle up with his, the strawberry held away from you, trying not to catch it in your hair.

“Open up,” he commanded, pushing the treat past your lips, into your eager mouth. “Suck. Now.”

Your gaze became bubbly once more as you followed his lead, your cheeks sucked in at the pressure you were making with your mouth, the strawberry emerging completely clean from your mouth.

He smirked at the sigh, arching an eyebrow at the result. “You make it hard not to push my cock in your mouth.”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to do.” You raised an eyebrow right back at him, getting cocky.

“Not happening. I wanna hear that laugh again, Giggles.” Tentatively, he gave a small slap to your breast, surprising you and making you arch your back, gasping in pleasure. Your legs tightened around him, trying to clench your thighs shut at the feeling of arousal slipping out of your hole and sliding down to your behind. “And don’t you dare be a brat to me. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Your voice was squeaky once you managed to reply.

“Did you like it, Giggles?”

The treacherous sound escaped your mouth once more as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Sir.”

You wondered if you would ever get tired at the reply. You doubted it very highly.

“Let’s see if you like this too,” he mused before pouring more champagne in a glass and dipping the strawberry in the wine. He fixed his stance between your legs. “Remember our safewords?”

You confirmed before he lifted the strawberry and let a droplet fall right in the middle of your chest, splashing heavy and wet on your skin. Cold too.

“I’m going to make you my dessert, my pretty strawberry. Remember? Strawberries go well with champagne, lovely.”

He let one more drop fall to your breast, your breath stopping completely at the coldness, Hoseok’s eyes amused at the sight of your nipple awakening and hardening, lengthening even. It became impossibly rosier as another drop fell.

It felt stupid not to repeat the same treatment to your other nipple, which responded twice as quickly now that arousal was abundantly flowing through every single inch of you.

The strawberry drew a neat line of champagne pearls from your belly, which you sucked in at the cold, all the way up to your neck — a line that Hoseok followed with his mouth, letting his tongue stretch out of the way whenever a droplet rolled out of place.

He let the strawberry fall into the glass, extracting the condoms from his pocket and placing them on the table before taking off the rest of his clothes. He tugged at himself a couple times, getting hard enough to wear a condom.

His hands were going to get dirty, therefore he had no other options than getting ready very quickly.

“Giggles?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, Sir?” You corrected yourself in a millisecond, not wanting to risk another delay in your pleasure.

“I’m going to get really dirty now, lovely. Would you be okay with showering here?”

You let your lashes flutter a few times before nodding.

He gave a curt nod in reply before wearing protection and letting his cock rub against your crotch. His body stretched over yours, his thumb collecting a dollop of cream and dividing it with his other thumb. You observed his movements attentively as his clean fingers laid against the side of your breasts and his thumbs landed on your nipples.

Your mouth opened silently once the sensation flowed in, his digits starting a rolling motion over your peaks, playing them in small circles that innocently reminded you of a joystick.

“Colour.”

“So, so green. Can I have a blue for mind blowing good.” You tried to pick your head up, letting it thud back down once his cock dragged perfectly against your clit, eliciting a purr from your throat and a groan from his, his sex perfectly sandwiched between your and his belly.

“Blue— I— ” He talked in small babbles and hiccups. “I get what you— ah— what you mean.” His forehead met your collarbone.

He found unspeakable strength and managed to rise from your breasts, collecting half a handful of cream spreading it over his entire palms and fingers like lotion before grabbing your breasts and kneading them, his hands dwarfing them entirely.

“Sir, please, I need your cock,” you found yourself ridiculously begging, ready to hump anything that met your core.

“Slip it in for me, Giggles.”

The moment he got inside, you didn’t even try to keep it down, riding him no matter the difficult position or the awkward angle. You let your hands scratch down his chest and grip his arms — and he allowed you.

You were getting more and more unhinged and he wanted to see every little detail, every little second, every single step that brought you to bliss and ruination, giggling like you’d never been half as ecstatic in your life. His hands slipped and groped your gentle curves, his mind growing hazier by the second.

All his control came back once he noticed your legs leaving the ground, as you scooted back just by a few inches, your calves latching behind his back before you shook your head.

“What?” He asked, bending his arms to get closer to you.

“Position. It’s…” The soles of your feet met the edge of the table, your hands securing your legs in position before you felt your hips hurt.

“Bend them to your shoulders,” he suggested, helping you fix your knees with his elbows. “Good. Can you touch yourself for me, Giggles.”

You obeyed without even replying, feeling him groan as the new position allowed him to reach deeper and rub your g-spot in the process.

That’s when the squealing started. And then there it was, pleasure. Right before you.

“Give me all the giggles, my sweet berry,” he cooed, nodding and smiling once the soft laugh started.

He let himself grow wild, his fingers sliding to your neck, gripping it gently before he led them against your chin and into your mouth, bathing your tongue in cream — or rather, what was left of it.

The other hand secured your waist, using it for leverage as he rammed into you, pushing his cock in your cunt, constricting it after the muscles remained tense after the orgasm.

This time he came inside you, still covered in latex, but inside you.

He was too fucked out to think of how you would feel without a condom, too fucked out to care that he was pressing his mouth — fuck, his entire face — against your dirty chest, getting his hair sticky with cream, his cheeks and chin and nose and eyes and forehead… His mouth welcomed the sweetness, sucking at your skin before his tongue came out to lap at the sugary mess. He was too lost to care, sinking deep and staying perfectly still as he enjoyed every second of his high inside your most intimate place.

You came to your senses just in time to watch him process the situation he was in.

“Oh, hell.” He rose from the table, standing up, looking at you, at his hands, running the back of them against his cheeks before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He settled down again, your legs wrapping around him.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, rubbing your palm against his spine.

He hummed in confirmation. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” You mussed up the hair at his nape.

He licked up your nipple, catching it with his lips and suctioning it into his mouth.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the cuddles. From the exhaustion radiating from his body and the overall disaster you both were, you knew your night was over.

“Can I go clean up please? It’s getting chilly.” You asked, using the excuse to get some space to yourself.

He stood slowly, slipping out of you attentively. He took off the condom, completely lost in his silence, knotted it up and kept it carefully between his fingers as he slipped on his underwear. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

Once he showed you the way, you let him understand you didn’t want him to shower with you.

Feeling the scent of his body wash cover your skin was painful now. You tried to indent the name in your mind and hoped it wasn’t too expensive. Once you managed to exit the shower stall, you dabbed your body dry, realising too late that you hadn’t brought your dress with you.

You wrapped the towel around you and opened the door, walking out once you were sure you wouldn’t drip over the floor.

“Hoseok?” You called.

Once you reached the living room, you found your dress, slipping it on and realising a second too late that your panties had disappeared.

“Giggles?” Hoseok appeared from the corridor, still shirtless, with a pair of bermuda on.

“Uhm… I should… Go, I guess?” You said, staring at the floor awkwardly. “I…”

Hoseok felt fear grip him once he thought this could be the last time he would see you.

“Wait. I—” He stretched his hand toward you. “I think— Uhm, underwear. Since I messed up yours.” He rubbed his nape. “I could wash your… panties and return them to you… Next Friday?” He looked up at you with a sheepish smile. “Over fried chicken and a chill dress code?”

Your cheeks shot up as you felt yourself smile. “So this is not a one time thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded, increasingly convinced.

You gingerly wore his boxers, noticing they were relatively comfortable on you, the cotton breezy and light, definitely soft over your abused skin. “Then I’ll return these on Friday. Over fried chicken and chill dress code. And maybe my peach frilly undies?”

“It’s a deal then, Giggles.”

“Deal.”

[starcherryberry]

♥𝕓𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕤♥

All of what I list below are mostly fics that I have read or heavily recommend! Of course, I can’t list every fic I read because I read A LOT, haha but I will try my best to keep this updated ₍꒢  ̣̮꒢₎ 

Last Updated: 05/12/2020 (gosh I spent all of today going through my liked posts to get all the other fics I’ve read posted here, I didn’t realize that I read so much yg/jk fics lmao)

✨If you can’t see the links, click on my fic recs link in my description it should work! I’m not sure about desktop though💜

☪ angst  |  ღ  smut  | ❣  fluff  | ✎ On Going | ✓ Complete | ♔ Favorite

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒩𝒶𝓂𝒿𝑜𝑜𝓃:

→  Intro: Her [Series] ✎☪❣ღ♔

→  Significance ღ

→  Oh Baby [Series] ღ✓

→ Tiger Boy ღ

→ Angel ❣ღ

→ Two Years ❣

→ Let Me Hold Them ღ

→ Teacher’s Pet ღ

→ CHARMOLYPI [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→  Hey Mama ❣

→ Plus Forte ❣ღ

→ Hermeneutics ❣☪ღ

→ All Night ❣ღ

→ Begin Again ❣☪

→ Attention ღ

→ Special Package ღ

→ Thou shall not harm ☪ღ

→ In Heat ☪ღ

→ Party ღ

→ Beauty & the bookworm ❣☪ღ

→ 00-Beginning-Shift ☪ღ

→ Inked ☪

→ Just the Four of Us [Series] ღ☪✓

→ Rental ❣☪ღ

→  Wannabe ☪ღ

→ more recs coming soon

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒮𝑒𝑜𝓀𝒿𝒾𝓃:

→ Lacuna ☪❣

→ Mine ღ 

→ Don’t Wanna Fall [Series] ❣☪✓

→ Pink ღ 

→ The Devil’s Family ❣ღ

→ Off Limits [Series] ღ✓

→ Ready ღ

→ Christmas Cookies ღ

→ Fall in Hatred ❣☪

→ Black Forest ❣☪

→ Fast Lane ღ

→ Business Affairs ❣☪ღ 

→ CHARMOLYPI [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Peach Parfait [Two Shot] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Bad Kitten ღ

→ Arrogant ❣☪ღ

→ For Love & Money [Series] ❣☪✓

→ Seven Seconds in Heaven ❣☪ღ

→ Lovesick ❣☪

→ The Leather Loafers ❣

→ The NewsCasters ❣ღ✓

→ Made of stardust: Folia ❣ღ

→ Red Envelope ❣ღ

→ Lovely Little Mess ❣ღ

→ Hold On [Series] ☪✓

→ Good Girl ❣ღ

→ Kairos ❣☪ღ

→ more recs coming soon

𝑀𝒾𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒾:

→ Intruder ❣

→ Act On It ☪ღ❣

→ Tsundere ☪ღ

→ Hate To Love You ☪ღ❣

→ Boseong Breakfast ☪ღ❣♔

→ Unravel ❣

→ Home For Christmas ☪❣

→ Humbug Blues ☪ღ❣

→ Ink Nemesis [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Hidden Stars [Series] ☪ღ✓  

→ Wildest Moments [Series] ღ✓  

→ Punch Drunk ☪ღ 

→ Adore ღ  

→ Three Squeezes [Two Shot] ❣☪ღ♔  

→ Heavy Sugar ღ♔ 

→ Aquiver [Series] ❣☪ღ✓  

→ Three Is Home ❣ 

→ Play Thing ღ  

→ All I Want For Christmas ❣ 

→ The Truth Between Us [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Bonnie & Clyde [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Churro Chumps ❣  

→ I Go *** For You ღ  

→ Neighborly Etiquette ❣☪  

→ Making the most out of a ghost (oh, we’re toast!) ❣☪ღ  

→ Unexpected [Series] ☪ღ✓  

→ Close to You ❣☪ 

→ Restraint ☪ღ  

→ A Brief Story of Time ❣☪ღ 

→ Daegu hold ‘em ❣  

→ Baby Fever ღ 

→ Mi Casa ❣ 

→ Curious ღ  

→ Performance Evaluation ღ  

→ Tongue Tech ღ  

→ Heart Haunting ❣☪ 

→ Somebody Else ☪ღ  

→ The Honeytrap ღ 

→ Arranged [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Enigma [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Catharsis ღ  

→ Unread ❣☪ღ  

→ Closed Circuit ღ  

→ Party ღ 

→ Baby, you can drive my car ❣☪ღ 

→ Basketball Captain ❣ღ 

→ Ceo!Yoongi ❣ღ  

→ The Fishnet Stockings ღ  

→ Daddy’s little girl ❣ღ  

→ Android!Yoongi ❣ღ  

→ Demon!Yoongi ღ  

→ The Early Shift [Series] ❣☪ღ✓  

→ Everglow [Series] ❣ღ✓ 

→ Dreamcatcher ❣☪  

→ Student Council Prez [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ First Date Bait ❣ 

→ Just the Four of Us [Series] ღ☪✓  

→ As We Go Along ❣☪ღ 

→ Kiwi ❣☪ღ  

→ Good Girl ❣ღ 

→ more recs coming soon

𝒥𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝐻𝑜𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀:

→ Orectic ღ❣

→ Rescue Me ☪ღ❣ 

→ Golden Heart [Series] ❣✓

→ Three Squeezes [Two Shot] ❣☪ღ♔

→ Hot Rod ❣ღ

→ Three Is Home ❣

→ Sonic Rain ❣☪ღ

→ Peppermint [Two Shot] ❣☪✓

→ Trust Me ❣☪

→  CHARMOLYPI [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Night Stalker ❣☪ღ

→ Now or Never [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Heavy ღ

→ Attention ღ

→ Special Package ღ

→ Jealous ღ

→ Suncity ❣☪ღ

→ Magnetized [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Silver Bells and Cockle Shells ❣☪ღ

→ Say no to this ღ

→ Ambiguous ❣☪ღ 

→ Charred [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Party ღ

→ Head Over Heels to Hell ❣☪

→ Jungle Park [Series] ❣☪✓

→ New Year's Eve ❣ღ

→ Snowflake Kisses ❣☪ღ 

→ Ruby Crush ☪ღ

→ more recs coming soon

𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒥𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓃:

→ Star Light, Star Bright ☪ღ❣

→ Last Christmas ☪❣

→ Rescue Me ☪ღ❣

→ Serendipity ❣☪

→ To Be Us [Two Shot] ☪ღ

→ Handyman [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Ragdoll [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Faded Love ❣☪ღ

→ Syndicate ☪ღ

→ Tumble dry ღ

→ Radio Silence ღ

→ Appa ❣

→ Tease ❣ღ

→ Ribbons ❣ღ

→ Beneath the Water ❣☪ღ 

→ Locked in Love ❣☪ღ

→ Lovesick ❣☪

→ Earnestly Yours ❣

→ Memories of Old and New ❣☪

→ Good Girl ❣ღ 

→ more recs coming soon

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒯𝒶𝑒𝒽𝓎𝓊𝓃𝑔:

→ First Christmas ❣

→ Heatwave Godless Heatwave Drabbles ☪ღ❣♔

→ Picking Flowers ☪ღ❣♔ 

→ Paper Cranes ❣☪ღ♔  

→ Seoksanhwa ❣☪ღ 

→ Angel ❣ღ 

→ Adore ღ 

→ To Be Us [Two Shot] ☪ღ✓ 

→ Get You The Moon ❣☪ღ  

→ Playful ❣☪  

→ Feline Instinct ❣

→ Curious ღ  

→ Fake Love ❣☪ღ  

→ Greengreengreen ღ  

→ Business Attire ღ  

→ Somebody Else ☪ღ 

→ Everythingoes ❣☪ღ 

→ Stay the night ☪ღ 

→ Insomnia ღ  

→ Stuck With You ❣ღ  

→ Falling in crayolove ❣☪  

→ Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues [Series] ❣☪✓ 

→ Out of the Blue ❣☪  

→ The President’s Son [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ A Matter of Shyness [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Sanctuary ❣☪ღ  

→ Nerves on Edge ❣ღ 

→ Surprise ☪ღ 

→ SweetPea [Series] ❣☪ღ✓  

→ Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell [Series] ❣☪ღ✓♔ 

→ Ravenous ღ  

→ more recs coming soon

𝒥𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒥𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓀𝑜𝑜𝓀:

→ Kissing Fire [Series] ✓☪❣ღ♔

→ It Ain’t Me [Text AU] ☪✓  

→ The millionaire and his lover ❣☪ღ  

→ Hidden Stars [Series] ☪ღ✓  

→ Beauty and The Beast ❣☪ღ 

→ Since Day One ❣ღ  

→ Don’t Wanna Fall [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Angel ❣ღ 

→ Pink ღ  

→ Noona ღ  

→ Let Me Hold Them ღ 

→ Pen Pals ❣☪ღ  

→ Long Lost ❣☪  

→ The Wedding Planners ❣☪ღ  

→ Ice Prince ❣☪  

→ New Romantics ❣☪  

→ Microwave (Mis)adventures ❣☪ღ 

→ Fire and Ice ❣  

→ Contradict ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Change of Heart ❣☪  

→ Making the most out of a ghost (oh, we’re toast!) ❣☪ღ  

→ Nervous Proposal [Two Part] ❣ღ✓  

→ Home ❣☪  

→ Falling Skies [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Howling For You ❣ღ  

→ Hopping Mad For You ❣ღ  

→ Preydator ❣  

→ One Night, Two Parties ❣ღ  

→ CHARMOLYPI [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Animal [Series] ☪ღ✓  

→ A fallen bookmark on a Thursday afternoon ❣☪ღ 

→ Blizzard ❣ღ  

→ Green Room ღ  

→ High Rise ❣  

→ Shark Week ❣  

→ The Name Game ❣  

→ Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So (Fucking Done) ღ 

→ Itch ❣ღ 

→ Ribbons ❣ღ 

→ Everythingoes ❣☪ღ  

→ Daddy ღ  

→ His Name [Series] ☪✓  

→ Moonlight Melody ❣☪ 

→ Room for Dessert [Series] ღ✓ 

→ Bite Me ❣☪ღ  

→ Rebound ☪ღ 

→ Lifeguard ❣☪ღ  

→ Heartbreak Trials ☪ღ 

→ Chess of Ice [Series] ❣☪✓  

→ Crumbs ❣☪ღ  

→ Krampus for Christmas ❣ღ  

→ Nerves on Edge ❣ღ  

→ 10 Beats Before The Light ☪ღ  

→ Will You Make a Mess Now ❣ღ 

→ Break My Mind’s Eye [Series] ☪ღ✓  

→ SweetPea [Series] ❣☪ღ✓ 

→ Love Alive ❣☪ღ  

→ Picture Perfect ❣ღ♔  

→ Every Breath You Take [Series] ❣☪ღ 

→ more recs coming soon

𝐵𝒯𝒮:

→ Save Me [Series]  ✓☪❣ღ 

→ Thesis It [Series] ✓ Prove It [Series] ✎ ☪❣ღ♔ 

→ Tomorrow [Series] ❣☪ღ✓

→ Uncia [Series] ❣☪✓

→ Safe with me [Series] ❣☪✓

→ Please ღ 

→ Protect Them [Safe with me sequel] ❣☪✓

→ Home [Series] ❣☪✓

→ Peppermint Mocha ❣ღ

→ Cum! BTS [Two Shot] ღ✓

→ The Seven Kinds of Love ❣☪ღ

→ Let Me Hold Them Again ❣ღ 

→ Happy Holidays ❣

→ more recs coming soon

[chrysalizzm]

this episode of “chrys tumbles into hermitcraft” ft yg grian backstory

[2nep1nk]

I can’t believe it took Jisoo tumbling down the stairs for yg to finally put lights on the staircase why does this man not want people to see

[angelguk]

oc is ovulating and jk her boyfriend is very very hot. put two and two together and you get a propositioned with a blowjob in a car. jk smol baby bf in this one. not nsfw! just slightly :) 1.6k not really edited hehe okai bye bye :) listen to slide by h.e.r and yg

You hate your boyfriend. You really do. It’s not fair that he looks this good. At all. He’s not even trying, grey sweatpants donned over his legs and an oversized jumper hanging off his shoulders. His hair is still a mess, chestnut curls tousled from his perpetual tugging on the strands. He does that a lot when he thinks over something, and from how fast his petal lips are moving there must be something ruminating inside of his head. But, unfortunately, the words tumbling from his mouth fall on deaf ears. You’re still exhausted from the late shift at the café that you had yesterday. Coupled with the early morning class that you had your brain isn’t completely turned on yet. It’s only able to focus on one thing at the moment. And that one thing happens to be the veins running beneath Jeongguk’s golden skin as his hands grip the driving wheel tightly. There’s a slither of black inked skin peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his jumper. It’s unnecessarily hot, how his deft fingers tap against the leather of his driving wheel, the car cruising smoothly down the road.

Jeongguk had offered to drop you at your classes today, a gesture you appreciated because you could not bother to wait for the bus in the chilly breeze biting through the air today. But the moment you’d clambered into his car, your brain had given up on forming a coherent thought that wasn’t focused on how attractive your boyfriend is. There’s a tightness in your gut already, a tepid warmth spreading between your legs as you watch him cock his head, jawline sharpening in that minute moment. A curl tumbles into his eyes and your fingers tingle with the urge to brush it aside. Instead, you curl your fingers into a stiff fist, eyes narrowed on the tiny beauty spot located on the span of his neck. You ache to nuzzle your head there, pepper kisses across his skin. Even the vision of your mouth of Jeongguk’s body has you involuntarily squeezing your thighs together. There’s too much distance between the two of you in this car, despite Jeongguk being right there. It’s bizarre, how much you want your boyfriend right now despite your body still lagging with exhaustion. And yet, there’s an undeniable flame of desire licking through your system as your eyes linger on his face, a short spark bursting in your core when his tongue dips out to swipe at his lips. You don’t even notice that he’s pulled up in the parking of your university, the engine of his car falling into a low hum as he turns it off.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not really sure what to do. What do you think?” His eyes are focused on you, gaze gentle but questioning. It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for your response.

“What? Um? Could you repeat what you said? Please?” There’s a glimmer of a frown tugging at his face, dark eyebrows furrowing together.

“Were you even listening to anything I said?” You don’t miss the frustration colouring his tone, your cheeks heating up immediately.

“…No. I’m sorry my head is just everywhere now,” You softly murmur, eyes on the gear shift between you, obviously avoiding his inquiring gaze.

He hums, a low sound drifting from the back of his throat as he moulds his back into his seat. The silence that lingers makes your skin prickle. It’s in that moment that your gaze flickers to the scene outside your window, ears noting how the engine is no longer running. You’re already outside your university, and your brain hadn’t even registered that. There must be something immensely wrong with you because you’re never that preoccupied with those type of thoughts. The warmth of Jeongguk’s palm as he rests it on your thigh is what draws you from the rumination of your thoughts. It ebbs through your skin, hot even with the thick leggings you have on underneath your own sweatpants.

“What’s on your mind then?” He says, voice soft, the frustration you read early gone. You nearly combust when you turn your gaze onto his. The look he’s giving you is steady, unwavering and warm. It’s gentle too, something you appreciate because you know how annoyed Jeongguk gets when you don’t listen to him. But he’s brushed it off for now and you note that immediately, heart still heavy with guilt because you’re sure what he was rambling about was important to him. And yet you can’t force yourself to focus on that right now, head already conjuring up the image of you crawling into his lap. You desperately want to do that, your body leaning towards Jeongguk’s, chasing the feeling of his hands on you.

“Um…” It’s hard to think when he’s staring at you like that. It’s only because of the intensity of his gaze that you blurt it out, immediate regret warm on your face the moment you say it. “I was thinking that it would nice to blow you.”

“It would be nice to – what?” Jeongguk pauses and it’s clear in haze clouding his brown eyes that his brain is buffering. “Like now? Like right now?”

“Yes?” You whisper, the words shy not only because you’re afraid to admit to your desires but also because the grip on your thigh is taut right now. His fingertips gently dig into them, a subconscious movement judging from how far away his eyes look right now.

“Okay,” Jeongguk murmurs. “Okay.”

“Would you like that?” You suddenly utter, spurred on by the rose spreading across his skin.

“Would I like it if you blew me? The answer is yes of course. But like, don’t you have a class in a few?”

You check the time swiftly, suddenly glad you’d asked him to pick you up an hour and a half before you’re. You still have around forty-five minutes before your lecture starts, minutes you intended to occupy with going over your readings for your Economics lecture but you would rather spend that time relearning the way Jeongguk’s pretty face looks like when he’s in your mouth.’

“I have time,” You respond, pocketing your phone, a smile already settling on your lips.

Jeongguk pauses, a look you know well spreading across his face. He’s considering it, and you jump onto that, leaning across the gear shifts to nestle your head into the hollow of his neck. He leans in naturally, a tiny sigh slipping from his mouth as your lips settle against the span of his neck. It’s a chaste kiss, a whisper of what you’re longing to do to him and Jeongguk eats it right up.

He's staring at you hard when you draw away. “How much time?”

“Like forty minutes. Is that enough?”

You don’t expect the huffed out laugh that drifts from him. Jeongguk tugs at his hair, smile sheepish. “It’s enough. Um – I don’t think you know how hard I am right now.”

You blank at that, a sharp tingle ebbing from your core as you take in your boyfriend once more. That’s that familiar rouge colouring his golden skin, slipping on his face, and his brown eyes are glossy, unwavering at his stares at you from underneath the soft curls obscuring his vision. It does something to you, heart lurching hard in your chest. You’re not sure what the name for the emotion that swallows you is called, but you do know that you would do anything and everything for Jeongguk if you could see him like this, dishevelled and domestic, for the rest of your life. It doesn’t help that he’s staring at you like this, expectant and willing.

“You are?” You hum, instead of voicing out the torrent of words sweeping through your mind. A maelstrom in its own right. It deserves its own moment. For now, you just focus on the buzz that ignites inside of you when Jeongguk leans into your space, a soft yes floating from his mouth and another sigh following it when your hands slip into his hair. “I haven’t done anything though,” You continue, revelling in how his features fall lax when you gently press your nails into his scalp. You’d learned very quickly how sensitive Jeongguk’s head is. He’s sensitive everywhere really.

“Yes, I know,” He swiftly huffs out, the words choked in his throat. “It’s just – you’ve never wanted to d-do anything in public. I didn’t expect you to want this.”

He’s right, you’re not one for PDA but everything inside of you is throwing that out of the window, a foreign desire heavy in your gut. You can’t deny how your underwear sticks to you when you shift closer to Jeongguk, the seat belt buckle poking right into your thigh.

“Do you want this?” You suddenly acquire an awareness that you’d just sprung this on your boyfriend descending upon you.

“Yes – God, yes. So much. Want you so much.”

“Okay.” Your heart must be bruising your ribs from how frenetically it slams into the bones keeping it caged up. “I want you to. I really, really do. But I just want to say sorry for not listening to you.”

“It’s fine,” Jeongguk rushes out, chasing after your retreating hand. His eyes look stunning this close like the stars reside inside of them with how bright they glimmer with want.

“It’s really not,” You reply, fingertips gingerly pressing at the nape of his neck. Jeongguk’s throat is clogged with a moan he won’t let out but you hear it anyway, a sound that reaffirms your own desire immediately. “How about, I blow you, I go for my class and then later you can pick me up and we can go for lunch and you can retell me what you were saying earlier. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Jeongguk nods promptly, curls bouncing akin to an enthusiastic puppy. “I just – someone will see us. You okay with that?”

You blink, the smile gracing your lips sly. “Your backseat windows are tinted.”

You’ve never seen Jeongguk scramble to the back of his car that fast.