#vhope au

[jemshopes]

I've Got You || vhope drabble

--VHOPE DRABBLE

--where hoseok, who is visiting his parents on their farm, answers the door to find his boyfriend of almost a year standing there holding a rubber duck and a potted plant.

________________

When Hoseok wakes, he finds the fields are encrusted with frost and the morning chill has seeped through the flagstones of the kitchen floor. Through the back window of the old farmhouse, he can see his father checking on the cows and his mother collecting eggs from the chicken hutch. It's peaceful out here, far away from the chaos and smog of the city. The sky is bright blue, the only sound between it and the horizon the rush of the wind and the faint clamour of the animals.

He potters around the kitchen, preparing coffee and breakfast for when his parents come back inside. He gets the frying-pan down from its hook on the ceiling, fills up the kettle.

Half an hour later, the kitchen smells of boiled rice and he's just thinking of going into the attic to check his messages--it's the only place for miles that he can get any reception and he hasn't messaged Taehyung in days--when something out the window catches his eye. He has to wipe the steam off the window to see clearly what's going on.

His father, whose morning routine is about as immovable as a mountain, is standing stock still in the middle of his field of cows, staring at something out of Hoseok's line of sight.

Hoseok watches him for a few minutes and sighs. Maybe the postman is late again and his father has decided to give him the evil eye in the hopes it'll make him pick up the pace.

He's just buttering himself toast, really wishing he'd packed slippers--or that he owns a pair of slippers--when the doorbell rings. Maybe it really is the postman his father's watching like a hawk. The postman is the only person who rings the doorbell around here. All his parents' friends let themselves in the few rare times they come over.

He carries on buttering his toast and is just taking his first bite when the bell rings again, followed by a series of hurried taps of the door-knocker.

"Hold on a sec!" he calls, taking the pot of rice off the hob. The knocking doesn't stop. It only gets louder, harsher. "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

Did his dad order something that needs signing for? If so, his evil eye must have really freaked the postman out.

Toast in his mouth, he takes the seven steps down the hall and yanks the front door open. "Sorry, I was--oh my god. Oh my god."

"Hey," Taehyung says faintly.

He's standing on the old front porch, dressed in what looks like every warm layer he's ever owned. There are worry-lines around his mouth, stamped across his forehead, and under his eyes heavy shadows hang like smudges of coal dust. He looks like he hasn't slept all night and Hoseok doesn't have to hug him to smell day-old sweat and stale bus and train seats.

"Oh my god," Hoseok says again, floorboards creaking as he steps outside, closing the door behind him to keep in the little heat the house has. It's his job to light the fire to warm the house while he's here and, well, he woke up late, so that hasn't happened yet. "Honey, w-what are you doing here?" he asks softly, taking Taehyung's cold face in his free hand. The end of his nose is red, nipped by the wind. "What are you doing here with a…" He surveys the objects in Taehyung's arms, laughing, "rubber duck and a pot plant?"

Taehyung hangs his head, sucking in a shaky breath, and shrugs. "I don't know. missed you," he mumbles.

"Hey," Hoseok murmurs, lifting Taehyung's face. He gives him a soft, quick kiss, grimaces. Taehyung tastes about as good as he smells. He steps back, taking in Taehyung's appearance once more, concern twisting in his gut. "Are you okay?"

"Um…" Taehyung's lips quiver. He hugs his pot plant tighter--it's the one off the windowsill in his kitchen. "Well… I was… and then… he was… and the man… and they told me… and it was a week… and I was… and I can't… and I'm not… and I should have… but I didn't and now I'm… and I need… and they told me… and it's just left a message… and we were… and my stuff… and I'm…" He looks ready to tear his own hair out, ready to cry as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and takes a shuddering breath and says, "You know how when I lost my job I said I had enough in my bank account to last me about five months, so I'd be fine. Well, it was one month and I'm not fine."

"What?" Hoseok blurts, almost dropping his toast. "What do you mean you're not fine?"

"Can you hold these?"

Taehyung shoves the plant pot and the rubber duck at him and Hoseok takes them, mouth working silently.

Taehyung goes through eight pockets before he pulls out a handful of scrunched up papers. He shoves those at Hoseok too, trying to switch them for the rubber duck and the plant pot. The rubber duck hits the porch and bounces down the steps, and Taehyung, clutching the plant pot, chases after it.

By the time he's back up the steps, Hoseok has unfolded the papers and can't believe what he's seeing. "Honey… Taehyungie… these are eviction notices…"

Taehyung nods. The three hats he's wearing are slipping to the side. "Yeah."

He can feel a headache coming on. He needs coffee. He needs more than two bites of toast to be able to process this. "There's four of them, Taehyungie! Why wouldn't you tell me? Why…" Oh god, no, he really can't do this. He presses the papers to his face, breathing hard. "Why didn't you tell me? Taehyungie, this says you had to be out of the apartment yesterday. Do you realise my parents are here? My parents! Taehyungie, you can't just show up here! They don't even know about us! I only just told them I'm gay. They are not ready to know I have a boyfriend. I think mum almost had a heart attack when I said she wasn't getting a daughter in law! I only just--why do you have a duck and a plant?"

Taehyung gives a tiny shrug, staring hard at the floor. "I don't know. I was going to pack. but I ended up picking up my plant because you bet me I'd let it die and well, I want to win the bet. This duck was a present from mum. I've had it since I was three. And I got on a bus and then a train and another bus. And I didn't know where to go so I came here."

Hoseok blinks, utterly at a loss. "W-wh-why are you wearing your entire wardrobe?"

"I knew it was going to be cold here and I don't have a suitcase. And I wasn't thinking clearly and I forgot I owned a backpack."

Hoseok shoves the papers into his back pocket. If he's lucky, he has another hour until his parents come back to the house, assuming his father doesn’t come over early to see what’s going on with the crazy, over-dressed man he’s just seen walking up the driveway with a child's bath-toy. Jesus, what a first impression Taehyung makes.

“I'm really sorry,” Taehyung says thickly. “I-I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” He looks pathetically out towards the fields, pressing his lips together hard in that way he does right before the tears come. His shoulders shake. “Hyungie, I don't know what to do. I don't have anywhere to go. I-I tried to call, but you don’t have any reception.” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, feeling torn and horrible. There's no question of how this is going to go, but he has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to begin.

Lamely, he holds up his toast.

“Have you eaten?”

Taehyung isn’t talking like a Taehyung who’s eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours.

Taehyung shakes his head and accepts the toast Hoseok pushes at his mouth.

They stand there until Hoseok has fed him every last crumb of it, then Hoseok sighs.

“Come in. I'll get you something else. you must be starving.”

He holds the door open, waiting.

“You’re angry with me,” Taehyung says quietly, and wipes his mouth on his mittened hand.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Hoseok says. He touches Taehyung’s arm softly, heart fluttering at the tears brimming in Taehyung’s eyes. “Come inside. I'll get you a proper meal. I love you,” he adds.

Taehyung nods, face beginning to pucker. “I love you too,” he whimpers. “I'm sorry. I don't have to stay here. I can go somewhere—“

“No, Taehyungie… honey… it’s…” he hesitates just short of saying ‘okay.’ “What’s done is done. Just… come in. You need to sleep and change and have a shower and brush your teeth. I'm going to make you tea and breakfast.”

He's not going to get any proper answers out of Taehyung like this and the last thing he has the energy for is a fight in full earshot of his parents in the freezing cold. He's been dating Taehyung for almost a year. It's high time he told his parents about his relationship. Does this mean he’s going to? Jesus. Maybe. But it isn’t exactly on his bucket list this year. It’s been hard enough for them having a gay son, but a gay son with a boyfriend?

“This was a bad idea,” Taehyung says. “I'm going to go. I-I’ll—“

Hoseok catches him by the wrist. “Taehyungie, honey… you’re running on like eight coffees. Have you slept at all? Just come inside. I don't think my parents will even notice we’re dating, you look like a crazy old cat lady or something.“

He wraps an arm around Taehyung's shoulders and pulls him inside firmly. Shoes off, up the stairs to the guest bedroom. He sits Taehyung on the bed and undresses him, folding up each item of clothing neatly as he goes. He really does think Tae might have worn his entire wardrobe. He runs his fingers through Taehyung's hair, a wild unruly tangle. Then he gives in and brushes it.

“Wear these,” he says, and gives Taehyung some clothes out of his suitcase.

He takes Taehyung to the bathroom next and makes him brush his teeth twice.

“There won’t be any hot water for a few hours—water’s heated when we light the fire downstairs—but when it’s hot you can have a bath.”

It's weird going through his Taehyung routine in a house that isn’t his own. Usually when Tae comes to him in a state, he has everything prepared, everything he knows sets Taehyung’s mind at ease. Here there’s no camomile tea or the fluffy blanket he wraps Tae in or Tae's favourite snacks. They can’t watch dumb netflix shows because his parents aren’t interested in owning a tv. Or having wifi. Or internet. All they have is a stupid landline and the house is still cold because he needs to light the fire like they’re in the stone age.

Taehyung eats the breakfast Hoseok lays out for him quietly, sipping the hot chocolate Hoseok made him. He's looking and smelling marginally more presentable now. If it weren’t for his haunted looking eyes and the pasty sleepless look to his face, he’d be normal.

Hoseok gets the fire lit while he eats, chopping the wood with more force than usual to make himself feel a little better. Weirdly enough, it works. That is, until he looks over at Taehyung and is confronted with the fact this isn’t all some bizarre dream. All he’d wanted was to get away from the city for a week or two, disconnect from everything. Now all he can think about is the ticking of the clock and how each tick means they’re one second closer to his parents coming through the back door and he hasn’t even thought of what he’s going to say to them yet. His mind is blank and it’s been blank ever since Taehyung explained about the rubber duck.

He makes himself a coffee and drinks it in three mouthfuls, burning his tongue and gums. Then he sits beside Taehyung and waits. And waits. And waits.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks when it seems like Taehyung isn’t going to speak ever again.

Taehyung just shakes his head.

Frustration and confusion lash out. “Then what? Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re broke and going to be homeless, Taehyungie? I-I could have helped. I could have lent you money or just given it to you.”

Taehyung looks at him with big, frightened eyes, and a tear slips down his face. “I don't know. I just thought I'd find a job sooner and it would go away.”

Hoseok's heart clenches and instinctively he reaches for Taehyung's hands, placing his own over them where Tae holds his mug. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

Taehyung's face crumples and he does something that’s between a nod and a shake of the head that Hoseok doesn’t know how to interpret. Tears streak down his cheeks, taking a day's worth of travel-grime with them. He cries in great, heaving, exhausted gasps. “I-I don’t want you to break up with me. I-I-I’m stupid. I don't have anywhere to go. I love you. Please don’t leave me. P-please.”

Hoseok glances out the window to see if either of his parents are in a position to see inside and immediately hates himself for his hesitation.

He shifts his chair closer and wraps his arms around Taehyung tightly. This is all so surreal, he can still barely process it. He hasn’t thought of breaking up with Taehyung, but now a part of his brain is almost saying why not? Taehyung didn’t trust him. What are they if they can’t be honest with each other?

“I love you too. I'm not going anywhere,” he murmurs. He means it. With all his heart. “It's okay, honey. I'm not going anywhere.”

A painful sound forces itself from Taehyung's throat. “I don't know where my stuff is. I-I don’t know what they’ve done with it. I ju-just left it all there.”

He threads his fingers through Taehyung's hair. “Stuff can be replaced. If it’s gone, we’ll get new stuff.”

“I-I don’t have any money. I-I don’t have anywhere—I'm homeless.” “I'm not going to make you live on the streets, honey. You can stay with me. We’ll find you a job and a new place to live. It’s okay.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I was just so embarrassed and I thought I could fix it by myself.”

“Taehyungie…”

“I-I know the whole point of having a boyfriend is so I don't have to fix stuff by myself. I'm so stupid. I-I’m gonna tell you all the things from now on.”

Hoseok bites back what he truly wants to say, that Taehyung wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with if he’d just been honest with Hoseok. He has a feeling Taehyung knows that. It doesn’t need to be said.

He pulls back and kisses Taehyung's forehead softly, breathing him in although he still stinks of travel. “It's okay.” He dries Taehyung's eyes, smoothing away the furrows in his brow with his thumb.

He thinks of the first time he met Taehyung, Taehyung almost knocking him into the road in his hurry. He'd been wearing jeans that looked like they were falling apart and a hoodie covered in stains. His hair hadn’t been brushed then either and he’d been buzzing on so much coffee it was on the verge of giving him an anxiety attack. He doesn’t know what made him ask Taehyung out exactly.

Taehyung, most of the time, looks like he’s just about to go through a mental breakdown. Or like he’s in the middle of one. He supposes he’d just liked Taehyung’s softness. His big soft clumsy Taehyung who struggles to take care of himself and struggles to hold down a job. His Taehyung, who has been trying not to drink so much coffee because it makes him have heart palpitations.

He rubs Taehyung's chest gently, moving up over his collarbone to his shoulder. There’s always one particular spot that hurts there when Taehyung gets especially stressed.

“It’s just so hard, you know?” Taehyung sniffles. “I was getting it together. And then they fired me and it ma-made me feel so small. I-I just didn’t want you to know I’d fucked up again. I want you to be able to rely on me for stuff and not just me rely on you. Like I want to cook you food and make sure your clothes are washed.”

“Honey, you do cook me food and make sure my clothes are washed,” Hoseok laughs softly.

He kisses Taehyung’s temple, then his cheek, tasting salt. “You do it all the time for me,” Taehyung mumbles, leaning into Hoseok's embrace.

“Yeah,” Hoseok whispers.

He's aware of how much he takes care of Taehyung. Mainly because otherwise Taehyung doesn’t do a very good job of it himself. It's not as though Hoseok does everything for him, but if Taehyung leaves clothes on the floor then Hoseok picks them up and washes them. If Taehyung’s forgotten to tidy away a half eaten plate of food, Hoseok does it so things don’t go mouldy. If Taehyung comes out of his bedroom wearing a dirty shirt, Hoseok kisses him and laughs and tells him to go change into something clean. Taehyung functions in a heightened state of stress most of the time. He's forgetful and spontaneous. His emotions come in waves heavier than other peoples, sometimes to the point they make it hard for him to do things other people do easily. He's a lot to handle, if Hoseok is honest, but he doesn’t mind handling him. It’s worth it for when Taehyung smiles at him and gives him head massages when he’s sick. For when Taehyung makes him dinner and listens to him talk about his problems. Taehyung likes to kiss his chin and Taehyung likes to fall asleep with him on the couch and hear about the dumb things Jungkook did at work that day.

"Come here," he murmurs, pulling Tae in for a kiss. "Look on the bright side. You're gonna meet my parents and that's going to make getting evicted seem amazing."

"Oh," Taehyung says. The idea doesn't seem to amuse him like it does Hoseok. "Oh, I'm gonna meet your parents. I'm a mess. I can't meet them like this. They'll hate me. Oh, um… Oh… Are we… friends or… boyfriends…? To them. I can be either. People never believe anyone would date me anyway."

Hoseok glances out the window again. His mother is checking on the lambs. She probably can't see inside from here with the angle of the sun. "Well… my dad owns a shotgun, so it's really up to you," he says.

"What?" Taehyung blurts, looking positively terrified. "Are you serious?"

Hoseok nods gravely. "Yeah, he uses it for hunting foxes."

"But… but he wouldn't… he wouldn't… with me, right?" Taehyung squeaks.

Hoseok counts to five in his head, watching Taehyung search his face. Then he grins. "No, you're safe. He might threaten you with it a bit, though."

"Hyung!"

"You don't have to worry, honey," Hoseok says, "it's very unlikely he'll waste a bullet on you. He's always talking about how expensive they are."

"You're not funny," Taehyung mutters, relaxing into Hoseok's arms. He rests his head on Hoseok's shoulder.

"Do you really think I'd have let you come inside if I thought he'd shoot you?" Hoseok chuckles, kissing the top of Tae's head. "Even if he did, his eyesight is pretty bad these days, so he'd probably miss."

"Stop it," Taehyung whines.

"Consider it your punishment," Hoseok murmurs.

“You’re mean,” Taehyung says. “you know I’m no good with jok—“ The telltale creak of the back door being opened sounds from the hallway, cutting him off mid-sentence. For a moment, they’re frozen in each other’s arms, then Taehyung sits up, running his hands through his hair. He wipes his face, puts his hands in his lap, on the table, in his lap again, around his mug of hot chocolate.

Hoseok doesn’t give himself time to begin hyperventilating. He just stands and begins clearing away Taehyung's empty bowls. He's stacking them to be washed when his father walks inside, closely followed by his mother, who is carrying a lamb in her arms, one of the weaker ones that has been struggling with the cold.

“You should get us if someone comes over, Hoseok-ah,” his mother says, putting the lamb on the dog bed she’d set up for it by the fire. “We might have kept this young man waiting forever if your dad hadn’t seen him walking up the track. Honey, has he offered you a drink?”

Taehyung lifts his hot chocolate, blinking shyly. “Yeah. It's nice.” She smiles, dusting herself off. “People don’t usually visit this early. We’re a bit unprepared. Haven’t even fed all the animals yet. What can we do for you?”

Taehyung glances at Hoseok nervously. “Um…”

Hoseok walks back to the table on numb legs. They've barely had a chance to discuss anything. He doesn’t know if Taehyung is okay with his eviction being discussed. He doesn’t know if he wants to tell them about their relationship. He doesn’t know anything.

His father stands silently by the door, watching Taehyung with unreadable eyes.

“Mum, Dad… actually… this is Taehyung-ah,” Hoseok hears himself say, his voice disembodied and far away to his own ears. “He’s here to see me.”

His mother’s eyes widen slightly, a silent question. “Oh, I didn’t know you were having someone round,” she says, in her ‘if someone wasn’t here, I’d lecture you about this being my house’ voice.

“Well… I wasn't. Taehyungie—Taehyung-ah needed some help with something. And he couldn’t reach me because there’s no reception here. So… he showed up. Um…'' Taehyung is my boyfriend. Three words would be all it would take. Wait, no, that’s four words. He's lost the ability to count. Great.

“What kind of trouble’s he in?'' Hoseok's father asks.

“N-nothing bad,” Taehyung says quickly. “At least, not bad as in I'm bad. I'm good.”

Hoseok almost laughs. Yeah, thanks for that, honey. Because bad people never lie about those kinds of things. “I didn't say he was in trouble, Dad. He just needs a place to stay for the night. He's… he’s my… my friend and it would really help me out if he could stay until tomorrow. He's been travelling all night.” And if you say yes, he’s going to sleep in my bed.

His parents exchange a look. “Hoseok-ah, honey, there’s only the couch for him to stay on. I don't think that’ll be very comfortable… he’s welcome to, of course, but…”

Like I said, he’s going to sleep in my bed. “The couch will be fine, right, Tae?”

Taehyung nods eagerly.

Hoseok smiles. “Okay. cool. I… um… I fed him already—there’s rice and some other stuff if you guys are hungry. Um… yeah.” His heart is thudding, in his mouth, his throat, his chest, his fingertips. “Tae, do you want to go upstairs and have a nap? You can use my bed for now. Come on, I'll—Tae?”

Tae is peering over the table at the lamb as it bleets softly, his eyes large. “Does it have a name?” he asks, looking from Hoseok, to Hoseok’s father, to his mother. “Oh, it’s nice to meet you both. I didn't say that. I—ten cups of coffee. No sleep.”

Hoseok's mother smiles and his father shakes Taehyung's hand briskly.

“We don't name the animals,” his father says.

Taehyung frowns at him almost reproachfully. “Everything should have a name. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Doesn’t matter much. Doubt she’ll survive for long.”

“What? Why?" Taehyung asks, brow furrowing in distress at the thought. “Is she sick? Even if she’s sick she should have a name. You can’t put sheep number four on the headstone.”

Hoseok's father throws him a look as if to say, ‘what the hell is this crazy person doing in my house talking about headstones for sheep? Sheep are food, Hoseok-ah. is he a vegetarian? get my shotgun. This is worse than if you brought home a boyfriend.’

Hoseok stifles a nervous giggle. “I seem to remember a certain group of goldfish named number one, number two, number three, and number four.”

“We flushed those down the toilet when they died,” Taehyung says. “They didn’t get headstones. Would it be okay if—will I scare her if I…?”

“She's tame,” Hoseok's mother says. “So long as you move slowly, she’ll even let you feed her.”

“Do you feed her from a bottle like they do in films?”

“We do.”

“Wow. That’s… Wow…" Taehyung grins.

Hoseok's father is still giving him looks, needing someone to commiserate Tae's weirdness with.

“Would I be able to feed her?” Tae asks faintly.

“Yes, of course, honey,” Hoseok's mother says, looking pleasantly surprised. She, too, gives Hoseok a glance, although her’s is only slightly puzzled, not outright judgemental. “I'll get the milk.”

Hoseok relaxes a little as Taehyung is ushered over to the wood burner by his mother. She's brisk, getting him a cushion to sit on, showing him where to stroke the lamb, explaining what’s wrong with it.

Hoseok smiles involuntarily wide as Taehyung’s deep laugh fills the room. The lamb has licked his fingers, nosing at them curiously.

“Hoseok-ah, a word.” Hoseok's father touches his elbow, jerking his head towards the door.

Hoseok's heart sinks a little. “Oh, um… sure, Dad. I… Tae, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Taehyung doesn’t even look up, just lifts a hand vaguely, engrossed in coaxing the lamb to lay its head on his knee.

Hoseok closes the kitchen door firmly behind the two of them, watching his father apprehensively. “Dad, I'm so sorry. I had no idea he was going to show up.”

Hoseok's father blinks grimly at him. He's never been one for surprises or fun. Or much of anything really.

“What trouble is he in?” he asks.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Hoseok says, which, ironically, makes him sound exactly like the man he’s talking to. He cringes internally. He's spent a lot of time trying not to sound like his father. Vague answers like that are precisely the reason why. “I just mean… It's his private business and I'm not sure he wants people to know. But it’s nothing bad. He's not on the run from the police or something.” The joke falls flat because his father has no sense of humour and really it wasn’t very funny to begin with.

“Someone shows up here jittering like a nervous wreck, I want to know why,” his father says. Out comes the finger, jabbing to emphasise his point.

“Jittering?” Hoseok throws a glance towards the door. Had Tae been jittering?

“Jittering, smelling like a homeless guy, looking like he’s had no sleep or he’s on drugs.”

Hoseok has to choke back a laugh. “Dad, he’s not on drugs.”

Taehyung on drugs is much more put together than Taehyung not on drugs. It’s a bizarre phenomenon to behold on the rare occasions it does happen.

“I saw what he walked up the track in. Looked like someone off the streets. You changed his clothes, Hoseok-ah.”

Hoseok swallows, casting around, for what, he doesn’t know. “Of course I gave him some clothes, Dad. He's been travelling all night and he’s a really good friend of mine. Just…” Give him a chance, he wants to say. Give my boyfriend—who you don’t even know is my boyfriend—a chance. “He'll be out of your hair by tomorrow. He'll probably sleep most of today. He won’t bother you. I promise.”

His father looks wholly unconvinced, but nods. Whatever fight he’s attempting to have with Hoseok had been lost the second Hoseok's mother said Taehyung could stay anyway.

“He's a good friend of yours?”

Hoseok nods, smiling gratefully. “Yeah. A really good friend.”

“Is ‘good friend’ code for something?”

“Oh. Um… N-no. he’s just my friend, Dad. Like I said.” His tongue betrays him. It really would be easier to just get this over with now while he has Taehyung’s support. That's so much better than telling them alone.

His father raises an eyebrow at him, folding his arms. He clears his throat and says gruffly, “Alright. Well, I guess that’s that, then. But I don't appreciate you giving our address out to strangers.”

“He's not a stranger. He's a friend of mine,” Hoseok says softly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I'm sorry.”

They stand in stiff silence, Hoseok scrambling internally for something to break it. A lightbulb goes off in his head as he hears his father’s sheepdog barking.

“Hey, let’s go finish feeding the animals. mum said you weren’t done yet.”

“Alright,” his father mumbles. “Get a proper coat—none of those fancy fashion things. A proper one. And wellies. Ground’s still muddy in places.”

“Okay, I'll just…” He gestures to the kitchen door, opens it.

Taehyung has the lamb in his lap and is gently supporting its head as he feeds it from a bottle. Every few seconds, a beaming grin spreads across his face and fades, only to come back again as he watches it.

“Tae?” Hoseok says softly, not wanting to startle the lamb.

Taehyung looks up. “She's so cute. I've named her Bella.”

“Bella,” Hoseok says, keeping himself in the doorway even though the only natural response to this is to kneel at Tae's side and kiss him. “I like it. Listen, I'm just going outside with dad. We still have a few of the animals to feed and stuff.”

“Horses, pigs, the cows need moving to the other field,” his father chimes in, although his voice is a grumble that makes it hard to know who he’s talking to or if he’s talking to himself.

Taehyung's face positively lights up and he almost drops the bottle of warm milk in his excitement. “You have horses?”

“Two,” Hoseok's father says, holding up two fingers. “You know much about horses?”

“Not really, but I love them. All animals, really. They’re so… majestic.”

“I wouldn't say there’s anything majestic about a cow or a pig.”

“Oh, well,” Taehyung giggles, “I meant the horses. cows and pigs are good in their own ways, I'm sure.“ He nods as though he has any clue what he’s talking about.

Hoseok chuckles, not sure what to do with himself. “Oh, well, anyway, Tae, that’s where we’ll b—“

“You any good with animals?” Hoseok's father asks.

“Oh, well… I-I don’t know," Taehyung says. “I’d like to be. I haven’t had much experience.” He pets the lambs head softly.

“You strong enough to carry a bucket?”

“Probably,” Taehyung says.

“You scared of cows?”

“No, sir.”

“Got a problem with smells?”

“No, sir.”

Hoseok's father surveys him for a second, nods, and jerks his head towards the door. “Hoseok-ah, get him your coat.”

“My coat?” Hoseok says, frowning. He's not entirely sure what he’s just witnessed.

“He says he wants to be better with animals,” Hoseok's father says. “Well… he can help me with what’s left of the chores then, can’t he?”

Hoseok blinks. “Um… Dad, Tae’s not had any sleep…”

“I'll help,” Taehyung says brightly. “I don't mind. I like animals. I can herd cows. I can. I won't sleep for hours anyway. I've had too much coffee.”

Hoseok opens his mouth to protest, but he’s not sure how to say anything without it sounding gay as all hell.

“O-okay, I guess,” he mumbles, bemused. “If you want… you don’t have to, Tae.” He really should be used to Taehyung's spontaneity by now, most of the time he is, but there’s something about this morning that’s making it impossible to process.

“I want to,” Taehyung says. and he clearly really means it as he gently passes the lamb to Hoseok’s mother and dusts himself down. “I want to,” he says to Hoseok. insisting even though he looks dead on his feet.

Before Hoseok can say anything else, he’s slipping between him and his father, taking Hoseok's coat off the peg in the hall. He puts on Hoseok’s Wellington boots, which are a size too big for him. And he’s out the door, calling after him about how he can’t wait to milk cows, if they do milk cows, that sounds fun!

Hoseok’s father splutters, looks at Hoseok like Hoseok’s going to be able to do anything.

Hoseok laughs helplessly. “You'd better go after him, Dad. He'll start trying to milk cows without you." He's not comfortable with Taehyung and his father being in the same room, let alone in a field just the two of them. But what can he do? Taehyung's already halfway down the track.

He’s just going to breathe. Breathe and help his mum with the shelves he promised to put up today. It’s only a few hours and then Tae will be back inside. Nevermind that Tae hasn’t slept at all, that he’s lost his apartment, possibly all his things, Hoseok’s father probably won’t be very nice to him—Hoseok wouldn’t put it past him to make Taehyung cry by accident. His father isn’t exactly the warmest person on the planet.

Fortunately Tae is pretty good at being oblivious. He’ll probably be too engrossed in the animals to even care what Hoseok’s father says or does. He will be fine. Hoseok will be fine. Jesus, what the hell has just happened?

“Everything alright, honey?” his mother asks, patting his back. “Is your friend okay?”

Hoseok smiles, shaking his head. “He’s fine. just… I need to make a few calls. Can I use the landline? I…” he sighs. This is going to be a long day.

“Have you eaten, honey?”

“I had toast.”

“Sit and eat. Make your calls after.”

Hoseok rubs his forehead. "N-no. I'll eat later. I just need to call a friend of mine. I'll be okay, Mum. Actually, I might go out and help Taehyung-ah and Dad with the animals, I--"

"Honey," she says, touching his arm, "you look pale. I'm going to get you breakfast. Sit."

Hoseok lets her steer him to the table and push him into a seat. He leans into the one armed hug she gives him. He lets her get him breakfast. And he lets her fill the rest of his morning with whatever she needs help with around the house. At this point, he really doesn't have the will-power to do anything else.

By the time Taehyung and his father come back inside, it's been hours. Or it feels like hours.

Hoseok's head snaps up so fast his mother flinches where she's standing at the stove making lunch.

Taehyung's cheeks are tinted a healthy pink and his hair is wind swept and he barrels into the kitchen with his arms open and a wide smile on his face.

Hoseok wraps his arms around him instinctively, head catching up a second later. “You had fun, huh?” he says, pushing Taehyung away gently. Jesus, Taehyung needs sleep.

“Hyung, I want you to teach me how to ride a horse.”

“What?” Hoseok laughs.

Taehyung bounces on the balls of his feet. “Your dad grunted at me when I asked about riding them. Teach me how to ride a horse. I'll probably never get another chance to ride a horse. Hyung! As your b—very good friend, this is your duty. Please? Please, please please ple—“

“Okay,” Hoseok says hurriedly. “Okay. Just… under one condition. I want you to go upstairs and go to sleep after lunch.”

Taehyung frowns. “But you’re not going to be able to teach me if I'm sleeping.”

“You need sleep. You’ll collapse otherwise,” Hoseok says. He's fully aware from past experience that Taehyung can keep going like this for days on end, but the severity of saying Tae will collapse helps emphasise his point. “Just sleep until this evening and I'll wake you up.” And we’ll go riding in the fields at sunset as totally platonic, not at all gay, not even a little bit, friends do.

He can’t tell if Taehyung has read his mind or if the sparkle in his eye is from the caffeine.

“Okay. Deal. But it’s not my fault if I can't fall asleep," Taehyung says, and goes to hang up his coat and wash his hands.

Heart hammering, Hoseok looks over at his father, who has already taken his seat at the head of the small kitchen table. He's staring at nothing, a frown etched on his forehead. All in all, pretty much his normal expression.

Taehyung survived and apparently managed not to say anything that might have aggravated Hoseok's dad. Wow.

“Well, he’s certainly something,” Hoseok's mother chuckles.

Hoseok flushes. “Sorry, he’s just… excitable.” Hopped up on caffeine, homeless, in the middle of the denial stage of his freakout, sleep deprived.

“It's sweet, don’t you think?” his mother says to his father, catching the man off-guard.

He huffs at her. “Sweet isn’t exactly the wording I'd use.”

Hoseok feels a lump in his throat. He'd known this would be his father’s reaction to meeting Taehyung. Anyone who displays emotions is someone his father finds flighty and ridiculous.

“Did he manage okay?” Hoseok asks.

“Oh, he managed fine. Doesn’t half talk, though, and about the most nonsensical things.”

Hoseok tries to smile. He can just imagine Taehyung interrupting his father’s instructions to ask if the pigs have names or something. Honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if Taehyung had asked that very thing just to wind his father up a bit.

“He’s just enthusiastic,” he says quietly. “He’s grown up in the city. This is all new to him and he… he loves animals.”

His father grunts. “Too much, if you ask me.”

Hoseok refrains from saying that he hadn’t asked, and starts setting the table.

He sits Tae by his mother while they eat. The more distance Tae has from his father, the better.

Taehyung spends the whole meal talking about the animals, asking Hoseok's parents questions. Hoseok is thankful. It means neither of them get to ask Tae why he’s here, what his job is, etc. Maybe that’s why Tae doesn’t stop until the very last second when Hoseok pushes him out of the kitchen and upstairs.

The moment they’re in Hoseok’s room, Taehyung kisses him.

“I love this place,” he mumbles against Hoseok’s lips. “I love all the animals. I love you.”

Hoseok nods softly, hands curled on Taehyung’s chest. “Love you too.”

“No, but I…” Taehyung pauses in the middle of his sentence to kiss Hoseok again, “I’m sorry,” he says quietly when he breaks away, taking Hoseok's breath with him. “If we're going to fight when we get home, can you tell me now? I don't like this.”

Hoseok sighs, leaning against the door. “I don’t know, Taehyungie. I just feel… on edge with you being here.”

Taehyung sinks onto the bed, nodding glumly at the floor. “Yeah. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Hoseok says, too harshly for his liking. “I don't want to hear you apologise anymore. I just want to get through the rest of the day and leave tomorrow.”

Taehyung nods again, bottom lip wobbling. “Hyung, you don’t have to show me how to ride the horses. I can stay up here and pretend to sleep until tomorrow.”

And now he feels bad. Great.

He presses his hands over his face. “No, Taehyungie, honey, it’s fine. just get some sleep, please?”

“I love you,” Taehyung whispers, and it sounds like he’s begging Hoseok to say it back, so Hoseok does, burying his face in Taehyung’s hair. He whispers it hoarsely, and for awhile he just holds him, dreading going back downstairs. For awhile, just a little while, he clings to Taehyung like he’s the only piece of driftwood in the middle of a storming sea.

“I really do like this place,” Taehyung says, when he lies down. “When we do tell them, if they’re okay with it, we should come here together instead of it being just you. If we tell them,” he says, squeezing Hoseok's fingers. “Not when. Unless you want it to be ‘when’.”

“Go to sleep,” Hoseok says. “I'll be back in a few hours.”

Taehyung closes his eyes, long lashes casting shadows over his pale cheeks. Despite the coffee, he’s asleep before Hoseok has reached the bedroom door.

He doesn’t go back downstairs straight away. Instead, he takes his phone and heads up to the attic. Nevermind using the landline. He wants privacy to do this, not his father’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

An hour before sunset, he shakes Taehyung awake gently. Then a little less gently because waking Taehyung up requires force.

“Horse time,” is all he says. “Wrap up warm. It’s cold outside.”

Taehyung is up in a flash, stumbling blearily.

They get out of the house without encountering Hoseok's parents. His mother is in the kitchen, making dinner, and his father is out with the cows again. They’ll have total privacy while they do this.

The horses are still outside, but come trotting over to the stable when they see Hoseok and Taehyung standing there. Hoseok goes up to each one, breathing in the thick scent of hay, grass and horse as he strokes their necks.

He picks the smaller of the two for Taehyung, slipping a harness over its head.

Taehyung watches from a slight distance, clearly a little unnerved by how big the horses are and how there’s no fence separating him from them. When the larger of the two comes up to sniff him, he goes rigid.

Hoseok giggles. He hasn't felt like that around animals since he was a kid. “Honey, none of them are biters. Relax.”

Relax, he tells himself. He hasn’t relaxed since it hit him that Taehyung was really standing in front of him this morning. Relax. The air is cold and so clean in his lungs. And he loves the smell of horses. He's grown up with that smell.

They'll be home tomorrow. Maybe he’ll even ask Taehyung to move in with him permanently. That would be nice.

“I called Jungkookie,” he says as he hoists a saddle up and over the horse’s back. “He and some friends went to your apartment and packed up your stuff. He says you can buy them dinner sometime to repay them.”

“They did?” Taehyung says. “They have my stuff? Oh. Oh.” He lets out a long, strained breath. “Oh. Okay. I can buy them dinner. Lots of dinners.”

“Jungkookie’s taken everything over to my apartment,” Hoseok says.

“Oh. He has a key? I didn't know. I'd have asked him.”

“I know you would have.”

He pulls Taehyung over, Taehyung’s feet dragging hesitantly. “Okay, put your foot in the stirrup and pull yourself up. I'll get on behind you.”

“Behind me?”

“Yeah. Hand here. Another one here.” He pats the places he wants Taehyung to hold. “Now up.”

Taehyung makes it most of the way up before he begins to slip back down and Hoseok has to give him a final push so he doesn’t fall off. Then he gets up behind him, putting his arms around him to take the reins.

“Okay, just hold them like this. Don’t kick the horse. They only do that in films when they’re in a hurry. Press gently.”

Between them, they get the horse walking in a wobbly line over the grass, Hoseok giving quiet instructions here and there when Taehyung pulls too hard on the reins.

He can feel Taehyung coursing with excitement, the muscles in his back pressed to his chest. It’s irritatingly infectious considering he’s supposed to be staying mad at Taehyung or something.

He rests his forehead on Taehyung's shoulder. “Honey, I don't think we’re going to fight when we get home. I'm just going to need a few days to get my head round this. And I'm going to need you to promise you aren’t going to keep big things like this from me again. I don't know how the hell you expect a relationship to work if you don’t tell me this stuff.”

Taehyung's shoulders hunch. “I promise.” He tenses nervously as they near the fence. “I know it won’t work if I don't.”

Hoseok brings them round, steering Taehyung’s hands gently.

“We will tell my parents someday,” Hoseok says. “Just not now.”

“Okay.“

“My dad thinks you’re a weirdo,” Hoseok chuckles. “You’re going to have to do a lot of work if you want him to invite you back.”

“Man,” Taehyung sighs. “He's never going to like me.”

“I'm pretty sure he doesn’t like anyone,” Hoseok says, rubbing Taehyung's side reassuringly. The sway of the horse is soothing his nerves. “Not even me.”

“He loves you,” Taehyung says. “He’s your dad.”

Hoseok hums and lets the conversation fade.

“So we're definitely okay?” Taehyung asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Hoseok murmurs, kissing the back of Taehyung's head. “We’re okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for putting up with me.”

“I don't put up with you.”

“Well… thanks for… dating me then.”

“Thanks for dating me, too, honey,” Hoseok says. He kisses the shell of Taehyung's ear clumsily. This whole affectionate peck thing is hard to do on a horse.

Taehyung laughs. “Your mum calls people honey, did you realise that?”

“I guess I did? Why?”

“Well, now, whenever you call me ‘honey’ I'm going to think of how you say it because your mum does. You guys even have the same eyes and expressions.”

Hoseok chuckles. “We do?” He supposes he’s not spent enough time staring at himself to notice.

“It's like looking at you only female and wrinkly,” Taehyung says.

Hoseok snorts into his hair. “Okay, enough talking. Hold on tight.” He digs his heels into the horse's sides, picking up the pace.

“But what if I slip?” Taehyung squeaks, recoiling into his chest as they go from walking to a brisk trot.

“You won’t slip. I've got you.”

He urges the horse onward, from a trot to a canter, the cold breeze ruffling their hair.

“But who’s got you?” Taehyung cries.

“No one. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hyung!”

“Don’t shout. You’ll scare the horse.”

With a final dig of his heels, the horse begins to gallop, and Taehyung lets out a frightened little laugh, trying to twist in Hoseok’s arms to no avail.

“Stay still,” Hoseok laughs. “I've got you.”

“But what if you fall off? How do I slow it down?” he wails.

“I'm not going to fall off.”

“But—“

“Taehyungie, honey, I've got you.”

They stay out until the light has faded and the sun has all but disappeared. He helps Taehyung dismount, lifting him down from the horse looking bright eyed and windswept and full of life in the darkness.

Between them, they put the horses away for the night. Then Taehyung huddles against him in a corner of the stable and presses kiss after kiss after kiss to his mouth.

“It's kinda sexy that you can ride horses,” he says.

“I can tell,” Hoseok giggles, trying to catch his breath mid kiss. It doesn’t work. “Only kinda sexy?”

“More than kind of,” Taehyung corrects, pulling back.

Their breaths plume before them.

He hasn't seen Taehyung in weeks. He’s only just registering that. His body is figuring it out the hard way.

They disentangle themselves from each other and head back inside.

Dinner that night is awkward and Hoseok doesn’t begin to feel okay until he’s lying in bed, wondering if it’s worth following through with the idea of Taehyung sleeping with him. He ends up deciding against it. He's spent so much time surreptitiously watching his father at dinner that he’s not sure he has the energy for any sneaking around at night on his parents creaky staircase.

The next morning he wakes before his alarm has gone off, his heart pumping, and he packs methodically, forcing his suitcase shut on all of Taehyung's things.

He'd arranged last night for his father to drive them to the bus station in town. There's an early bus they can catch to the train station in the city.

Taehyung is feeding the lamb when he walks into the kitchen, apparently having heated up milk on the stove all by himself.

“She was making all this noise,” he says. “I got her water and… well…” He nods to a bowl of grass.

Hoseok stifles a laugh in his hand.

“She ate some of it,” Taehyung says. “And I lit the fire because I thought she might be cold, but it kept going out so I gave her a blanket. Morning, hyung.”

“Morning,” Hoseok chuckles. He's feeling better knowing they’ll be gone from this place in a few hours time. He bends down and kisses Taehyung quickly. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Taehyung mumbles. “I think I need to come to terms with everything too. It’s weird… not having a home. But I'm okay. I have a bunch of jobs I've applied to.”

“You’ll get one of them,” Hoseok says. “I know you will.”

When his parents come down, they all have breakfast together and his mother exclaims in delight when she sees Taehyung’s fed the lamb. She seems to really be warming to him.

Hoseok can’t say the same of his father, who gives a noncommittal grunt when Taehyung asks if he needs any help with the animals this morning.

“Go out with him, honey,” Hoseok's mother says, giving Taehyung a little push. “He's getting old, but he won’t admit it. He needs help.” Two hours later, after Taehyung has said goodbye to the lamb (and, apparently, the rest of the animals judging by the eye roll his father gives Hoseok) they climb into the old land-rover, Hoseok in the front seat, Tae in the back.

Hoseok's father must really be glad they’re leaving because he actually clears his throat and talks to Taehyung as they trundle and bump along the old roads. They talk about animals. Taehyung tells his father about his brief job at a veterinary clinic. He'd been the receptionist, but it hadn’t worked out because when there wasn’t anyone to be served, he’d leave the desk to play with the nearest dog or cat or bird that was waiting to be seen. Then he’d forget to go back to the desk when someone needed serving.

At the end of this short story, Hoseok's father actually takes his eyes off the road and looks at Taehyung while he responds. “Sounds like you should work with animals.”

“I know, but there’s so many qualifications you need to be a vet. I'm no good with exams. At all.”

“Me either,” his father says. “Wasted half my life on that junk. Only passed the basics.”

“Really? But don’t you need something to be a farmer and look after all the animals?”

Hoseok's father shrugs. “No. Just need to register the farm as an agricultural holding and make sure you feed and keep the animals clean and healthy. Simple really. Doesn’t need all that smart-ass science mathematics geography crap.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.”

They pull up at the bus stop an hour later, just as Hoseok's father and Taehyung are beginning to discuss how to properly take care of horses.

Hoseok's father gets the suitcase out of the back for them and shakes Taehyung's hand. “Hope whatever trouble you’re in works out, son.”

Taehyung smiles, clutching his pot plant. “I'm sure it will. Thank you so much for letting me stay and help with the animals. I had a lovely time.”

“I can tell,” Hoseok's father huffs. It almost sounds like the beginning of a laugh.

Taehyung waves and takes Hoseok's suitcase over to the waiting bus. Hoseok stands awkwardly by his father. He never knows how to say goodbye to him. especially since he came out. Especially now.

“I'll visit again soon?”

“Yeah, you do that,” his father says.

They nod.

“Well, safe trip,” his father mutters at last. “Better get on that bus before it leaves without you. See you.” he opens the car door and climbs in, but doesn’t close it.

“Yeah, see you,” he says, trying to smile.

His father nods a final time and moves to pull the door shut.

“D-dad?” Hoseok blurts. “Taehyungie… Tae’s… he’s my boyfriend. He’s… we’re dating.”

His father blinks at him, looks away, and nods at the steering wheeling. “Figured as much.”

“Oh.”

He searches his father’s face for any indication of what he’s thinking, but it’s as unreadable as ever.

“You love him?” his father asks after a moment.

“Y-yeah. I do. We've been going out for about a year now.”

“Ah,” is all his father says, still nodding just a little.

“I wasn't sure if you’d want to know,” Hoseok says, feeling tears gathering in his eyes, nose, throat. “I just… I didn't want to make things worse.”

“Worse how?”

He wishes he hadn’t said anything. “You know how. You just ignore I’m gay and things are fine, but you can’t ignore I'm gay now, Dad. I have a boyfriend. It’s not possible to ignore it.”

He glances back toward the bus and sees Taehyung's eyes are fixed on him. And just like that he’s crying and humiliating himself in front of his father. He turns away, breathing hard as he tries to choke back whiny little sobs that make him sound ‘gay.’

“Who said I was ignoring it?” his father asks.

No one had needed to say anything. His father’s actions spoke volumes.

“Just didn’t have anything to say about it,” his father mutters gruffly. “Figured you’d tell us sooner than a year, though.“

Hoseok sniffs. He really shouldn’t have started this now when the bus is minutes from leaving, but he’d needed the option to get out. Back at the farmhouse it’s miles on foot from the town. The only car is his parents. Jesus, Taehyung walked all that way.

“He’s a nice boy,” he father says. “A nice man. A weird one, too chatty. But he knows his animals. And what he doesn’t know, he learns quick. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone like him on the farm more often. You should… bring him on your visits. Yeah.” He nods, closes the door, and drives away, leaving Hoseok standing uncertainly on the pavement, trying to dry his tears. He hadn’t even had time to ask his father what exactly had made his father ‘figure as much.’ He wonders if it was something legitimate or if it was just that Hoseok is gay and therefore any guy he hangs out with is now the presumed boyfriend.

He half frowns, half laughs wetly when he sits down beside Tae at the back of the bus. “I-I think my dad just… I think he just gave us his blessing?”

“What?” Taehyung says in alarm. “You asked if you could marry me?”

“What? No, why would I ask him permission to marry—Tae if we were getting married, you’d be the one asking permission from him, not me! I meant dating.”

“Oh. Well, yeah," Taehyung says, frowning too, “he gave me the talk when I helped him with the animals yesterday.”

“He what? What talk?” hoseok splutters. His father doesn’t know any talks besides the ‘don’t get a girl pregnant’ one.

“He said,” Taehyung lifts a finger and shakes it, putting on a gruff, funnily accurate impression of his father, “you’re his very good friend, so don’t go hurting him or anything because I have a shotgun and I'll use it. And then he told me you used to like running around the fields naked when you were little and you’d scream if anyone tried to put any clothes on you.”

“W-what? I don't remember telling you that story before.”

“You didn’t. Your dad did.”

“But…” Hoseok looks down at his hands quickly. “Oh,” is all he can manage.

He lets Taehyung pull him into a tight hug and realises as he breathes Taehyung in between sobs that they never did run him a bath.

“You smell really bad,” he whispers.

“Yeah. I know.”

___________________ If you enjoyed this please consider checking out my AO3, following me on Twitter or tipping me on Kofi!

[hopesbluesides]

╰┈➤ . . .

[i97brat]

pinned note.

GENERAL :

bts rp focused blog. he/him. 18+ only (i’m 19). gmt time zone. dark themes. mainly rp on discord. semi-lit to novella (on my good days). most experienced writing as jk. also spelt as jeongguk by me. can do text based which progresses into paras. uni student so replies may vary in time. i usually only write as the top/dom. plots can be discussed in dms. got some drafts too.

i tend to be very enthusiastic about my rps so please only reach out if you can match that energy. i’m talking pinterest boards, spotify playlists, edits, in-depth plotting and world building alongside side ships to keep things interesting. hit me up if interested.

SHIPS :

jikook. yoonkook. vmin. taekook. namkook. minjoon. yoonmin. taegi. namgi. namseok. jihope. vhope. (**bold red characterises ships i am most interested in atm)

AUs I LIKE :

serial killer. hyyh. frat boy x cheerleader. incest. age gap. cheating. exes to lovers. historical romance. dubcon. abo (depends heavily on plot tho). canon divergence. more TBA in the future?

LIMITS :

paedophilia. noncon. scat. fisting. more TBA in the future?

STILL LOOKING FOR PARTNERS? : YES

[angel-fic-recs]

Arcanum - orphan_account

Jeon Jungkook x Park Jimin (Jikook)

One sided Min Yoongi x Park Jimin (Yoonmin)/Platonic Kim Taehyung x Jung Hoseok (Vhope)/Implied Kim Namjoon x Kim Seokjin (Namjin)

Rated : E

Wordcount : 52k (multi-chaptered)

Genre : Horror | Circus AU!

WARNING : MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, RAPE/NON-CON, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE, major character injury, disease, body horror, animal death, homophobic language, homophobia

Description : Kim Seokjin is the ringmaster of Phantasia, a rundown night circus. Jeon Jungkook has just turned 18 and needs to escape. When Jungkook makes a deal to join Seokjin's traveling band of performers and misfits secrets begin to reveal themselves and as the horrors unfold Jungkook finds himself trapped in a nightmare.

Angel's review : Oh my ! One of the scariest stories I've ever read ! Once you start it, you cannot stop. This dark and eerie atmosphere make your eyes glued to your screen. I'll never stress this enough : Evil!Seokjin is scary and fascinating at the same time. I felt like I was watching a good, complex and well-plotted horror movie. It's one of those story in which the plot and the characters themselves are far more important than the relationships and pairings. Mind the tags of course, this story is not for everyone !!! I myself, who reads and enjoys a lot of dark fanfiction, got scared at times. Once you're done, the writing, the imagery, the universe will be engraved on your mind (and maybe you'll think about it from time to time).

Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/7112332

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)

A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)

an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”

You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”

Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.

“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.

You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”

“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.

His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”

Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”

Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt. 42)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Tae has a bad dysphoria day, luckily she has you and Hobi to help take her mind off of it. 

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin

Tags:  Fluff, hurt/comfort, Dysphoria, Vhope x reader focus, Trans character’s, Trans! Taehyung slow burn, Anxiety, melancholy, Brief mentions of Eating disorders, Denial, Unrequited feelings, seizures, hospitals, Doctor! Joonie

W/c: 8.0k

A/n: i hope everyone uses this little chapter as a chance to de-stress and take their mind off of recent events <3 please remember to treat yourself gently in the next few days! Softness is the only way to get out of hard times like this. I’m thinking of doing a little Ama/ Loveletter/ Mini story session on halloween night just to help people take their minds of things if you wanna stop by and talk <3 

Previous Chapter- Masterlist

The Monday after Tae comes out, Hobi brings home a bouquet of ranunculus for her. A beautiful purple and white pink mess of little perfect ruffled blooms tied the classy way- with lavender ribbon and butcher paper. Hobi makes sure there isn't a bloom out of place. 

He’s careful to open the front door gently, mindful of who might be sleeping inside. Everyone had gotten the picture from Yoongi in the group chat earlier; you and Tae curled up on the living room couch, a small nest around you. Tae’s already blond/leaning roots fluffing over the top of your head. Pink at the ends, orange in the middle, and bleached at the base. 

Pink dye always did struggle to stay put, same as happiness. 

Seeing a picture of her asleep and relaxed was quite honestly a relief compared to how they found her this morning. 

Tae doesn’t hear Hobi at the door, but she’s biting at her nails. The gel polish already chipped off- not just chipped, but torn off in a fit of fear this morning. 

That was how Jin had found her, his pack omega senses tingling that one of his pack was in distress, knocking on the bathroom door once, then twice answered only with a whine before he'd jiggled the knob and threatened to have Jungkook break it down unless she would open it.

She'd tried to hide her hands when they did, but the evidence was too much. She’d picked off the nail polish furiously, scrubbing her hands raw to try and get off the bits she couldn't, peeling off bits of her natural nails in a fury. Leaving her nailbeds bloody and raw. 

It's funny, the things that have the potential to make you the happiest can also make you feel like you're dying. It was still too much, too much imperfect in the mirror when she looked. Her perfect nails, attached to Manish's hands. Like a maggot in a salad, a worm in an apple. 

If she can’t be a woman in the right ways, what’s the point? 

Some bits of her soul are too sensitive to wear to work where anyone might see, where anyone might comment. Better- to save her most treasured inches for just the people who love her. Better to hide than risk it.

Thank god Jimin had already left for work for an early schedule at a music show otherwise he might not have been able to handle the sight of Tae with her Eyelashes wet and red flecks on the floor. Jimin wouldn't have been able to leave her and go to work- the whole pack had found it difficult, had found it tollerable only because you and yoongi promised that you’d baby her and stay with her. 

Tae’s guilty eyes were almost too much for them to bear. The whole pack had elected that yes, coming out did warrant a mental health day after Tae calmed down.

It’s a testament to the skill of your and Yoongi’s fussing that Tae’s still in her pj’s with you curled around her, sleeping away the afternoon. There is the faint scent of baking things all around, probably from a cooking project that you’d roped her into in an effort to make her feel better. 

(There will be chocolate chip cookies and angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream for dessert tonight. You'd made sure to stay close to Tae all morning and give her something to do that wasn't makeup or girl things. You can't heal a wound you keep touching.

That's a trick you learned from Yoongi. How many mornings had he dragged you to some part of the house to strip paint or take off carpet tacks? Doing something with the hands helps distract from the aches of the heart, and by the end of it she at least didn't smell so sad so you count it as a win.)

You’re both still surrounded by pink, the color that’s been your constant companion. The pink blanket and a few cuddly long pillows are new; Fresh courting gifts from Namjoon to make sure you had enough nesting materials for making the pink nests. 

But it doesn't look like it's exactly working. Tae's awake, blinking slowly but not sleeping. Tae looks like she’s rebottled her soul again and hidden it away for later like someone might save leftovers. 

As quickly as her male persona has gone it’s come back again, carefully contained by the grey sweater and Jimin's sweatpants that hang off Tae’s form even though she’s supposed to be larger than Jimin, isn’t she? Something about this Tae looks small and worn. Empty in a way that Hobi's not used to seeing, someone like Tae who is always so full of life and stories and love. 

How is it possible that Hobi can see it now? When he hadn’t known Tae’s mask existed? he wonders how it's only taken 3 days for them to get used to seeing that delicate smile on Tae's face, seeing her happy. The sudden reappearance of the hardened edge of her jaw makes something bitter rise at the back of his throat. 

There's something restless in her like a hummingbird’s heart too, anxious and fluttering but so tired. Her eyelashes are pressed to her cheek as she blinks slowly down at you in her lap like even that action makes her tired. Her cheek lays on the back of the couch, and her body's gone limp.  

Tae looks gray, not like the color but like the feeling, his- no- her face drawn into a frown as she thinks something looking down at you. Your chest moves evenly, you where probably curled around tae’s stomach before she sat up, she sits now with your head in her lap and your tiny hand clasped around one of Tae’s thumbs. 

(This isn’t the first time that Hobi’s brain has unintentionally fucked up Tae’s pronouns although thankfully his mistake has never left his throat. Hobi has been taking great care to train his brain in the right way for Tae the same way someone might train a vining rose in a garden. Occasionally a color still blooms on Tae’s rosebush that Hobi snips off before it can bloom into words. Hobi will only ever use her pronouns, only pink roses and not blue ones bloom in Hobi’s mind when he thinks of Tae). 

Hobi's windbreaker must rustle because Tae looks up, her dark eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, making a quiet noise when she sees him standing there holding the bouquet. Her eyes go wide, warming. 

“Are those for me?” she asks in a hush. The bouquet in his hands feels heavier when he offers them to her over the back of the couch, lowering them so she can press her face into them. 

 “Of course, they are.”  Pink flowers for my pink girl Hobi doesn’t say because Tae makes him shy sometimes. In the way that other alphas and women have always made Hobi shy, maybe because he knew he liked them first. Curse him for not liking one or the other- alphas or omegas, women or men. It’s always been his downfall.

He never expected knowing what women like would come in handy after his last pack (although exceptions could be made maybe for you).  He’d been a little nervous picking these out today. The flowers are not the day-olds or the ones picked too early that might never bloom but from the flower shop's actual inventory. Snagging the nicer flowers from the shop is something that the other employees do on anniversaries and special occasions. 

This is a special occasion, the first Monday that Tae’s ever lived as a girl. Every day when they get to love Tae now as she chooses, in the way that she needs is a special occasion in Hobi’s mind. But he feels more like a schoolboy than he does a packmate, Tae’s face unreadable as she looks at them.  

He and Tae have known each other for years, they’ve been friends for years and lovers for just as long. 

This shouldn’t feel new, but it does. This shouldn't feel scary, but it is.

Handing over the flowers and watching Tae’s face as she bends to sniff them, Hobi’s pulse jumps, his narrow knee bumping against the back of the couch as he fidgets. The flowers are inarguably beautiful, their many petals overlapping like the edge of a ruffled skirt. 

(that was the reason why Hobi chose them; the ruffles of the flowers similar to the alexander McQueen skirt that Jimin had Tae unbox the night before. He’d even convinced her to try it on, and everyone had been substantially pink-cheeked and flustered to see Tae bounce around in a skirt with you for an hour during dinner (You'd put one on too of course because if she was gonna wear one then, of course, you had to be matching).

The white ends of the petals are tinged with pink, the start of their final color. Will they fade and dry? Or rot and fall apart? Only time will tell. 

“I thought you could put them in your library room I thought-” Hobi breaks off, looking at Tae like he might cry, I just want you to be okay and I know that you're not, that this is more difficult than you’ve let on. Just lean on me, please lean on me.

Tae’s fingers tease at the flowers oblivious to the rabid hope rocking through her packmate. The frustration and futility of wanting to help someone who might not want to accept your help.

Her nail beds are all rubbed raw and crusted with blood in places, maybe Hobi's not as worried about that because Yoongi's always been the type to do the same. Still, Jin had given her a thorough scolding and carefully removed the rest at Tae’s request, even though it had broken his heart a little bit to do it. Tae's hands are too precious for so much self-directed violence.

Tae’s eyes hold more of that self-directed violence now.  

Hobi wonders what Jimin is going to say when he comes home tonight. It's not that they'd intentionally kept Tae's (mini episode? Mini breakdown?) from him. But Tae had asked them not to tell Jimin, wretched little gasps of “don’t tell him, please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to make a fuss, Please- I don’t want to disappoint him.” 

And as much as they hate to admit it, Jimin has the habit of letting everything drop for Tae. Jimin would have left work without telling anyone the second he read a text like that. even if they'd put it kindly, "Tae had a rough morning."

But still, someone must have spilled to him, either you or Yoongi (Hobi's betting on you) because the group chat’s been lighting up with texts from Jimin all day. Selfies from Minnie and one of the boys he guards, the one he smokes with. Another picture of the pink lights from backstage, Rows of pink suits for the group's most recent concept. Every time Jimin sees the color pink he's going to think of her now.

 There's no way he won't notice the nail polish when he comes home. 

“I should have gotten you peonies or maybe roses, but I looked at these and I thought-” Hobi breaks off, coming around the couch to sit next to both of you so that Tae doesn’t have to move too much and risk waking you. Sitting down gently to not wake you. Still asleep and oblivious to the obvious shift in the air.

 “I thought you might want to figure out your favorite flower,” Tae’s smile is tentative but genuine, and she holds them better to her chest taking care not to crush them but still holding them like they might impart some beauty onto her. 

“You mean you’re gonna buy me flowers again?”

Hobi holds Tae's hand loosely circling the bouquet, voice hushed and throaty in the quiet. “Aren't boyfriends supposed to buy their girlfriends flowers without them having to ask for them?” 

Tae blinks quickly, and she shuffles, pulling herself closer to Hobi, and the other alpha pulls her head to rest on his shoulder. Tae looks like this house is breaking her, the dysphoria rocks through her so violently that she shakes while Hobi holds her. The word girlfriend, the word she’s always wanted to be called, is now akin to a curse. At least today. Tae hopes Hobi will call her that again on a day when she’s not feeling so…unworthy of it. 

Tae shivers like her body doesn't fit her soul. Does she need to go somewhere else tonight? Is it this house or just her body that’s crushing her right now? Hobi hates tiptoeing around the issue. Dysphoria is heavy, is this what it looks like? Is this what the pack has to fear going forward?

Hobi cups Tae’s cheek, and she leans into it. “Can I steal you away for a bit? like some princess in a castle? Can we go somewhere, Tae? I'm worried about you." Hobi pauses and hesitates. "I'm worried you want to go back to when we didn’t know.” 

Tae huffs a bitter laugh (because leave it to Hobi to conjure up the exact problem afoot). It’s not that the last few days haven’t been the best of her life it’s just- the realities of her life had hit her dead in the face this morning when she’d woken up. The unavoidable facts of what she wanted and yet felt so terrified to do. 

Going to work with even just a hint of her preferred presentation on her isn't safe, to surrender herself to the opinions of others without the safety net of her pack isn’t safe. She doesn’t want to be misgendered, she doesn’t want to put on her stuffy suit and pretend again, and yet- nothing else feels okay. 

Tae isn't used to being uncomfortable and unsafe at the same time. She wonders how you handled it for years, maybe there are some things about womanhood you can't teach.

(There aren't Tae, my sweet thing. Just wait a bit, the secret is that there's no rush. Just give yourself some time. Hardens take time to grow in right, Rome wasn't built in a day, and works of art take years to create. No trans person ever passed perfectly at the beginning).

Her laugh is such a masculine sound that it makes Hobi ache and Tae flinch. How many times did Tae feel this way and hide it? How many times did Hobi inadvertently make her feel like she couldn’t be happy if she wanted to still be loved? It’s the same thoughts that’ve kept them all awake the last few nights. Brainstorming ideas of how to assist in Tae’s transition just a little, even though she’s not transitioning. Not yet, because she's not ready. 

What if I want you all to forget about everything that's happened in the last 3 days, would you? Would you Hobi? If I asked you to make loving me easy but less real? Would you? 

 You make a noise, stretching like a cat and Tae’s focus goes from the flowers and Hobi, down to you in her lap. Her hand goes from your thumb to the side of your cheek and through your hair petting over it gently. Listlessly. The thing that was restless in her quiet now that you're awake. 

Hobi looks down at you and once again, feels that mixture of abject jealousy and understanding. It’s a little too similar to how he felt at the beginning not to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. 

How is it that you always make him jealous in one way or another? First for being the person that Yoongi loves, and now for being the only person in the universe that can love Tae in the right way. 

Maybe one day you'll get easier to be around without Hobi wanting, maybe oneday things won’t feel so fraught.

You’re still half asleep, but you recognize Tae’s touch, even more when it ends. Your omega brain must not register Hobi as a threat because your throat wraps around a noise building and bubbling up to a chirp, small and needy. 

Omega chirps are meant to summon their alphas to them, biologically- they’re supposed to set alphas on edge and trigger the part of their brain that drives them to protect and provide. 

Setting Hobi on edge is exactly what it does, something in him heats hearing that noise and it warms further when Tae instantly restarts her petting, panicked nearly. You let out a smaller, less needy chirp. 

Tae doesn’t look bothered by it, fingers digging into your scalp tempting a pur from your throat.  “Needy little thing.” She murmurs, a little louder than she and Hobi were talking before, trying to draw you out of your drowsiness with a well-placed touch to your mating mark. 

You turn into the touch, blinking against the light, and a smile stretches across your face like a cat in the sun and then, falls heavy like a tree in December when you see Hobi staring down at you too. There must be something in his face that tips you off.  

Hobi swallows back everything he wants to say, willing his heart and his scent into something manageable. Damn his stupid instincts and the proximity that you’re used to now. If we didn’t live together, it might be easier. But Hobi’s instincts still recognize you as both an omega that he cohabitates with and one in his pack. It’s his instincts and only his instincts, that have his pulse jumping when you look up at him. Your scent dips and then evens out after a second too.  

 “We’re gonna go to the beach for a little bit, for a walk.” Hobi’s hand hovers on Tae’s knee, inches from your head on her lap, your cheek smushed against her thigh. You yawn, flashing those pretty little teeth that made those pretty little marks on Yoongi’s hip. 

We were starting to be friends before this weekend, weren’t we? Wasn’t that okay? And then on the other side of things, should I really be the one to make the first step here? Am I really the one who needs to make amends and apologize?  

Hobi takes a deep breath, forgetting every shouldn’t and couldn’t and can’t that clogs the air between you. "Want to join?”

You sit up, your mate’s shirt falling off your shoulder (God that feels weird to think about it in his head) “sure, just let me get some sunscreen!” 

 a skincare routine is just another thing that Jin has insisted upon in your new list of rules, and Hobi watches as you dot it along Tae’s cheeks and blend it out, her smile looking a little less paper thin.  Hobi even tolerates you dotting the rest onto his cheek. he rubs it in stubbornly and probably less than he should. 

Neither of you bothers to change out of your comfy pj's, your purple sweatpants, and Tae's black ones pinched at the ankles.

All of the emotions for the day have already been said, and all of the feelings cannot be poured over or articulated anymore. No- for now you just have to feel them. 

Nothing is better for sorting through your feelings than a good long walk.

The ocean is grey, the same way that Tae is grey today. The water is all seafoam and green, churned up by the oncoming storm. Even the Ferris wheel's lights are dim in the distance, shrouded in moisture and low clouds. If it rains you’ll go back to the car, but Hobi checks his phone before you leave to make sure you won’t get caught.

The ocean spray picks up your hair, making it fly this way and that. It does the same to Tae’s until you clip it back with bobby pins. You don’t usually keep them on hand but since Saturday's haircut. You’ve learned to keep them on your sleeve for her. Tae keeps a hair tie on her wrist for you too and eventually you switch- pinning and tying away your baby hairs so that the wind doesn't put them in your eyes. 

She lags back, letting the salt and the ocean air tear the last bit of sadness from her as she watches you and Hobi. Your paces slow and zig-zag with the oncoming waves. Hobi’s narrow khakis rolled up to his ankles and his shoes in his hands. It’s not an enforced separation; A quarter mile back Tae and Hobi had to wait for you to catch up after you’d gotten preoccupied watching a starfish in a tidepool. 

A bit of greasy bedrock pokes up through the sand. You bob back and forth from each other, walking together sometimes and walking separately. 

Hobi’s a little worried about getting his shoes wet, but you dart after the waves like a little kid, searching for sea spoils and Sea glass among the refuse. A tiny purple shell smaller than a grain of sand that's so cute you drop back to show Tae. A handful of milky sea glass and green chunks. Substantially Delighted.  

Your pants don’t have pockets but Hobi’s do. And after you almost drop your spoils, shrieking trying to avoid the cold water, he extends a hand for them. 

He keeps your tiny treasures safe for you, Jingling in one pocket and then the other when you fill the first up. Turning them so heavy and salt-soggy that Hobi has to pause to re-tie his pants tighter. 

 He grumbles, but his scent is sweet on the wind, Yours is too. Tae’s is the only one that still smells bitter and it’s easily eased away when you grab her hand and just walk.

You don’t force Tae to talk, babbling on and on about how you never did this as a little kid (coney island doesn’t count). Nearly screeching in delight when Hobi finds himself ankle-deep in the water, sleeve dampening as he plunges his hand into the ocean and draws back a tiny tiny shark tooth. You don’t know how he spotted something so small in the receding waves, and your thirst for treasure is reignited when he stoops to show you.  

“Hobi’s the best at finding things” Tae comments, and the compliment summons a faint blush to the alpha’s cheeks. But you take it as a form of competition jumping up on the rocks in favor of searching the cracks and crevices for hidden treasures, your mind swimming with the idea of fanciful things like pearls and pirates' treasure.

Your shoes aren’t the best, Hobi’s eyes stay fixed on them as you balance and scamper across the rocks. The crevasses are deep and he can walk on the sand in places and still stay somewhat close to you. If Jungkook were here right now he'd be right alongside you exploring. Probably balancing on the narrow edge of the peek. 

You’re never very agile, always prone to tottling and bumping into things. Hobi’s noticed it’s in your nature to be clumsy, and it sets him on edge to see you act with such blatant disregard for your own abilities. He follows you, balancing on a piece of driftwood before he thumps back against the wet sand. 

Sue him, he’s an alpha. 

He’s also your alpha, that’s something he conveniently prefers to ignore most of the time. Even as he watches the waves crash, watches you as you move, sleeve catching on a rock, your shoe- those fucking combat boots that Yoongi got you for your date that have stretched and don’t fit your feet as well as they once did. He watches as they stay on the rocks.  

And then when they find a patch of slick green stone, damp from the crashing waves and reseeding tide. 

“Pup!”

Hobi’s hands find your waist a second before you really start to fall, saving you from plummeting down to where the ocean crashes against the sand. It’s not deep water or farther than you are tall- but still. 

The sight of you falling through the air has Hobi’s heart pounding like a bird against his ribs and The panic has him gripping underneath your ribcage and pulling you to his chest where his instincts are screaming at him. Your heart beats rapidly against his fingertips. Thudding blood against his fingers.  

Hobi’s always been strong- not just because he regularly unloads tractor trailers worth of topsoil at work but because he’s an alpha too. He uses that strength to haul you back onto the sand. His own brain screeching panic. 

He sets you down rougher than he should. Holding you by your waist. “You have to be more careful! Jesus fucking christ-” his hair falls over his face, a little wet from the sea spray and it takes you a second to register the pure panic in his eyes, the fear there. 

It takes you another second to register that he’s still holding your waist, a second more than he should a little higher than is proper.

He lets you go only when your boots are on the sand and not balancing on the rocks. Gripping your shoulders instead and giving you a little shake. “Would it kill you to just be more careful!? You can’t do things like that- you can't-"

“I’m- I-“ you stutter.  

He sighs, taking a singular deep breath to calm himself down, setting his hand on your sea spray-damp hair, ruffling it hard and with force- like that will keep you stationary instead of wandering off to somewhere you could get hurt. 

Hobi tries to school his face into something stony but his lower lip trembles and betrays him. “It’s fine, just watch where you’re stepping. Namjoon and Jin would never forgive me if you came home with a skinned knee or bruises or-”

Tae snorts, blinking at the two of you when you turn, both of you suddenly remember that you have an audience, a witness. Stepping apart when you register Tae watching the both of you. Though you hadn’t realized you’d been standing so close to Hobi, close enough to scent him. 

 “That's not exactly true. If something happened, no one would blame you.” She falls into step beside you, her hand brushing across your shoulder to verify that you’re okay. Tae pushes your hair back from your face and Hobi realizes the excuses are flimsy and just that; excuses. 

“Fine, fuck it, jump into the ocean for all I care- Jin’s the one you’ll have to contend with if you come home with a cold.”

He walks off in a huff, but you and Tae stay close behind. And Hobi makes sure he’s never more than a few feet in front of you, watching you in his peripheries, making sure you don't go too close to the shore or rocks again. Moving with you the same way that sand and seashells move by the ocean’s pull, the same way that the water follows the moon, listlessly reaching. 

Hobi pretends his hands aren’t tinglingly with the memory of what it felt like to cup your waist, how slight you felt underneath his hands when he lifted you, and you pretend that it’s the cold wind that’s bitten a blush onto your cheeks and not the touch of an alpha. 

Perhaps the only one that you’re not allowed to want. To think about. To dream of.

Tae raises her eyebrows at you wordlessly and you shake your head before you walk a little faster, your short legs struggling to put your pace ahead of hers so that you can hide your blush from her too. 

Hobi remembers that slight feeling, how lifting you hardly felt like lifting anything at all. Now I understand why the others fuss over your weight so much, fucking hell- 

Eventually, through no verbal discussion, you stop looking down at your feet, and Hobi’s zigzag path points towards the boardwalk. Your steps get uneven in the loose sand the closer you get and both of you pause so that Hobi can wash his feet off before he puts his sneakers back on. 

There are very very few people in the fast-food place today, though maybe that’s because it’s so late in the afternoon on a weekday or because of the weather, with neither school out nor dinner time shy- it’s not the same one that Hobi took you and Yoongi too that night weeks ago. Just a slightly overpriced shop that feeds the tourists on the boardwalk. 

 You sit, the only group to occupy the salt-smooth picnic tables, warn from the ocean like driftwood. You sit on Tae’s side of the table while Hobi orders (not before your cold hand catches the edge of his warm sweatshirt and ask to see your ocean haul). 

You’re like one part of Tae’s being- smiling at her and giggling with her and making her feel the way they can’t, holding her hand so she doesn’t fall apart while you sort your sea glass by color. hobi watches tae lean in, dotting a kiss at your temple, watches a smile round out your cheeks and tae lean in to bite at them, your giggles echoing off the high metal and the corrugated roof like something musical. 

Hobi’s so busy watching you that the person Infront of him advances and picks up their to-go order before he can even look at the menu, distracted by the sight of you two looking some type of way that has his chest aching. It's probably just heartburn. “Can I help you?” Hobi’s gaze darts back. 

“Yeah sorry,” he bites his lower lip. “Can I have-“

I never thought I’d learn to love from you. 

Hobi gets two plates of fried dough and a small order of french fries with cheese just because. And when he takes them back to the two of you, you share bites from the same fork. Your cheeks quickly speckled with powdered sugar and Hobi’s fingertips turn greasy. Hobi holds the fork out, careful to keep his palm balanced against Tae's chin so that the powdered sugar doesn't get everywhere, then he feeds you just the same.  

Jin is probably going to kill the three of you when he finds out you spoiled your dinner with something sweet. But somehow, when he sees the smile warming Tae’s cheeks at the first bite of fried dough, Hobi knows Jin won’t really care. You’re eating and Tae’s happy. And somehow that’s all that matters. 

Hobi got an extra-large lemonade for the free refills and the three of you pass it back and forth, none of you bothering with different straws. Hell, Hobi’s pretty sure he’s gotten indirect kisses from you countless times before, either by kissing Yoongi or Jin or Namjoon or any of them really. 

And that fact isn’t lost on him when he presses the fork to his mouth, or when he tastes sweet sips after you. He’s just not sure why it matters now, why he’s watching your lips wrap around the straw. His Brain preoccupied with it for some fucking reason. 

(Alphas are driven biologically to want omegas, it’s just biology, that’s what Hobi tells himself when he watches you sip the lemonade his lips have touched).

He remembers Namjoon’s words the night before last, bodies tangled sweetly while they talked it out. Before the girl day, before he’d woken up and made pancakes with you. Before any of it; he'd curled up between the pack alpha and omega, shivering at every brush of Jin's hand through his hair, a little touch starved as always but so willing to be on the receiving end of some cuddling.  

“Of course, I’m upset that they weren’t honest with us, but at least now we know that they won’t leave. We always knew they were a package deal, and now we have a reason why.” 

Maybe a month ago, Hobi would have been mad at Namjoon for saying that, but relationships like this are a careful balance of mutual trust, love, and understanding. Hobi understands the pack alpha if nothing less. Hobi has a reason now, and a reason is more than enough for most people.  

Hobi wonders why part of him felt relieved when he said that. Why the fact that you might not ever leave- that you might be tethered to Yoongi and therefore them forever might feel like a good thing even if Hobi would never admit it out loud.

You ask to see the shark tooth and he obliges you, your fingertips grainy with powdered sugar when they scrape against his palm, leaving his skin tingling. You've organized your spiral shells first, your chunks of sea glass in color order from ocean blue to gauzy white, leaving the small little lopsided shark tooth for last at the middle of the table where it won’t get lost. 

Tae doodles on a napkin, always with a pen at the ready. At least that hasn’t changed (maybe nothing has). When you stand up, your collection is returned to Hobi’s pocket and you get up to put away their trays, totting off.  

They get up too, and while putting on his jacket Hobi jumps, feeling hands on his ass as Tae slides the napkin with what was written into Hobi’s pack pocket, it triggers a string of giggles even more when Tae pats it and Hobi jumps. Her smile makes a reappearance, just as sweet for Hobi as it was for you. 

“For later, for a thank you.” She says, pressing a slow and sensual kiss to Hobi’s mouth, pecking it carefully and with intention. Hoping that Hobi can feel every bit of thankfulness and love in the kiss. 

“For a thank you.” She repeats.

It's started to drizzle while you've been eating, not enough to be called rain but enough for Hobi to put up his hood. You walk back and the way feels longer now that your stomachs are all full. Your cheeks turn tacky with the mist and Tae starts to feel vaguely sick in an overfull way the closer and closer you get to the car. In companionable quiet you walk, Tae’s hand clasped in yours, and Tae’s other clasped in Hobi’s just as tenderly. 

Just as you get to it, Hobi’s phone rings and lights with Yoongi’s name. He takes the call outside, unlocking the door so you can get into the car and out of the rain.  

He’d sent a text to the beta to let him know where they were going but He’s not surprised that Yoongi thought to call when it got late. The lights of the shops are just beginning to shine neon, probably triggered by the lack of light from the overhead clouds, on earlier than usual.

Yoongi's voice is measured, there's something in the back of it. Something thick like worry. “Hey, are you going to be back soon?” 

“Yeah, we’re just getting on the road now.” 

Yoongi sounds like he wants to say something, his voice has that odd lilt to it, the kind it gets when too much emotion is filling up his head, some of his ocean sadness left to spill out. If Hobi closes his eyes he can almost pretend that he’s right next to him. Yoongi has always smelled like the ocean, like sea salt and chocolate when he's happy, and just the sea when he's stormy and brooding. 

He's almost panicked when he asks it, hope in his voice the way it always is when he talks of you. “Are they okay? Did they have fun by the water?”

“Yeah, they’re okay- I’ve” Hobi watches the two of you in the car, you pass a piece of sea glass to Tae in the front seat, and her smiling at you, saying something that has you laughing loud. “I’ve got her.” 

“Listen, there's something. A reason why I’ve called.” The shells in Hobi’s pocket jingle as he leans up against the car. Fingers drumming against the hood. One of you hits the roof back in reply and when Hobi pulls back he finds tae grinning up at him. 

“You’ve never called without a reason before.” He teases, but Yoongi’s voice only goes more serious in reply.

“Hoseok,” Hobi swallows at the sound of his full name. 

“We’re at the hospital. Jungkook had another seizure.”

~-~

“I swear if you don’t stop your fucking fussing, I’m going to get up and start doing burpees, I’m absolutely fine hyung.”

The little heart sticker on Jungkook’s index finger hasn’t started to chip, and it flashes like a tiny fleck of blood when he taps them against the papery sheets, his own clothes folded at the foot of the bed, leaning forward so Namjoon can get at his back with his stethoscope through the hospital gown.  

You've never seen Jungkook like this, never seen him connected to so many machines, or seen him as anything other than kookie- the strong omega. He's had seizures in front of you before, but never one that required him to be taken to the hospital. You stay close to Tae and Jimin, your mate close to jungkook by necessity. The closer he stays with his scent the faster Jungkook's recovery will be. 

“I thought I felt one coming on so I just started stretching like you told me. I’m like 99.9% certain that I didn’t fall or hit my head. Jin-hyung I’m fine just-”

“Bullshit Kookie, you were down for a whole 6 minutes pup” Jin bikers. Hobi and Jimin fidget, and Namjoon sighs, putting away his stethoscope after listening to Jungkook’s breathing for the 4th time. Although it's hard when he insists on speaking through it. He checks the pup’s pupils again, but there’s nothing. Nothing at all abnormal. 

The small hospital room is crowded with the whole pack, a whole mess of tangled scents. For as good as you all smell when you’re happy when that's not the case you smell god awful.  Ocean and rain from you and Yoongi, spoiled milk and rotten flowers from Jin and Jungkook as well as the anti-seizure medication that turns Jungkook’s scent a little bit murkier and medical just like Hobi's artificial-smelling caramel burnt sugar. Tae smells like pepper and Jimin like gunpowder. 

It sets Namjoon on edge. The pack waits on his words. His own scent isn’t exactly the most pleasant or the most comforting. Tangled with the smell of dying people and Namjoon’s sadness barely leashed by the blocker spray. He gets up, head spinning and grabbing Jungkook’s chart, checking it over again searching for something to justify the lurching in his stomach, the helplessness that always hits him. 

Although doctors are explicitly forbidden from operating on packmates, Namjoon’s fellow attending neurosurgeon is only in his first year at the hospital, and Namjoon’s judgment as a neurosurgeon and pack alpha will be final seeing as the head of neurosurgery has taken the night off. And it’s not like anyone but Namjoon could know Jungkook’s health better, not when he’s spent the last 5 years at this hospital and the last 4 loving him.

The pack waits, quiet. Yoongi holds Jungkook’s hands on the bedspread, Jin crosses his arms. “As much as I hate to admit it, there is nothing here that indicates risk for another episode or a need for overnight observation.”

“Episode.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. Namjoon closes the chart, putting the pen in his pocket and evading Jin’s gaze in favor of Jungkook’s. He doesn’t like when doctors ignore him in favor of talking to the rest of the pack, even if that doctor also happens to be his pack alpha. “I’m going to go get your discharge papers but don’t leave yet. I’m coming home with you.”  

Namjoon leaves because the sooner he does the sooner he can come home. The sooner this day can be put to bed and Jungkook can go back to being his happy-go-lucky self. Not exactly healthy, But healthy just enough to be free.  

Namjoon dreads the day that he isn't.

He knows that a part of Jungkook will fade and die that day. And it has him itching to pour over the medical literature again just in the hope of finding something he might have missed the first or second or third time he studied the same papers. Something that might help Jungkook and make it all feel less futile.  

A pair of footsteps join him, light and delicate. You follow Namjoon when he leaves the room because Jungkook has more than enough people fussing over him right now, and as much as you hate to admit it, there's nothing you can do to make it better.

You still don’t like hospitals, and your last run-in has left you with a stronger distaste for them. Namjoon notices you come out after him, standing there in the sterile white hallway. After a moment of braving the tangle of overhead announcements and rushing nurses, he pulls you in for a hug. You squeeze the pack alpha hard around his waist as hard as you can and it forces a tired laugh from the alpha's chest.

He looks down at you, and you think his eyes might be suspiciously wet. “You know, things have been so busy these last few days I completely forgot to tell you that we missed your last appointment.” 

You whine pressing your face harder into his shirt. Scenting him to try and calm him down, to comfort your alpha. “We should miss the next one too.” 

 Namjoon sighs, and you pull back watching your pack alpha rub his tired eyes. “God, I fucking hate it here. I’ve been working so much I feel like I've been letting everything lapse,” 

He freezes as if realizing that he's talking to you and not Jin, not the packmate that he usually unloads his worries on. But you just keep rubbing your face against his chest, scenting him until he relaxes again. “It's not your fault Joonie, it hasn't been the most routine week.” Yeah, but I’m the one who's supposed to be there when you all have a tough week, He thinks but doesn’t say. 

You follow him to the charting station like a little duckling and Namjoon doesn’t growl or comment to any of his coworkers as their gaze follows you. Namjoon continues to fill out his last chart, eyebrows continuing to furrow, closing out and clocking out. Letting his feelings of inadequacy go because he knows they aren’t helpful.

Your fingers balance on the edge of the station tapping. Staying behind it because if you see the screen then that’s a HIPPA violation and that’s the last thing Namjoon needs to deal with right now. Namjoon watches as two of the nurses lean in close to mutter something at each other, gaze flickering to you then Namjoon, straightening up when they’re caught looking.  

(He's entirely unaware that the whole hospital has been buzzing with the news of the hot doctor's newest packmate since your last visit, that there has been all manner of rumors spread about you. "I hear she was a model; I hear she's already mated to someone in the pack."

"What? thats so quick! It can't be Dr. Kim? Can it?"

"You act like you've even got a chance, have you ever seen his pack omega? he looks like he walked off the front page of vogue. If I had to bet money on it I'd say the red-haired alpha.")   

He steps a little closer to you. Their eyes are on the screen in front of him but he’s not paying attention to it at all. “I could have sworn there was something else I was forgetting.”

You wait, perched on the edge of his little digital documentation station, fingers curled over the sides. You realize it the same moment he does, your eyes lighting up at the same time, first in recognition and then in horror. The memory, weeks ago, Namjoon, his lips on your knuckles. murmuring against your skin, “I’d like the chance to take you out on a date, just the two of us.” 

You shoot up, rocking back and forth on your heels, “Fuck, weren’t we supposed to go on a date!?” 

Namjoon puts his head in his hands and groans.

~-~

Just before midnight, Jungkook is carefully guided from the hospital and into Namjoon’s car, he tries to protest against the wheelchair but it's necessary given how dizzy he gets. On the way home, you and Tae go in Hobi’s car Yoongi takes the driver's seat. Jungkook and Jimin are in the other car with the pack alpha and omega because none of them had wanted to risk being separated from him for long. Namjoon leaves his car only because Yoongi promises to pick him up the next morning. 

Sitting down, Hobi hears and feels the crumple of the napkin in his back pocket. Fishing it out after a moment while you and Tae buckle in. Yoongi backs out of the parking spot, hand on the back of Hobi's Headrest. 

Your scents are gentle and mellow on account of how tired all of you are. In the other car Jin and Namjoon talk. "We should really get a Tahoe or something for all of us, so that we don't have to split up into separate cars." Namjoon hums, agreeing in the quiet. “Are we really a minivan type of pack though?”

It’s a poem, just a short one written in Tae’s familiar scrawl. Hobi straightens because no one gets to read Tae’s poetry, not more than a line or two of it. And to be given one is something else- something new. He reads it by the passing streetlights, cutting across the napkin yellow and lovely in the night quiet. 

let’s walk along the beach and see what we find To words unspoken,  and dark whispers made kind.  Hungry mouths found pointing to safer shores To the purple roof on the corner,  where we feast on fried dough.

We’ll stop when you get tired,  and you’ll stop when I get bored.  our pockets full of your tiny treasures  Sea glass, shark tooth, Bobby pin.  (Sunshine, smile, Kiss).

It’s the last stanza that takes Hobi’s breath away, making it come in little stutters.

My heart next to your heart Lay your soul down beside mine. And if you should get lonely  For a hand that understands  You can take mine,  put it in your pocket  and get lost among the sand. 

Hobi’s heart is in his throat your name on his tongue tastes like something Hobi never should have gotten the chance to taste. But when he looks up, he finds Tae’s watching him reflected in the mirror. Eyes Dark as pirate glass and twice as discerning. Watchful. Like There isn’t a thing that goes on in the pack that Tae doesn’t already know about; Including the nature of Hobi's heart. 

When you fell, Hobi could feel your heartbeat. Thudding against his hands. there's no way that Tae could know that and yet-

Tae knows something that Hobi doesn’t, even if she won’t say it yet. You’re starting to love her, aren’t you? I wish you knew it was okay, I wish you knew I think she’s falling in love with you too. But Tae knows that Hobi would deny it, categorically, and that voicing her suspicions might only alienate the two of you.  

So, she stays silent and holds your hand on the seat. Holds your hand harder when you start to nod off a little. because she’s your alpha, she’s here for you, the same way Hobi is. 

Hobi folds the poem carefully, puts it in his wallet right next to your train ticket. Then he turns the radio to your favorite song and doesn’t say a fucking word for the rest of the ride home. 

 ~-~

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[bulletproofscales]

august heat day 6 - wild (vhope)

writing this in class just to feel something

[ ± _ ± ]

tags: vhope , royal au , prince hoseok , omega hoseok , chubby hoseok , alpha taehyung , hybrid taehyung , tiger taehyung m weigth gain , chubby taehyung ,domesticated, spoiling , royal pet , posessive taehyung

1.3k

It was a gift. 

He was a gift. 

Once Hoseok presented as an omega, he would need something, someone, to accompany him through heats until he found a proper suitor to share the crown with him. His parents gifted him a pet. 

Taehyung. 

Though, his parents would soon regret it. As Taehyung would become much… much better than any possible suitor for the young omega prince. 

The concubine alpha was a hybrid. A tiger hybrid at that. He was almost completely feral when he arrived at the castle. Needing a collar and a chain to restraint from clawing the eyes of his guards.

 For Hoseok it was love at first sight. 

A complete thrashing of all the rules and structure he’s grown to respect. Taehyung was wild and unlimited. From the start he spoiled the tiger rotten, the prince released his chains that same night, and defended him after he severely injured two guards. Hoseok let him have anything he wanted, treating Taehyung like his very own prince.

And the tiger was quick to accept all of the omega’s gifts. Warming up to him and only him. Considered untamable, if not downright dangerous to everyone else but Hoseok. To whom he transformed into a purring delightful kitten. Almost turning lethargic and spoiled by castle life. He softened up, losing his shredded body, adjusted to the routine of a hunter. Chubby and jiggly and more resembling of a house cat than the apex predator he once was. 

There’s still sights of it still, in the way he play-hunts in the gardens, or brings Hoseok (quite honestly disgusting) gifts of actual animals he hunts for the young prince. He always accepts them, fearful of just the mere possibility of hurting the tiger’s feelings. But overtime, Taehyung has taken a liking for cooked meals more than his usual hunts. His courting gifts not anymore dead doves he’s virtuously caught, but instead stolen plates from the royal kitchen. 

Hoseok never able to resist the alpha’s suddenly gentle and careful motions as he hand feeds the prince. And he makes sure to always feed Taehyung back. Hoseok isn’t sure if it's instinct, or just sheer adoration, but he is overpowered by the need to show Taehyung everything, his favorite books, surround him in only the comfiest bedding, feed him only the best and his most favorite dishes. 

Who could resist the cuddly purring love of an alpha? One that clings to him when Hoseok wakes up, whines for him to stay when Hoseok has his duties to attend to. That sometimes is so overtaken by arousal that he can’t care about time and place, instead snatching Hoseok animalistically like Taehyung simply can’t help himself. Following Hoseok like a shadow because he can’t bear the thought of Hoseok being unprotected, untrusting even of his guards. Stronger than most of them even with his softened form.

How could all this adoration ever be matched by a flimsy courting gift of another noble? 

Still, his parents always insist on Hoseok taking time out of his day to see possible suitors. “And leave the cat.” They’d say, no matter how many times Hoseok has told his parents their name. And every time, Hoseok would yawn his way through forced dates, through desperate alpha men and women trying to get his attention to no avail. At this point,Hoseok was beginning to develop a  bit of a reputation too: the untamable omega. 

Though, these dates weren’t a complete waste of his time. Because every second Hoseok spent with other alphas, forcefully away from Taehyung’s sight, riled the tiger up to an almost feral state. A part of Hoseok liked making his alpha wait. But all the guards stand as witnesses of his eager strutting through the castle back to his room. His own chubby belly bouncing in his step. 

Hoseok can’t take a step into his room, before the tiger is pressing him against the door, closing it with their bodies squished together. Clawed hands sinking into the chub of Hoseok’s hips. Making the omega’s knees tremble as he leans his weight against the door. Taehyung’s tongue is pressing to the juncture in his neck possessively, and the prince doesn’t resist to bare his neck for him.

“I–I know… I stink.” He whispers, eyes fluttering as they stare up at the ceiling. Only to be met with a growling response from Taehyung. Hoseok knows he lost the alpha’s entire capability of speech when he gets like this. His hands drag to the front of Hoseok’s stomach, rubbing up to his perkier chest. Too eager to undo the lace and buttons on his clothes, Taehyung grips into the silky fabric and rips it open. Not wasting another second as his lips begin to kiss their way down his omega’s softened body. 

His back arching away from the door and closer to Taehyung’s eager lips. As he feels his thoughts become mush, the pressure of marriage, of being the next heir to the throne, they all melt into a fuzzy sensation. Thighs pressing together as he begins the distinct feeling of slick that slides down the back of his leg. 

Taehyung must smell it too, if the groan of delight is anything to go by. His fingers sink into the newfound chub of his waist and flips the omega over. “Yes!” He can’t help but moan as his cheek, chest and belly press against the cold wooden door. His back arching to present himself for the alpha. 

He can feel Taehyung’s own belly press against his chubby back. Big hands aggressively tug at Hoseok’s pants, worshiping his legs as he slides them down. And eagerly collecting all the slick as they slide back up. His fingers press right over Hoseok’s womb, sinking into the chub, as his own bulge presses between Hoseok’s cheeks.

It makes the omega’s legs tremble in want. He smiles against the door. “A–ah.. You got naked for me already?” His smile only widening as he gets another grunt in response. “My kitten was jealou-” Hoseok’s cocky tone melts into a helpless moan, as Taehyung slams into him without hesitation. The omega’s body already adapted to his size, but it never stops making Hoseok’s body completely melt. Fingers uselessly curving against the door for support. But he doesn’t have to worry, as Taehyung’s hands prop him upwards by the hips, angling his back how he pleases before thrusting into the prince. 

Their bodies jiggle together, Hoseok’s belly rhythmically slapping against the door. He is sure his guards can hear, if their moaning isn’t loud enough to be heard through the entire west wing of the castle. Hoseok can feel his eyes rolling back as Taehyung’s hands move from the death grip in his hips to wrap around his body; keeping him impossibly close. Thrusting so deep Hoseok can feel it in his womb. His instincts are screaming for his alpha’s knot. 

Ever a man of few words Taehyung’s lips brush against the prince’s ear. Voice only a harsh breathy whisper when he says. 

“You’re mine.” 

He is starting to feel the bulge of Taehyung’s knot forming at the base of his dick, thickening it as it needs more strength to slam in. But Hoseok can’t wait, mewling as he comes against the carved wooden door. Legs threatening to give in as they shiver with his own orgasm. Taehyung doesn’t hold back. Handling Hoseok’s weight like it's nothing as he presses himself closer, sinking in deeper as his thrusts become more erratic, now that his omega’s pleasure is dealt with. His knot comes next. Absolutely instinctual and animalistic as Hoseok gets cross-eyed with overstimulation. 

Feeling himself freed from every expectation, right now, he is just Taehyung’s omega.

[longstoryoongi]

lost in paradise? ✧･ﾟ:*

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[luviestarz]

bts ✼

one day | ksj drabble

you and your boyfriend are spending your holiday in malta, but you've no idea that during your stay he realizes something very important – until he tells you and you couldn't be happier

Last November (M) - seokjin

you two broke up on good terms. even seeing each other on your friends’ yearly end-of-november trip was never awkward. so why did this trip feel so different? and why does it feel like the end of something that wasn’t even there in the first place?

starry night (m) | jjk

all you wanted to do was take your boyfriend on a super late date.

hair dye: the collection - jungkook

The Stranger (Jin x Reader)

She was rather beautiful, young, but beautiful. In fact, the position he had found her in was a horrifically ethereal scene. She was lying face up in the snow, her arms somehow positioned so delicately from her being thrown from the vehicle. He could tell she had injured her head as well, scarlett drops of blood had streamed down the contours of her face and a pool of blood had formed beneath her sprawled tresses. She looked like she had a crimson halo beneath her head, carving it’s way into the soft, white snow under her. She was ethereal, like an angel that he had found just after they had been dropped from heaven. Forever resting, forever beautiful, and forever young.      

addiction - jungkook

Everyone thinks student council president Jeon Jungkook is perfect although he hides a secret and that’s his obsession with you. However, it seems like somebody else is aware of it too. Why else would your brother approach Jungkook with naked photos of you?

newtons law - jimin

(She’s a college exchange student in Korea, and also happens to be Jimin’s Physics partner. )

millisecond - jungkook

(Jungkook just can’t get enough of you, but is too afraid to make a move, so he just admires you from afar, every day.)

collection of bts fics  

home : risky birthday - jungkook

In which you really don't know how he talked you into this.

dirty apartment - jungkook

your shy stalker breaks into your apartment.

delugguk masterlist (bts)

thebangtancloud masterlist (bts)

aquagustd masterlist (bts)

flwrkisses masterlist (txt,bts)

jxngh masterlist (bts)

stayjimin masterlist (bts)

minniepetals masterlist (bts)

vhope masterlist (bts)

ninetailedfoxmanchi masterlist (bts)

mercurygguk masterlist (bts)

bratkook masterlist (bts)

smileysuh masterlist (ateez -  bts - got7 - monstax - nct - ptg - svt - skz

cosmotae masterlist (bts)

fast forward - JJK

If every single person you knew was against you, it wouldn’t matter, doesn’t matter because Jungkook would be there for you. That’s why you don’t question his words when he repeats ‘I’ll be back’ one disconcerting morning, and you respond with ‘I know. I trust you.’ He’ll make you eat your words.

Heartstrings - jungkook

Head over heels and desperately shy, Jungkook is determined to ask you to be his Valentine’s. 

in which jungkook wants to see you smile.

just a little... | jjk drabble

jungwnies masterlist (txt, bts, enhypen)

Smau Fics Recommandations (nct, txt, bts)

NOW WE’RE EVEN - jungkook smau

in which in a serious of unfortunate events a piece of paper promising jungkook she'd do anything to return a favour comes back to haunt y/n. who would've thought jungkook would actually ask her to return the favour and expect her to be his fake girlfriend. oh well, accidents happen and jungkook never forgets promises.

Social Media AU Fics | JJK

"big tiddie anime bitches" | jjk

Jungkook, bless his heart, has an obsession. An obsession with big titty anime girls and the idea of you dressed as them. His birthday is coming up, what better time to fulfil his weeb fantasies than on Jungkook's special day.

onlyswan masterlist (bts)

lifeguard!jungkook

jungshookz masterlist (bts)

jungkook fic recs ⇝ part ii

whipped - JJK

another day, another trend that you’re forced to participate in with your boyfriend. It was his idea but he somehow gets sidetracked, with his head between your thighs.

so, give me all your kisses - jungkook

after one long, tiring month, all jungkook craves is his lover's kisses.

JJK: Social Media Format

campus affairs | jeon jungkook

you transferred to a new college during second semester and you didn’t expect much excitement out for. that’s until jungkook came along and what had struggled to be a friendship was becoming so much more.

Fall Back in Love | jjk

jungkook somehow grew a reputation of sleeping around on campus, leaving him lonely and inexperienced with relationships. so when you, his old childhood best friend moves onto campus, he discovers what a relationship can feel like as he finds himself falling in love with you

— the one where jimin is not supposed to freak out but he freaks out anyway.

jimin does not enjoy getting calls that let him know you’re in hospital, even if they give you chocolate pudding.

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬: jjk

it’s not often your boyfriend calls you with a cryptic message to come over; especially when he’s meant to be at his parents’ place for the holidays.

paired & puppy-eyed | jjk

When Jeon Jungkook agrees to be your partner for a class project, he doesn’t realize what that might escalate to until you show up at his door in a teeny-tiny crop top and cling to his tattooed arm like his naughty little kitten.

guys my age | jeon jungkook

a summer spent at your friend’s place wasn’t something to be anything to look forward to. her hot, young dad would seem to change that for you when you decide a game of teasing would suffice your boredom. you got more than you bargained for when you realize he’s not a fan of games.

redamancy - jjk (part II)

jeongguk is just a normal dude with a simple routine. wake up, go to the gym, work his job as a waiter at this posh upscale restaurant in the heart of gangnam before coming home to a night full of video games and ramen (it's delicious and cheap). that routine gets disrupted when he accidentally taps the back of an expensive sports car of one of the richest men in south korea. considering he's broke, he couldn't afford to pay for the damages so the man makes a deal with him by offering him to work at his house as one of the gardeners. jeongguk takes it but wasn't prepared to meet this beautiful young woman who's constantly lounging by the pool, you, the rich man's daughter.

perfect timing. - jungkook

one night in a city full of life; what it's supposed to be a friendly and fun dinner date, ends up with a night full of unrevealed secrets and unexpected pleasure.

[1:58am] | park jimin

established! relationship, fluff, smut, soft sex, love, affection, bathtub sex, physical touch, feels

[10:29pm] | jeon jungkook

established!relationship, smut, mirror sex, love, reader kinda has low self esteem, jungkook wants her to see herself how he sees her, slight angst?

Toned, Tanned, Fit & Ready - jungkook

Jungkook loves acting like the word "Pain" doesn't exist in his vocabulary.

risqué ; timestamp #15

lovesick (I) - yandere ot7 x (f) reader

summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

cw; manager/idol relationship (jimin x fem!reader), photographer!jk, soft yandere!jk, pining!jk, idol!reader (apart of a group), unprotected sex, dirty talk, dom/dom (jimin/reader), jacking off (jungkook relieving himself), public sex, voyeurism, getting caught peeping, peeping tom!jk

romantic dreams | jeon jungkook

summary: he’s always dreamt of finding his soulmate in some romantic way, bells ringing, birds chirping, maybe even a shine of light over their head. he never imagined to find them living next door to him with absolutely no clue to the extent of the growing infatuation he has toward you until it’s a little too late. hypnotized by your entire existence he finds his dreams and delusions of love to be a little too intense for anyone to bear.

[jemshopes]

The First Weekend Away [vhope]

--Vhope Prompt

--new parents vhope

It's giving peaceful, soft, romantic weekend trip to a beautiful lake-house. Parents vhope haven't had time for much of anything but work and looking after the two children they've adopted. Two children, they said, so they'll grow up together, they said. It won't be that hard, they said. The kids will amuse each other, they said.

As it turns out babies who don't have the ability to sit up yet can't amuse each other. And Hoseok and Taehyung are exhausted and of course haven't had a moment alone together in months.

They're not complaining, they're not even unhappy. They love their babies and they wouldn't trade them for the world. And even if it means they only get to kiss occasionally and sleep occasionally and they aren't really eating that well because it's difficult to cook and look after babies and keep babies from crying all at the same time, they're horrified when their friends Jimin and Yoongi suggest they go away for the weekend. Without the babies. They can't leave their babies behind. They can't. Hoseok is going to cry if they do. They'll both spend the weekend too stressed to enjoy anything.

Yoongi convinces them to go. Jimin knows babies–he's been babysitting Yoongi's kid for years now. Yoongi has a kid of his own that isn't dead or anything so obviously he can handle them well enough. If it'll help, they'll send pictures of the babies every few hours to prove they're well. If Hoseok and Tae want they can have a call every morning and night too, but the babies aren't going to do much besides dribble and lay there.

And so Hoseok and Tae go to the lake-house Jimin has booked for them. They spend a very peaceful weekend together.

It's the middle of summer and everything is warm and sleepy and slow. Tae has always been an early bird, so when Hoseok is asleep in the mornings he sits down by the lake to work on his writing. Then he goes back up to the house and wakes Hoseok and they spend the rest of the morning kissing and doing… other things… taking their time because that's how they've always liked it. They have a bath together after breakfast and spend far too long in there. They lie in the grass on the lawn, they cuddle, they kiss, they relax. They know Yoongi and Jimin are more than capable of looking after their babies. It'll be okay, they tell each other whenever they start to worry.

When it's time to go home they tell each other they think they could do this again.

--the end–

[nixierecs]

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feb 2023: hi everyone, this is nixie!

you also find me〘 main blog 〙,〘 gfx blog 〙,〘 incorrect bts 〙

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my 'to read' list┊AO3┊Tumblr

➸ this list contains member X member and member x reader fics

➸ this blog only contains female!reader or gn!reader fics

➸ please remember to read all warnings on each fic carefully. continue to read any fic at your own discretion. some fics may also contain smut and will be tagged accordingly so minors do not engage

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BTS┊Stray Kids┊TXT

➸ i only read skz and txt fics occasionally so they will only be tagged as "stray kids/TXT" and "[ member(s) ]"

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solos: seokjin┊yoongi┊hoseok┊namjoon┊jimin┊taehyung┊jungkook

duos:

yoonmin┊taekook┊namjin┊yoonjin┊2seok┊jinmin┊taejin ┊jinkook┊sope┊namgi┊taegi┊yoonkook┊namseok┊jihope┊vhope┊hopekook┊minjoon┊namtae┊namkook┊jikook┊vmin

multiple:

ot7┊yoonkookmin

relationships:

member x member┊member x reader

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1k┊5k ┊< 10k┊< 15k┊< 20k┊< 25k┊< 30k┊> 30k

drabble┊oneshot┊twoshot┊series┊smau┊masterlist

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au: assistant┊badboy┊biker┊bodyguard┊camping┊camp counselors┊established relationship┊fake dating┊fake marriage┊fantasy┊flower shop┊fuckboy┊idol┊marriage┊photographer┊rockband┊soulmates┊streamer┊university┊non-idol┊arranged marriage┊gender swap┊tattoo shop

?2L: childhood friends to lovers┊enemies to lovers┊exes to lovers┊friends to lovers┊idiots to lovers┊roommates to lovers┊strangers to lovers┊friends with benefits to lovers┊classmates to lovers

genre: angst┊fluff┊smut┊angst & smut┊fluff & smut┊angst & fluff┊angst & fluff & smut┊hurt/comfort

[pudgecuddles]

Pudgecuddles Fic Masterlist!

See below the cut for links to Completed, WIP and future projects...

Completed:

Side Effects May Include (OT7 Prompt Anthology)

Fat Brat Namjoon (NamGi Prompt)

Fat Omegas (Idol A/B/O Prompt)

Vocal Media (VHope Short Story)

Yoongi’s Seven Sins (Yoongi Prompt)

Yoongi at the Bar (Yoongi Prompt)

Fattening the Maknae (Idol AU Prompt)

Under Pressure (TaeKook Gas Story)

Fat-ernity (TaeJoon Fraternity AU Story)

WIPS:

Where No Man has Grown Before (NamSOPE Star Trek AU)

Mad Science (NJ Choose Your Own Adventure Game)

Jin’s Hybrid Fattening Center (Feeder-Jin Hybrid AU)

Five Fifteen (Sequel to Fat-ernity)

A Couple RPs with @taeslovehandles

No Content Available Yet:

My old self-insert feeder/fat BTS members game on my old computer, Club Soda, Catering to Their Needs, Family Union, Mighty Morphin’ Power Bottom

[plumadot]

Hi!!! Omg I freaking LOVE your art 😭😭😭😭 Idek how many times I’ve read each of your stories (were bunny and the songs au are my ABSOLUTE favourite comfort place💜💜💜)

I was wondering if you’d be continuing any of the AUs ? Will we be seeing more of the tannies in the future?

Anyways ly bub :)

-⭐️

thank youuuuu 🥺🥺🥺 i really would like to continue the superhero au because hoseok's character and his dynamic with joon are my favourite and they only exist in my brain so far... and i have many thoughts for the season's greetings villains regarding taejoon and yoonmin and vhope and namjin and mmmmm ,,, but those are all so serious and drawing stuff that's not silly is hard hfbgxvfhd so i might just come up with something silly like werebunny out of nowhere again and focus on that instead xvx i'm really happy you like them ;v;

[ggukkiereads]

hiii! long LONG ago I read this sope fic, maybe you or your followers have heard of it? it was a soulmate ao3 au (you see the world in black and white, but when you meet your soulmate the world become colorful). yoongi didnt believe in soulmates and was so prepared to reject his soulmate when he meet him. long story short, hobi was his soulmate and he is BLIND! so yoongi is the only one that knows that they are soulmates and he starts falling for him :( also there was a side namjin and vhope

🌷 Hi there! Sorry I don’t know this, my MxM readings are quite limited or sometimes just random twt thread I see on my feed that catches my attention but I won’t have a way to remember the title nor the author. 

Hope someone knows this though! Feel free to share what you know. Thanks! =) 

.

[littlehoneydear20]

VHope au🔞

Taehyung é dono de diversas companhias, incluindo a prestigiada Academia de Dança de L.A

Um dia, quando presencia uma das audições, se interessa por Jung Hoseok, um stripper nas horas vagas que faria qualquer coisa para entrar na Academia.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.42)

(Sneak Peak!)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary:  Tae has a bad dysphoria day, luckily she has you and Hobi to help take her mind off of it. 

Tags:  Fluff, hurt/comfort, Dysphoria, Vhope x reader, Trans character's, Trans! taehyung slow burn, Anxiety, melancholy, Brief mentions of Eating disorders, Denial, Unrequited feelings 

W/c: 7.5k

A/n: Ah this is a chapter that i really enjoyed writing <3 this kinda snuck up on me, but i hope everyone will enjoy this little perfect nugget of a chapter <3 happy halloween! 

Chapter 42: Hobi’s Treasures (Sneak Peak) 

“I should have gotten you peonies or maybe roses, but I looked at these and I thought-” Hobi breaks off, sitting down carefully so as not to wake you. Still asleep and oblivious to the shift in the air. “I thought you might want to figure out your favorite flower.” Tae’s smile is tentative but genuine, and she holds them better to her chest taking care not to crush them but still holding them like they might impart some beauty onto her.

“You mean you’re gonna give me flowers again?” 

Hobi holds Tae's hand, loosely circling the bouquet, voice hushed and throaty in the quiet. “Aren't boyfriends supposed to buy their girlfriends flowers without them having to ask?” 

Tae blinks quickly, and she shuffles, pulling herself closer to Hobi after a moment of still reverence. How is it, that after so many years of love, the other alpha always manages to surprise her? what surprises her more is the capacity of her heart to fall more in love. Even like this, even when it hurts. 

The other alpha pulls her head to rest against his shoulder, until every breath tastes like caramel muskiness. Tae looks like this house is breaking her, the dysphoria rocks through her so violently that she shakes while Hobi holds her. The world girlfriend, the word she’s always wanted to be called, now akin to a curse. At least today. 

Tae hopes Hobi will call her that again on a day when she’s not feeling so…imperfect, so undeserving of it. 

Tae shivers like her body doesn’t fit her soul, like theres something in her trying to escape. Does she need to go somewhere else tonight? Is it this house or just her body that’s crushing her right now? Hobi hates tiptoeing around the issue. Dysphoria is heavy, is this what it looks like? Is this what the pack has to fear going forward?

Hobi cups Tae’s cheek, and she leans into it. “Can I steal you away for a bit? like some princess in a castle? Can we go somewhere, Tae? I'm worried about you." Hobi pauses and hesitates, but honesty has always been easy when it comes to Tae. 

"I'm worried you want to go back to when we didn’t know.”

Coming Sunday Oct 30th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)