#beret Yoongi | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soraviie · 1 year

Text

you compare yourself to him 2.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation ━ part I here

━ about: angst atop of angst and some fluff

━ a/n: Bacchus here is a reference to a Korean energy drink in Yoongi's part. Jimin's part is my own favourite one :)

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: The world is...beige. Since when? Blinking away the heavy grogginess, you reach to touch the material on your face before removing it. Looking around one might think you'd slept through the whole warfare as every surface is covered in clothes. Amidst the maelstrom like a blur in the wind is Namjoon, tossing everything he could find all around. You reach to hook a finger around a silver chain necklace inexplicably dangling on a bedside lamp. You remember this one. You'd gifted him this in Tartu on a whim of being overwhelmingly lovesick for his dimples.

"Are you fleeing the country?" you rasp, voice falling gruff from the disuse. It had been...hard to talk after the gallery. Or look at yourself in the mirror. Or leave the bed.

At the sound of your voice, Namjoon whips around, accidentally pulling along with him a lightbox. Dimly you watch it clatter on the ground.

"Baby! Hello! Did you sleep well?" he asks with an eagerness of a zealous labrador and you frown.

"Well enough. Have you gone mad? Perhaps?"

He laughs as though this simple remark was the finest joke in the land.

"No, I'm very focused and logical," he chirps and your frown deepens. No way his brain was not harmed somehow. This was...suspicious to say the least.

"Listen, I'm going to be on the TV today -"

"You always are," dryly you point out but then he crawls on the bed and practically sticks his face into yours, so close you go cross-eyed.

"Make sure you watch it, okay? It'll be a live. Starts at 3."

"Okay," flustered you comply and as his breath fans your face the suspicion surges. "How many energy drinks have you had?"

"Nine!"

Your eyes pop open but you can't do much about it as he glimpsed down, finds the necklace glimmering between your fingers and lets out a jubilant cry.

"I've been looking for this thing! Thank you!" he begins leaving rushed kisses all over your face, graciously ignoring any protests. "Thank you, baby! My moon and stars!"

Was he drunk as well?

Pulling back just as haphazardly he glanced at the clock, breathing a horrified gasp.

"Oh, shit, I'm late! But the mess..." he tosses a guilty glimpse at the destroyed closet before you push him.

"I'll..I'll clean it, just go."

You had little to do anyway, not like you could go to a gallery to have worldly people fun. At that, a natural scoff worms upon your face.

"Thank you! I love you! I love you so much!" he yelps and presses himself fervently against you, capturing your lips in a sloppy, frantic kiss. The taste of energy drinks spills onto your mouth. The next you know, your boyfriend becomes Sonic and is out of the door leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

Typical.

You're still folding some pants when reluctantly the weight of the promise burdens you too much and end up switching the TV, knowing in your heart that seeing him in his role as an idol, you'll only feel more distant. What sort of girlfriend tunes into the TV to see their boyfriend not just call them? What sort of girlfriend were you at all? You frown at the leg of the pants, bunching it in your palms before releasing it. A lame one. You were a lame girlfriend.

It couldn't be said that this interview was anything else that you hadn't seen and heard hundred times before but one thing does stick out like red in a sea of mourners. Namjoon looks like a goddamn patchwork game. You can squint and frown, an action which is done by many, including the interviewer, his band, and the camera operator probably as well. The look presented makes it seem he was blind, drunk, and high when choosing his clothes and also made that choice in a closet belonging to a crazy person. Green baggy pants, a red turtleneck, a white, little scarf, a beret and the necklace proudly laid to glisten in the middle of his chest which that turtleneck is giving it all to protect.

Was this his way of saying he needed a break?

"Uh, Namjoon, to address the uh...elephant in the room," the interviewer begins, pulling the collar of the shirt aside, under pressure to both ask and be very polite about it. "Are you experimenting with new fashion these days?"

"No," he beams back, suspiciously innocent and wide-eyed. "These are my favourite clothes! They give me comfort and remind me of being loved whenever I go."

You think back and start piecing together, a patchwork of your own if you will, that these were all things you got him. Some you had forgotten - the joke beret, the necklace but the red turtleneck was an impromptu Christmas present while the green pants he wanted but didn't have the time to go out and buy himself.

"I see," the interviewer drawls. "To segway off what you said, as k-pop idols, love is certainly a big part of your songs, may I ask how you view love on your own? Is it something you share with your image or is it completely different?"

"Well, I-" Taehyung begins but is immediately interrupted by Namjoon whose eagerness makes him look like a complete maniac. Poor Taehyung can only blink owlishly and then let the matter be.

"Thank you so much for asking! I've thought a lot about love, I always made it complicated in my head, but now I know better. Love is being understood," his eyes snap straight into the camera and you flinch as you hold eye contact. "It's to be comfortable and feeling heard. Most of the time you know people say you have to be of similar interests, that then you'll be able to bond better but that is simply not true. People are not bonded together by their diplomas, how many stamps they have on their passport or how many painting meanings they can discern."

Your cheeks flush.

"They are bonded because they share one another and that's what's important not the trivial nonsense others may push upon them. The world is made of perspectives and whenever our loved ones express their thoughts it becomes a better, more interesting place. And I think we ourselves as well. What matters is not how many, let's say, artwork meanings they get but how much of us they get."

"And do you feel..."get"?" the interviewer asks awkwardly and Namjoon splits into a broad smile.

"Very much so. I need nothing of no one else."

YOONGI: He stands there menacingly. A (not so) tall shadow cast over your bed at the very break of the dawn.

"You slept well?" he asks. Menacingly. Cause that's what he was. Menacing. Even the package in his hands is...menacing. You scurry to press yourself against the headboard. There's a determined gleam in his eye, one that says he was up to something and will see the fruits of his labour even if it kills him.

"Umm it was okay. Why are you cosplaying as the boy from the Grudge?"

He whines and the sinister aura disappears. You had hoped to avoid him for some days. Despite your best intentions, the words that you were only charity to Yoongi repeated their heinous loop over and over in your head.

"It was meant to be cute," he pouts. "Like watching over you in a guardian sort of way."

"Ended up with Brahms," you mutter and then erupt in a fit of coughs, dryness in the throat making it hard to speak.

Yoongi's face sours in an instant.

"Did you fall mute again?"

You shrug. It's easy not to talk when you don't exist. He sighs but doesn't prod, knowing full well he can't force things to be alright.

"Would you be up for dinner? A fancy one?"

You incline your head to the package and he hands it over. Inside sits dinner wear made of the finest quality.

"Why?" you rasp. "You don't usually like dressing up."

He shrugs and something about it has your eyes narrowing.

"Just wanted to do something different," he replies a bit too offhand. "Are you up to it?"

"I-" another cough interrupts the sentence and Yoongi rushes to get a glass of water. "Thank you. Okay. We can go to dinner."

Another dinner, yey, you think to yourself dryly but he seems for some reason excited and it would be no good to be a curmudgeon to him as well.

"Thank you, Bacchus," he bids softly and leans to kiss the top of your head.

You snort at the nickname.

But the dinner extravaganza didn't simply end there. With every passing second, the mystery tightened like an Agatha Christie novel. Yoongi insisted on you taking the car he ordered, tinted windows to add, to an undisclosed restaurant and with the driver oathed to not speak a word of it. Your phone he asked to shut off as well. Not put it on mute but turn it off entirely. You partially wondered if he hit a psychotic break of sorts and/or has unfortunately turned into a murderer. Mulling over the heartbreak that would be if your honey boy would turn into a killer, you were stunned to see a familiar face when climbing out of the car. Your mother.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

She was dressed to the nines as well and seemed rather shocked to see you climbing out of the car. Around her neck sat a pearl necklace one you don't recall her having and she was nervously twiddling with it in front of the restaurant's host. A restaurant that you very purposefully avoided as one of its managers was none other than that annoying, grating, stick-so-far-up-her-ass-its-practically-impaling-her cousin of yours.

"I don't know," she replied, glancing around. "Your boyfriend asked me to be here."

Before you could answer anything, the host urged you to enter into a private area as was the case when you dined with someone who needed absolute security at all times. The group wasn't all that large, consisting of yourself, your mother, your aunt, the aunt who wasn't as cool as the first one her weird husband and their dog even, who was sporting a fancy bowtie for the occasion. By the table sat Yoongi and though many would say he appeared stoic you knew exactly what that sly, scheming son of a biscuit had done this evening. He raised to stand, politely bid welcome to all your relations who as always didn't know how to act so they settled on an ungainly silence, and then gave you flowers before kissing your cheek. By the bar, her eyes glinting like two wildfires, sat your cousin gurgling her own poison most likely.

"I'm so going to choke you for this," you discreetly whisper into his ear but he only smiles.

With alcohol loosening much of the knotted tongues, the dinner progressed smoothly. Yoongi occasionally coquettishly leaned in, so unlike him, and brushed his nose against your cheek. All, of course, a part of an elaborate apology.

"But you were afraid of my mother," you argue, walking hand in hand back home. Where your cousin went you did not know but it was unlikely she would be present at the next meeting.

"Still am," he chuckles but even then there is an undercurrent of fright running deep. "But after you hung up I called her and she relayed that you looked like a ghost for the rest of the evening. And I know I said this a thousand times but I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not always there for you, I'm sorry for being absent, I'm sorry if anyone ever made you feel like you're invisible," he sighed, stretching he tie looser from his neck and you adjusted his hair, mussed by a strong gust of wind.

"Still you don't need to do all that," softly you say. "It's enough for you to just show up sometimes and be awkward in the corner."

"I know," he kisses the top of your head pushing the doors open. "Just wanted to show that you're the only one I see."

JIN: In a fashion that probably millions of other people did before him he pretended everything was fine. That it was all fine. What was it? Fine. Normal. Nothing was happening. Everything's usual. The same old. And then he cried in the bathroom stall for ten minutes, before forcing it to all stop and pretending that it was all fine.

But as your things became scarcer and two lives that he meant to unite forever were separated, clinically and detached like a scalpel of a surgeon, the less he could pretend it was fine.

It wasn't fine. It was over.

Jin was never one for relationship theatrics to say that his life was over as well but now he realized that it was - the life he wanted at least and possibly could have had in the future - was dust.

But there is some truth to the idea that sometimes loving someone was leaving them, letting them go in a wind, like a migrating bird, away from the winter of discontent and into the summer of ease.

And you assure him it's nothing he had done. Perhaps that's the most infuriating part, it's nothing he'd done so he can't correct, he can't change the world for you even if he wants to oh so bad. But harder still is to watch, watch you be a hollow shell, driven to a point of insecurity so high you ill. No jokes of his, no smiles, no well-meaning words of his can change the sentiment.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't handle the world you live in."

Even if he wouldn't be an idol, it's a world Jin has always lived in. He knows how to not buckle underneath the waves of judgment cause he had swum in them since but a bare-bottomed infant.

"You can always crash here or call me if you need help," he offers, trying to sound as light as possible while helping you pack the last boxes. Such a strange thing to help the love of your life leave you but despite all Jin has always wanted to take care. So he takes care one last time.

"That's not how it works," you laugh. It's dry and humourless and he wonders how long will it take for you to move on. The love is not lost it just couldn't conquer all as lovely as that would be.

"Yeah, I guess so," he scuffs his slipper against the floor. The home is empty now. It feels physically wrong and Jin hopes to himself this would all be a bad dream. That this is the same night he got you from the police station and this was a concoction of the mind, wormed and plagued by guilt.

"Eat well, okay," he reminds. There's so much he wants to say but he lets himself choke on those words. Why? He doesn't quite know but the last thing he wants to do is make you feel any worse. That's not what a good partner does. Even if he's soon to not be one.

"I will," you promise. "Remember to stretch once in a while, you play too many video games, they can make your muscles tense."

He doesn't trust his voice so Jin nods. And just like that, it's over. A thirty-second walk to the elevator is all he gets instead of a whole life he'd been so certain of. But even now he thinks that better you be happy than miserable by his side. The elevator dings and he's buying seconds, he would put his entire fortune for just a minute.

"Where will you be travelling exactly?" he asks.

"I don't know. Somewhere warm, somewhere cold. Find myself again," you reply, pretending it's all fine as well. If you acknowledge the reality for just a second, you'll break and so you delude yourself. For just a bit.

Jin nearly says to send him a lot of videos but then bites on his tongue. The elevator opens and you climb in, a suitcase behind you, a carton box in the crook of your arm. Jin smiles.

"You know, life is strange. Should we suddenly cross paths five years later who knows how it'll turn out, right?"

It's, of course, a hopeful delusion, a length of rope many have tied around their necks with a smile on their face but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. If the movie has a hopeful ending, it's a love story, if not - it's a tragedy and Jin was never one for tragedies.

Be that as it may, you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the elevator closes and the rest is silence.

HOSEOK: He glowers. Hoseok is not known for glowering but he does so to his earnest. The foot tapping the floor nearly makes a dent in the material as he waits. Waits for you like a disappointed parent or a hunter lying in an ambush. Hoseok himself doesn't particularly care what he is as long as he gets what he wants which is you at home.

She's not cheating, she would never cheat, he tells himself but isn't that what all poor bastards of the world thought. The hallway is dark and you stumble freely, assuming he's not here and then nearly crack your skull open when seeing him stand stoic like a statue in the dark.

"Fucking hell!" you yell and he jumps, somehow startling himself by the loudness of your voice.

"Welcome back," he greets you cooly, turning on the lights. "Hoped I was out?"

You stand squirming in guilt and avoiding his gaze exactly like a cheater would but there's no cologne on your blouse or a hickey on the neck. The only thing you carried was a plastic bag with snacks. Cheap, cheap snacks.

He takes it away from your hands and peers inside. Ramen, cotton buds, chocolate chips, and seaweed for some reason.

"I don't understand," he breathes out. "You're...all this time...every time you're not home you're doing grocery shopping?"

You don't answer anything and his brows furrow in confusion.

"_____________, I don't understand. Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing wrong per se," you brush off. "It's just I..."

"I?" he urges.

"It's where I feel like I belong."

For a while, he leans into the wall and then it clicks together.

The store was perhaps the most normal thing possible with people going about their day, hardly any limelight. Hardly any luxury.

"You're with me, I love you," he sighs. "My world is your world."

"Yeah," you brush off, clearly lying. "I know."

And perhaps it's the stress or perhaps the fierceness with which he's ready to tie himself to you, a move he never thought he could wholeheartedly make, he has none of it. Which brings him back to a party, one in his name once more just a tad more covert.

"I don't know about this," you stammer, trying to pull your hand away from his.

"Just trust me. Don't you trust me?"

"Not with that tone," you whine crossing the street. "Listen, I'm happy your album is a success, couldn't be prouder -"

Hoseok's ears flush to this day when hearing any praise from your mouth.

"Thank you."

"- but you can, you know, have fun and I'll chill out somewhere else."

He whips around.

"Is it something someone said?" he confronts and you awkwardly glance away.

"They don't need to say it, it's apparent. I'm sticking out like a sore thumb in these places."

"I don't care for them and neither should you! If these parties are about me, then you should always be a part of them. I invite all the guys, all the time -"

"Yeah, you all work in the same field," you roll your eyes and he lightly flicks your forehead.

"Dummy, they're my family, you're my family and my family is with me in celebrations."

You gaze at your intertwined hands.

"Obviously, I can't and shouldn't force you to be here but trust me and maybe I can make you feel a little bit better."

You draw a heavy sigh, bemoaning to yourself about the sacrifices of love and with gritted teeth step into the enemy territory. It's loud and bright with many strangers surrounding you like flies around honey. You notice Jin and Jungkook tucked away neatly in the corner and they offer knowing nods of the head. You frown at them and turn to the stage where there's a podium and a magnificent chair like a throne behind it. Hoseok sits you, confused, down in it, sort of in the background but always present like an overarching symbolic presence and if people look then even faster they swerve away in guilt. Hoseok's smile is bright and polite but there is no question about it that the line "let's be friendly" means no one so much as opens their mouth to toss a curt comment or swerve their eye your way in an inappropriate manner. In between Hoseok frequently checking back and Jin pulling you into a nameless 1v1 phone game, you forget of the crowd, their judgement and your need for their opinion. Whenever you glance up, Hoseok is there giving an encouraging smile and you realize the one opinion that matters the most will never waver from always being in your favour.

JIMIN: The money spilt all across the counter as Mari yelped, startled when the door was simply kicked open.

"I-I'm sorry but we're clo-"

"What is this?" Jimin's voice comes with a sharpness you'd never ever heard before. It makes you swallow nervously, eyes lingering on the paper slip clutched in his palm.

"I...I explained what it is," you squirm anxiously and Mari's head is a blur, switching to left and fro in between you both.

"We..we have to keep closing," she whimpers, shrivelled small by the register squeaking in a barely audible tone.

Jimin's eyes snap towards her and she immediately withers underneath his rage.

"Just go home," you order her, tired, and she doesn't have to be told twice. Only a second passes before she's scurrying to the door. Momentarily, you can see that she recognizes the masked stranger but that makes her eyes only hang lower as she desperately tries to not be remembered, probably counting the sum of his displeasure in her head. When the bell rings to announce her exit, the air presses down with tension.

You twist the towel in your hands, pulling a deep breath to speak a string of words that cut your heart open.

"Jimin, I want...I want to break up."

"No."

A pause.

"No?" stunned, you echo.

"I'm not breaking up with you."

He has pulled the mask off his face and his eyes are crazy. They're rimmed red. He's been crying.

"You can't just -" you begin to object but he quickly interrupts.

"Do you still love me?"

The question takes you by surprise but he's not content with silence.

"Do you still love me?" he reiterates with more strength and you nod, voice catching in the throat.

"I do, but -"

"When we got together I said it would be hard but we promised, you promised that we would work through our problems together."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Not accepted," Jimin snaps and you flinch. "What was this - "I'm sure in time you'll find yourself a more appropriate partner with whom you'll feel happier." With all due respect, ______________, you do not get to dictate what or to whom I should feel something. I'm dating you because I want you, not a model, not an idol or whoever you think is "good" for me. I want you."

"But what if I begin to resent you?" glaring at your shoes you listlessly argue but Jimin's face doesn't differ from the hard scowl with which he barged here into.

"I'm not going to part with the love of my life on a what if," he sneered throwing your breakup letter decidedly into the trash.

"But I'll just be a burden-!"

"Oh for the love of!" he throws his hands into the air. "You're not a burden for asking my help. I want to do it, you understand? Me! I want to help you, I want to provide for you, that's what I want not what you force me to do," completely worked himself into a heated tirade, he barely took a breath before pelting the words one after another like hail upon your shoulders.

"We're going to go home, talk about our problems and then live happily ever after, god fucking damnit!"

You stand mutely, hunched in yourself quite like a berated kid. Exhaling slowly through the nose, Jimin's rage seems to abate, if a little bit, and for a lingering pause, there's only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock filling the air.

"I still need to close," you shuffle, sensing the familiar sting in the eyes.

"Fill out the documents," he replies stiffly but at least not sneering anymore. "I'll do the rest. You must be tired."

You comply without a question sitting down to fill out the proper numbers. Jimin's ensnared with dusting the countertops, mopping the floor, and gathering the trash. An unsightly, lowly work that a national star like him shouldn't be doing but he does. He does it all.

TAEHYUNG: He keeps thinking that it can't simply end like that - on a slammed door in the silence. But it does. It's inevitable like seeing your favourite movie with a sad ending over and over again, always hoping that the familiar reel will somehow change, that the world will be a better place than it is but the movie is set and the ending is set and everything is set in stone. Taehyung's role is set to play the irredeemable villain and be ruined by his own actions.

"This..you know...big city...but lovers find their way," he slurs in a bar with only Jimin to keep tabs on him. He's angry, untalkative and quite upset as Taehyung lost the love of his life and he lost a good friend all in one fell swoop. It's only because of Jimin's curt text of "way to miss your girlfriend's birthday, prick" that he came to his senses. He'd rushed home all at once though it did no good. The apartment was empty, the neighbours vouched for you moving out and in the trash, he found a single, crumpled note. It began and ended with only one word - V. Not Taehyung the one he's always been to you but V. There was nothing after it but he kept it still.

"Lovers...they find each other in every life right?" he asks but Jimin remains obstinately quiet yet when comes the time to weep he reaches out to pat his friend's back.

"It's just a scarf!" he yells into the stylist's face. "It's just a scarf! What's the big deal? It fits the theme, right? Just let me keep it!"

Namjoon having rushed to the room inspects this strange friend of his, backed into the corner with an expression so vicious he fails to recognize him. He doesn't know what happened but he knows the way Taehyung hugs the scarf to his chest, to protect, to cradle it like a kindling flame. He knows grief when he sees one.

"Just leave him alone," he orders the stylist and Taehyung is let on the stage with a scarf on his neck, one he doesn't stop touching throughout the entirety of the event. It was the only thing left besides the note, otherwise, you'd been very thorough, combing your life free of him in all conceivable ways. World as always goes on and Taehyung hates it for it doing so. Rather it'd stop, rather it stand completely still so he can mould himself into time itself and stop existing. He sees fractures of you in scenarios of happy strangers, of hands intertwined and smiles shared, a life lived together as he always wanted to. He intended to with such certainty it's like the very basis underneath his feet is crushed. He never assumed it'd go so wrong.

Largely he keeps this obsession to himself, of fear of being judged, of being called crazy, only Jimin knows and in his neverending love for his friend, he tolerates it. Partially in the happier moments, Taehyung tries to romanticize the situation. In any good love story, one person meets another and they are split apart by circumstance only to end up together. Forgiveness always wins and love prevails. That's what he was told since being a baby. This was...this was his term of punishment, a way to apologize for his actions but nothing of the sort is of course real. The reality which Taehyung was never too fond of was much more sterner and cutthroat. You didn't love him anymore = you left. The End.

The End.

He lives in dreams and he lives in love that now is just an echo.

But the wronger still comes the day when your scarf splits at the seams. It can't be fixed, it can't be brought back, it's just ruined and gone and it sits in Taehyung's hands - useless. Still, he shoves the threads in his pocket, fully aware that there was a line, a fine line to be drawn but he can't bring himself to draw it. If he stops hoping, just for a second, his movie will end like it was always meant to be.

JUNGKOOK: "Please come home."

"No."

The begging had been going on for almost half an hour. Both attempts were fruitless, his - to get you back, yours - to get him to leave.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't accidentally step on my foot! You told me my entire life is useless. That I'm wrong for being not like you."

He licks his dry lips and runs a hand through the messed-up hair. Unwillingly, you notice that his knuckles were faintly bleeding. The temperature had dropped suddenly overnight. He must have forgotten to lotion them. Not that it mattered now. Though he had quite a lot to argue about that.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I said. I was stupid, petulant and..." he sighs, staring at the floor. "Jealous."

"Over what?" you tilt an eyebrow.

"Yoongi. You get along with Yoongi. He gets you and I was scared so I lashed out."

"It's not an excuse," listlessly, you frown at his figure lodged halfway into your friend's apartment. A safe haven, he somehow managed to find out about. One couldn't argue with how driven Jungkook was. A quality you did not appreciate much right now.

"What do you want here? That I'll spring back into your arms, magically find some sort of passion and suck you off in gratitude?!"

"No!" he objects. "No! It's not like that!"

"Then explain! Explain for us lowly, dispassionate losers what is this all about?!"

He begins to twiddle with his thumbs, tongue playing with the back of his lip ring. It wasn't often that a 1.79m, tattoed muscle mass known as Jeon Jungkook could possibly appear small but he appeared as such in this very moment.

"I just want you back. Want to eat my words," when you open your mouth to tear him a new one, he hurries faster. "But I know I can't. So I am asking, I'm begging to give me a chance. Not forgiveness, just a chance to start over. As...friends...if you'd like. I'll get to know you anew, open mind this time. Be as you are. That's all I'm asking."

"Friends?" you parrot, part scornful, part impressed. He used to drone on and on about how he always wanted to be more than friends, how that name was like a lightless void to him, an unshakeable role in the distance he was desperate to breach so to hear him offer that very role so eagerly was if anything a symbol of truly wanting to listen. If he could be trusted.

You assess him sternly, tucking away the feeling of a girlfriend far way.

"If we do it, if!" you emphasize yet his eyes gain a hopeful tint. Retribution. "I want to be able to cut ties without you throwing a fit, tracking me down and doing this because this," you wave over his crouched figure. "Is not cute. It's annoying. One strike and you're out! And we start as friends!"

He's not deterred in the slightest on the opposite his face is glowing.

"I'll get to know you as I should have," he promises. "No judgement."

You let out a prolonged, irritated sigh.

"I hate you."

"I don't," he replies, nose scrunched in happiness. "Not in the slightest."

366 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 1 year

Text

Showstopper 📸 1: With me calling the shots, you will blow everyone away

Hoseok knows the rumors.

Everyone in the industry knows the rumors.

Min Yoongi is a player. Min Yoongi is a snake. Stand in front of Min Yoongi’s camera, and you will be just another one of his victims – prey for him to use as he pleases and toss away when he gets bored.

Still, when Hoseok gets the call to audition for the magazine at which the elusive Min Yoongi works as the lead photographer, he does not hesitate to say yes. This is Hoseok’s dream, and he will be damned if he lets some industry hotshot stand in his way. He is an up-and-coming model who has worked with some of the hottest, most chaotic people in the business; surely, one man is not capable of hip-swishing into Hoseok’s life and throwing a wrench in all his plans.

📸 Hoseok x Yoongi

📸 word count: 13.7k

📸 strangers to lovers, model & photographer au, angst, smut, fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

📸 warnings: pining, angst, sexual tension, Yoongi is a player, Hoseok is trying his best, bickering as a form of flirting, use of “slut” playfully. also, there is a brief chat about disordered eating/dieting but it does not go into detail and it is not something a main character lives with.

📸 written for the BTS Found Fest!

📸 thanks to @neoneunnajimin for beta reading!

📸 posted dec. 2022 | read on ao3

INDEX | NEXT

When Hoseok gets his acceptance call, he is over the moon.

He dresses in his shortest black shorts and favorite black mesh tank top, and summons the boys to meet him out for drinks at their favorite club – his treat – to drop the bomb on them the moment the tray of shots is delivered. He is met with less than enthusiastic responses, which he had anticipated, but still feels annoyed by.

Jimin, with his wavy pink hair, matching pink crop top, and short, black tennis skirt, shifts onto one foot with a hand on his hip and the other in the air, palm facing heavenward, as if to ask what the fuck.

Taehyung sits, head to toe in white – a flowing vest over a turtleneck that is tucked into loose-fitting slacks, with a little beret on his head. His dark brown hair peeks out from under the beret, curling neatly, and his posture is stiff, eyes as wide as disks.

And finally, Jeongguk, drowning in all black cotton-polyester blend with his eyes lined thick in black and silver metal shimmering in his eyebrow, lip, and ears. His long, wavy hair is nearly long enough to cover his eyes, which are focused down at the table before him.

"You know the photographer's reputation, right?" Jimin says with a smile, his plush, glossy lips upturned and mischievous. His voice is bubbly, despite his glare being sharp.

Hoseok rolls his eyes and shrugs. Of course, he knows.

"I thought we made a pact never to apply there," Taehyung mutters. Despite his boxy lips always looking somewhat downturned, they are in a full, unmistakable frown.

"I didn't apply there," Hoseok responds smugly. "They called me."

Jeongguk says nothing – stares at the table before them with his arms around his chest, a reminder that Jeongguk and Min Yoongi worked together six months back. The kid must still be reeling from the experience.

"Look," Hoseok says, waving his hands in the air in an attempt to dispel the bad vibes. "We don't know which photographer I will be assigned to, okay. M is a huge magazine; they have more than one professional on set."

"But we can assume that if they called you, then it was at the behest of the man in charge," Jimin counters. "The smaller photographers aren't going to have any pull. And it is not as if anyone at that magazine makes choices but him. It's called M, after all. For Min."

Hoseok cannot help but laugh, throwing his head back so that his crimped, dark brown hair falls and shakes with his movements.

"I didn't take you for a conspiracy theorist, but go off, I guess."

This shuts them up, but only momentarily. Despite apparently having strong feelings about Hoseok's new boss, they are still thirsty little hyenas when offered alcohol, and as Hoseok begins to hand out bright pink cherry bombs, they all take one and wait patiently for their cue to cheer.

"To me being the first model who doesn't get royally fucked by M," Hoseok says cheekily as he holds out his drink.

"We'll see about that," Jeongguk mutters as they all take their shots.

* * *

Three hours later, Hoseok is wasted and decides to go home. A glance at the others, and they are all over each other on the dancefloor, with Jimin in the center, arms up above his head while Taehyung and Jeongguk felt and explored and groped.

"Embarrassing," Hoseok grumbles to himself as he punches in the address of their shared apartment building and waits for the app to tell him that a ride is on the way.

Truth be told, Hoseok does not find their behavior embarrassing at all. He is just jealous. He used to be the one to get all the attention – to get felt up on the dancefloor and have envious glares pointed his way.

Now it is always Jimin. Jimin, with his fat lips and fatter ass. Jimin with his whiny voice and snappy attitude. When Hoseok got the call to work for M, he could not wait to rub it in Jimin's face.

And maybe, some part of Hoseok hopes that the photographer does come onto him. It is not as if he will cave so easily to some man, and it will be nice to be the center of attention, again. With the pretty boys who once fawned over him gone, modeling in different countries, Hoseok no longer has his big beefy dummies to keep him grounded anymore. He feels lonely.

When his cab arrives, Hoseok takes one last drink of the vodka cranberry sitting on the table – probably Jeongguk's, but who is to say. He waves his hand in the general direction of the dancefloor, knowing they will absolutely not see him, and leaves with a huff.

Tomorrow, he is going to be bigger and better than any of his friends could ever dream of, and unlike Jeongguk – the only one who managed to work at the magazine before him – he will not come running back to the agency with his tail between his legs. No, no, not Hoseok.

Hoseok is different.

Hoseok is going to be a star.

* * *

Hoseok is instructed to go straight to the shooting location at 10 AM, and he is shocked when a driver arrives to pick him up just after 8, but he gets in the car. He is told the makeup and wardrobe tech will already be there, and to just bring himself and his photo ID.

When the car pulls up to the destination, Hoseok cranes his neck, looking out the windows. They are in the middle of coastal nowhere at a sand dune, and Hoseok scrunches his nose as he surveys the area. He is not looking forward to getting sand all over himself.

"You're sure this is the right place?" Hoseok mutters with a frown.

"Are you suggesting I can't do my job?" the driver responds, taking Hoseok by surprise.

"I—no, I'm—"

"Have a fun shoot, kid!" the driver interrupts in a fake-chipper voice.

Hoseok scowls and gets out of the car, instantly regretting his entire life. It is windy on the coast, and sand kicks up and blows into his face, so he lifts his arms to protect his eyes and mouth, then attempts to peek around in search of another living creature. Cars line the road but they all appear empty.

A ways away, smack dab in the center of the large expanse of sand, is a massive white tent. It certainly seems large enough to contain a photography studio, and Hoseok begins to hobble in that direction. The driver pulls away, abandoning Hoseok, and he sighs as he begins on uneven footing to traverse the sand.

Luckily, he had the wherewithal to wear sneakers. How unfortunate that they will be absolutely full of sand by the time the day is over. He is also dressed in black denim shorts that come mid-thigh, a plain white tee half-tucked in the front, and his outgrown, wavy dark brown hair is left to sit messily over his forehead and ears.

The instruction was to come untouched by makeup and product, and not to worry about wardrobe because one would be provided. So, Hoseok did as he was told and came with his hands empty, save for his ID, which is nestled in his front pocket.

By the time Hoseok is halfway to the tent, his calves and abs are burning, and he is out of breath. He feels silly trudging through wind and sand without another human in sight and doubts that he is even going the correct way. But, he reasons, there is no other way to go, so onward toward the large, ominous tent, it is.

As he nears the tent, Hoseok starts to hear music. It is a jazzy tune – piano accompanied by a low female voice. It sounds nostalgic but unfamiliar, and Hoseok slows his steps as he lets the music carry him toward the looming white structure in the middle of nowhere.

Once Hoseok rounds a corner and approaches what he assumes to be the front of the structure, a tall man pops his head out and smiles. Hoseok nearly gasps – feels his eyes widen, and his heart begin to pound – as the man's smile grows and dimples crease his cheeks. His dark brown hair is a bit outgrown into a soft, lazy mullet, and he has a smattering of glitter and silver shadow on his eyes, accenting the sharp edges of his lids.

"Hoseok?" the man asks, and Hoseok hesitates, then nods.

"Y-yes, hi," he manages, feeling out of breath from his sandy trek and blindsided by the man's beauty.

"I'm Namjoon," the man says, straightening out as Hoseok gets closer. "I'll be your makeup and wardrobe guy for the day."

Namjoon disappears behind the entrance, and Hoseok prances over the threshold after him. He is dressed head to toe in flowing black garments, and he spins on his slipper-clad feet as he leads the way further into the tent.

"Shoes go there, and there are slippers along the wall," Namjoon instructs, pointing vaguely behind him as he continues to walk away. "Find a pair in your size and keep them safe; they're yours."

Hoseok nods and scrambles out of his sneakers, kicking them off with his toes, then finds a pair of slippers that are slightly too big and shuffles his way toward Namjoon, who is leading Hoseok toward a partition off to the right side of the structure.

Toward the back of the massive tent are lights, light reflectors, and other equipment, all facing the far wall. Hoseok glances around, wondering if the man himself is there, and is disappointed to find the room empty.

To say Hoseok is eager to meet Min Yoongi in the flesh is an understatement. He wants to see what all the fuss is about so he can return home and laugh in the faces of those who doubt him. As far as he is concerned, there is no way any man in this sandy hellscape can be better looking than Namjoon.

As Hoseok rounds the partition, he expects to see a team of wardrobe and makeup staff, and is surprised to find only Namjoon standing before a rack of robes with one hand on his hip while he slowly shifts them back and forth. After a short moment, he pulls out a white silk knee-length robe with a pink petal and gold leaf design.

Namjoon glances up, motions for Hoseok to have a seat at a makeup station across from the robes, and Hoseok shuffles in and sits down on the cold, black leather. Despite the setup being inside a large tent, the mirror is surrounded by lights, casting a bright glare over Hoseok's perfect complexion as he stares at himself. He can't imagine how they managed to get electricity in a place like this – he assumes the lighting equipment can run on batteries.

"I'm going to crimp your hair and style it away from your forehead with a gold band," Namjoon informs as he drapes the robe over an empty chair, then approaches, standing behind Hoseok and using his pinkies to pull the hair from his face. "We'll do bright gold accents, and from there, Yoongi-hyung can decide what to do with you."

At the mention of Yoongi's name, Hoseok gets goosebumps. He hopes Namjoon does not notice – he does not want Namjoon to even have an inkling that Hoseok knows about Yoongi's reputation. The artist, however, is quite observant, and he smirks.

"What was that?" Namjoon asks.

Hoseok attempts to keep his voice natural, but it shakes as he responds, "What was what?"

Namjoon laughs a deep, jovial sound. "Oh, please. I saw the twinkle in your eye. Can't wait to meet the hot shot photographer, can you?"

Hoseok shrugs as his eyes float around the room – anywhere but Namjoon's all-seeing gaze.

"I hear he's the best of the best. And, of course I have seen his work. Hard not to get a bit excited."

A hum follows, but it is an unconvincing hum that makes Hoseok nervous.

"Just don't let him charm you," Namjoon mutters quietly, and Hoseok widens his eyes and gasps dramatically.

"Charm? Pfft, please. What kind of boy do you take me for?"

This time, when Namjoon laughs, it is lighter and more relaxed. "Just have to be sure. He has a reputation in these parts...and I'm tired of losing talented models to him."

With a roll of his eyes and the sweetest voice he can muster, Hoseok says, "Awe, Joonie, already warming up to me?"

Namjoon's mouth falls open in a look of shock with maybe a hint of awe.

"Joonie? I—what year were you born?"

At this challenge, Hoseok raises his eyebrows, already ready to win.

"94."

Namjoon's awe dissipates slightly, but he stands a little taller.

"Me too, what month?"

Hoseok's lips curl into a grin, and he draws out each syllable as he says, "February."

A pause, then Namjoon's façade falls.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath. “September.”

Hoseok hums, "So, I guess you can call me hyung, Joonie."

"I will do no such thing, Hoseok-ssi."

The two of them laugh, and Namjoon gets back to his task at hand, checking his crimper to make sure the metal is hot enough, then clipping back the top layers of Hoseok's hair to begin working on the underside.

They make small talk, but it is mostly friendly banter, and Hoseok closes his eyes as Namjoon does his work – he feels too awkward to either stare at his reflection or at the broad chest directly in front of him, depending on where Namjoon happens to be.

Then, the makeup begins, and Hoseok hums a tune that has been in his head for a while – a tune he cannot quite place. Namjoon is gentle and quick, and when Hoseok opens his eyes to glance at this final product, he gasps.

His sharp features are perfectly accentuated in gold, and there is a thick slope of gold liner around Hoseok's eyes that dusts out over his lids. With his hair crimped and pulled back, he looks like an effigy carved from metal – too pristine and heavenly to be real.

Namjoon gently takes Hoseok's chin with his fingertips and tilts his head up, then applies a little more makeup to one of his eyes.

"Your eyelids are slightly different shapes," he mutters under his breath.

Hoseok hums; he has heard this many times before, though not always in such a calm voice. In the modeling industry, being slightly imperfect is a burden, not something to be celebrated.

"It's nice," Namjoon mutters, "shows character."

Hoseok feels his heart pound from Namjoon's kindness and swallows a lump in his throat. He wonders if all the hype about this company is just that: hype. He is told the M team is ruthless and cold, but so far, all Hoseok has experienced warmth.

As Namjoon says, "There, perfect," and lets go of Hoseok's chin, Hoseok turns back to the mirror to stare at his reflection.

Namjoon has managed to even out the makeup without masking the shapes of eyelids in an attempt to make them look identical, and Hoseok feels proud of his eyes, and of himself, and changes into the robe with his chin up and with an optimistic outlook on the rest of the shoot.

* * *

As it turns out, the warmth ends the moment Hoseok steps past the partition and out of Namjoon's workspace. Hoseok walks out into the main area of the big white tent, toward where lights and reflectors are, wearing only a silk robe, his tight black briefs, and the slippers that are a half size too big.

Despite the wind being stopped by the tent, the room itself is fairly chilly. At some point, the music had turned off, leaving just the sounds of muttering voices and slippered feet to fill the space.

Hoseok cannot imagine why Yoongi asked him to come all the way out here just to shoot in a stupid tent, and as he gets closer to the equipment, to a single white chair that he notices has been placed in front of everything, he begins to feel annoyance crawl up his neck.

With a huff, Hoseok sits on the small, white, plastic chair. It feels cold through his measly layers of clothing, and he wraps his arms around his waist and slumps forward, wishing he could turn himself into a ball of body heat – or, better yet, evaporate into thin air and put what is undoubtedly set to be a strange experience behind him.

Soft footsteps pull Hoseok's attention from the spot on the white tent floor that he had been staring at, and he looks up to find a man in all black – the same loose-fitting black attire Namjoon and apparently everyone else wears – with nearly shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair approaching with a square black bag hanging from his shoulder.

It appears to be a camera gear bag, but the man in question looks too soft to be the infamous photographer. Hoseok has heard he is stern, with square shoulders and sharp eyes. This man looks like a cute little dumpling with the features of a kitten.

Hoseok has seen photos of Yoongi before, but he rarely makes public appearances, and when he does, his face is partially obstructed by a mask, sunglasses, a hat, or a combination of the three. In the photos, it is impossible to tell how tall the man is, but this man appears to be close to Hoseok's height – if not shorter – and he has always imagined Yoongi to be giant, commanding of attention.

The man approaches, sets his bag down beside the lighting equipment, and squats down to unzip it. Behind him, more men run into the room and begin fussing with things – many running behind Hoseok, and some checking the extension cords and other wires, making sure everything is in order.

One man, taller and broader than the one squatting near the gear bag, approaches with another square black bag. His eyes are pointed, and his brow is furrowed – he looks cold and reserved, and far too serious – and Hoseok thinks he must be Min Yoongi, after all. The man...the enigma.

"Everything should be set," the taller man says, and the one squatting nods, hums, and does not make any other acknowledgment.

A gust of wind behind Hoseok makes him shiver, and he turns to find a team of men opening the tent and rolling away the sides. In the distance, waves crash along the shore, and there are large jutting rocks that break the water, sending droplets flying into the air to glitter in the sun.

At least, that is what Hoseok imagines; it is too far away to see anything but a sea of sand and abstract shapes and color. But in his mind, the scene is stunning.

"You," a deep voice rasps, turning Hoseok's attention back to the man before him. It is the shorter one with wavy hair, and now that he is closer, Hoseok can see the stern, sharpness in his eyes. "Are you cold?"

Hoseok nods, becoming acutely aware of just how cold he is now that it is at the forefront of his mind, and he tightens his hands around his waist.

"Hmm," the man grunts, then he turns back toward where men are milling around, and shouts, "Seokjin!"

The man turns back to Hoseok but does not look at him.

"I'll have him bring you a heater, but I can't promise it will do much," he says as he fiddles with the camera in his hands, checking the screen and clicking buttons. "Can't have you getting gooseflesh."

"Th-thank you," Hoseok mutters.

The man looks at Hoseok and raises an eyebrow, and Hoseok thinks he may detect the hint of a smirk.

"I'm the photographer, by the way," he says, and Hoseok's breath hitches.

"Yoongi," he mutters under his breath.

Yoongi squints and tilts his head at Hoseok, taking a step forward to tower over him. Hoseok feels small on his cold plastic chair under such an intense gaze.

"That's Yoongi-ssi, to you."

Hoseok nods, feeling his heart pound. "O-of course, my apologies, Yoongi-ssi."

"But you have no reason to address me, regardless. I will give you orders, and you will follow them. No need to speak."

Discomfort gnaws at Hoseok's insides, and he drops his gaze from Yoongi to the floor, hugging himself tighter. There is absolutely no way this man was the object of his sweet friend Jeongguk's attention. This man is callous and demeaning.

"You can say yes sir as a response to me, though," Yoongi adds with a slight playful hint that Hoseok finds condescending. "If you'd like."

Hoseok shrugs and mutters, "I'm good," refusing to make eye contact, preferring the white floor instead. He could swear he hears Yoongi chuckle, but he chooses not to investigate.

The taller man named Seokjin returns, and Yoongi tells him to fetch a heater, to which he nods and goes in the direction from which he had just come. Hoseok wishes Seokjin were his photographer, instead. Despite his intimidating stature, he imagines nobody could be worse than Yoongi.

Yoongi and his team finish setting up, and Hoseok sneaks glances but does not stare long. With the tent open and more sunlight filling the space, everything feels bright, almost blindingly so, and Hoseok wishes he had something to ease his mind, like a thick pair of sunglasses, or a nice, stiff gin and tonic.

"All set?" he hears Namjoon's voice ask, and Hoseok glances up at him, expectantly.

Yoongi is facing Hoseok with Namjoon standing beside him, and both men have their hands on their hips, studying him.

"This will do," Yoongi says.

Namjoon's lips crack a smile, and he gives a single nod of his head. Hoseok wonders if that is all the praise Yoongi affords his staff – a simple "this will do" that sounds less encouraging than a pleasant "job well done."

Hoseok hates Min Yoongi.

He hates how the man seems so insincere and impersonal. He hates that someone as kind and talented as Namjoon does not get the praise that he deserves. As both men stand and scrutinize him with their eyes, he feels the urge to throw his hands in the air and storm out of there, leaving this entire experience behind him.

But before Hoseok can say or do anything, Yoongi turns to the staff, who have all gathered around the area, several feet from the camera equipment, and waves them all off.

"Today will be a closed set," Yoongi announces as he turns his attention back to Hoseok, eyes staring holes into his skin so intense, Hoseok looks down to the floor, only glancing up when he notices Seokjin return with the heater and leave before plugging it in.

There is some chatter amongst the staff, but for the most part, people shrug and begin to head to the exit. Those who were busy opening the end of the tent must be finished, and they file out around them, following everyone out.

"Be back in an hour," Namjoon tells them as he stands near the exit and waits for everyone to leave.

Then, when all of the black-clad bodies have left, Namjoon gives a glance back toward Hoseok, shooting a smile that is barely visible from this distance, and leaves, closing the door to the tent behind him.

Yoongi turns and opens a bag that has been set beside his equipment and begins to rummage through it. He pulls out a small gold bucket, sets it down on the floor, and squats to work the lid off.

"Disrobe, please," Yoongi says, keeping his eyes on the task at hand, and Hoseok hesitates, hands feeling stuck in place and unsure how to move.

When Yoongi glances up and cocks an eyebrow, Hoseok's limbs begin to work, and he quickly stands and unties the silk cord around his waist, letting the robe fall open. The wind from the beach is just strong enough to chill Hoseok, and with every new inch of exposed skin, he shivers harder.

"Hoseok," Yoongi mutters, standing with an open bucket of swirling gold liquid. "We don't have all day."

"What are y—"

"I want to paint your arms, chest, and neck. And maybe your shins. Once it's dry, we'll do some shots, then you can put the robe back on for the rest."

Ridiculous, Hoseok tells himself. Namjoon is the makeup and wardrobe artist; why is Yoongi the one to paint him?

Hoseok complies, shrugging away the robe until it slides down to his wrists, then he pulls one arm out to gather it with the other. Yoongi reaches for the garment, takes it, then tosses it aside to land in a pile on the floor. Then, he dips his hand in the bucket of paint, pulls it out, and stands, dripping it all over the otherwise flawless white floor.

“This will be cold,” is all the warning Hoseok gets before Yoongi begins to slather the gold paint across Hoseok's bare chest.

The paint is cold, but Hoseok thinks it is because of the contact with Yoongi's hand on his skin that he jumps and his breath hitches. Yoongi's palm is large, fingers are long, and as he smears the gold over his chest, warmth radiating beneath the initial cold from the touch, Hoseok lets his eyes flutter closed.

He does not want to see the slight tug of Yoongi's eyebrows as he concentrates, nor does he want to spot any freckles that may be on his nose from this close. Yoongi is the enemy, Hoseok reminds himself. And he will not fall victim to his charms – assuming the man has any, in the first place.

Hoseok has no idea how long it takes for Yoongi to cover him in paint, but it feels like an eternity. He shivers and breathes in through his nose, doing his best not to let his shoulders or chest rise and fall too heavily.

When Yoongi is finally done and all that is left is thick, drying paint and the ghost of all the places his fingers have touched, Hoseok opens his eyes to find Yoongi turning on the heater and adjusting it so that it points in Hoseok's direction. It is a tall, thin unit with a large angular top that appears to send heat downward, and although it takes some time for the warmth to adequately affect Hoseok, he is grateful.

Yoongi appears to be setting up equipment, checking his cameras, and readying rolls of film, and Hoseok keeps his eyes trained just past him, lest he gets caught staring. He is still standing in just his briefs, he assumes to wait for the paint to dry.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat, then he stands before Hoseok.

"Gonna do some closeups on your face, neck, and shoulders, first without the robe, and then we'll go out toward the end of the tent for some full body shots. I want your limbs elongated, face relaxed and indifferent, and your head tilted."

"Yes, sir," Hoseok mutters, looking down, past Yoongi.

"You can't be afraid of eye contact."

Hoseok scoffs. "I'm not."

"Then look at me."

Hoseok blinks and lifts his eyes, staring ahead at Yoongi, whose expression is dark and heavy. His intense eye contact sends a shiver through Hoseok, but he returns the gaze, doing his best to steady his breath despite his pounding heart. Yoongi has two tiny moles – one on his nose and one on the apple of his cheek – and Hoseok feels his face begin to warm as he is the first to break eye contact and look, instead, at Yoongi's shoulder.

Without another word, Yoongi backs up, raises his camera, and begins to shoot. The sound of the shutter clicking, synched with the lights flashing, takes Hoseok out of his head, and he rolls his shoulders back, elongates his neck and arms, and begins to pose – moving ever so slowly while alternating looking into the camera and up to the side.

Yoongi takes several steps around Hoseok, shooting at a variety of distances and speeds, never giving any instruction, but occasionally humming to himself. Somehow, Hoseok feels a connection – like a mind link of sorts – and he follows along with Yoongi's movements with effortless confidence.

Then, Yoongi nods down to Hoseok's robe, mutters, "You can put it back on," and shoves his hands into a black cloth bag in which he has inserted his camera, to wind and change the roll of film.

Hoseok steps toward the robe, bends, and picks it up. He lets the fabric flow in the light breeze, despite there not being much sand on the floor to get stuck to it, then puts it on, leaving it untied but hugging it around his chest. Yoongi finishes his task, puts the strap of the camera around his neck, then grabs what appears to be a digital camera, and nods toward the opening in the tent.

"You don't have to go far, just a foot or so onto the sand. We can bring the heater if you need, but hopefully the sunshine will be enough."

The sunshine is not enough, but the sooner they get this shoot over with, the sooner Hoseok can go home. Thankfully, the wind does die down and Yoongi makes quick work getting his shots, only complaining once about goosebumps but grumbling that he can edit them in post. Although Hoseok was not looking forward to having to get into the sand, he welcomes the warmth as his shins and palms sink into it.

"All done," Yoongi says abruptly, after what hardly feels like an eternity, and turns on his heel to walk back into the tent while looking down at his digital camera, flipping through shots he had just taken and humming to himself.

Hoseok hobbles to his feet, groaning as the sand seems to stick to the paint on his arms and legs, and makes his way back to the partition where his clothing has been left. He never saw Namjoon return, and he hopes he comes back soon. Hoseok has no idea how much time has passed, nor how the hell he is supposed to get home.

As he stands with his palms open and out to his sides, trying to decide what to do, Yoongi's raspy voice pulls him from his thoughts, making him jolt.

"Don't bother getting dressed— Jesus, are you really that jumpy?"

"I wasn't expecting you to creep up behind me," Hoseok responds as he turns to find Yoongi's head peeking around the corner.

"You can shower at mine and I'll drop you off."

Ah, Hoseok thinks, so this is how he gets them. Offers them a shower and a ride home. Textbook creeper move.

"No thanks," Hoseok says, turning back to his clothing. "I can just go like this and shower when I get home."

"Go where?" Yoongi asks in almost a teasing tone that makes Hoseok's blood boil.

"Home," Hoseok responds, attempting to keep his voice calm.

"And how will you get there?"

At this, Hoseok turns on the balls of his feet and glares at the man who has the audacity to smirk at him. "A car."

"I'm certain you didn't drive here."

"No, I—"

"Reception is shit. You won't be able to get a taxi back. Plus, I can't possibly pay you enough for today's shoot for you to be taking a cab this far. Let me give you a ride, it's no big deal."

Hoseok sighs. He hopes that Namjoon may magically appear and offer him a ride instead, but as he takes his time slipping his feet into his slippers and gathering his clothing into a neat pile, no such miracle occurs.

"What if I get gold on your car seats?" Hoseok offers as a final concession to talk the man out of giving him a ride.

Yoongi shrugs. "I've gotten worse on my seats. It's water-based, anyway; washes right out."

How annoying, Hoseok thinks, that Yoongi seems to have all the answers.

When they exit the partitioned area, several men are back, putting the tent back together. Others are packing up the equipment and locking it away. Hoseok glances around to see if Namjoon has returned, but of course, he is nowhere to be seen.

Yoongi changes from his slippers into some boots, so Hoseok does the same, sliding his feet into his sneakers. He waits to see whether Yoongi takes his slippers with, then decides to leave his behind when Yoongi does so, tucking the heel of one of his into the toe of the other, so he can easily identify them next time. Assuming there will be a next time.

"This way," Yoongi says as he leaves the tent and veers off to the right.

There is less distance to trudge in this direction, and Hoseok does his best to keep up despite the sand making it difficult to walk in a straight line. With each sink of his foot, Hoseok feels his patience and understanding crumble away, falling through his fingers like the very sand he despises.

Yoongi is the first to make it up a short hill and onto flat land, and he turns to offer Hoseok a hand, which Hoseok declines before realizing just how steep and difficult the area is. Reluctantly, Hoseok places a hand in Yoongi's, ignoring the warmth that radiates from his skin and how engulfing his grip is.

"You shoot out here a lot?" Hoseok mutters, unsure why suddenly, he feels the urge to make small talk with his sworn enemy.

Yoongi hums and nods, and when Hoseok is safely standing on a small gravel road, Yoongi lets go of him and turns away, walking toward a large black sedan. Once Hoseok rounds the vehicle and opens the door, the air around him seems to thicken. He clambers into the seat, taking care to make sure the robe covers his legs, then buckles his seatbelt and neatly places his clothing onto his lap. Yoongi seems to be placing his gear into the trunk

The vehicle smells musky, with hints of wood and something floral. It is almost intoxicating, and Hoseok closes his eyes to breathe slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth in an attempt to center himself and erase all thought from his mind. He will not let the smell of Yoongi's vehicle distract him from the fact that the man is the fucking devil.

Yoongi gets into the driver's side and Hoseok quietly clears his throat and looks out the window – anywhere but at the man beside him. The ignition starts and the car begins to move ahead, and although the area is beautiful and Hoseok would like to spend more time getting to see the terrain, his eyes focus on nothing as he stares ahead. Briefly, Hoseok checks his phone, only to find he has no bars, and he lets his hand fall to his lap.

"I would like to sit down with you and look at the shots before sending you home for the day," Yoongi says, breaking the tense silence. "You will get paid for your time, and there is a shower in the studio that you can use to clean off. When you are ready, I can either take you home or call you a cab."

Hoseok says nothing, just stares ahead as the rocky scenery slowly blends into countryside, leaving the beach behind them.

"Hoseok," Yoongi grumbles, and Hoseok sighs, then says, "Yes, sir," with a bite on the end of the last word.

Yoongi chuckles. "Are you always so uptight?"

Anger rises in Hoseok, and he turns to find Yoongi has removed a layer of his clothing, with pale, muscular arms on display and his black t-shirt hugging him a little too tight. Hoseok only spares Yoongi's face a glance before turning to look ahead.

"This is real rich coming from the guy who told me not to speak, and to blindly follow his orders."

Yoongi chuckles again, which only serves to make Hoseok angrier. "I was joking. You models, I swear."

"Asshole," Hoseok mutters under his breath, and Yoongi laughs even harder. If he weren't driving, Hoseok would feel the urge to slap him.

After their minor transgression, the drive is quiet, save for Yoongi turning on the radio. He keeps the volume low but occasionally taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel. As the city comes into view, Hoseok begins to dread going back to Yoongi's home studio and sitting with him. The man is so impossible to read, and he just wants to put this day behind him and go have a stiff drink.

Hoseok's phone buzzes to life, suddenly flooded with the notifications he missed while in the middle of sandy fucking nowhere, and he glances down at his screen as they come in.

Jimin Details! I need to know everything about today's shoot!!!

Jeongguk Good luck, hyung! Don't let that monster charm you!!!

Jimin You've been silent all morning. Please let us know you're still alive!

Jeongguk Your silence is worrying...

Taehyung Please don't be mad, but I had to use your toothbrush :/ I'll get you a new one this weekend!

Jimin If you don't respond by 5 I'm sending out a rescue team!

Jimin On second thought, if you really have gone missing, I get first dibs on your closet!

Jeongguk Whatever you do, do not let him take you to his home studio to shoot more photos! Stay away from there!!!

"Almost there," Yoongi says as he exits from the main highway, into the city.

Hoseok shoots off responses to everyone, assuring Jeongguk that everything is fine, warning Jimin to stay the fuck away from his closet, and sending Taehyung a simple, "Ew." Then he tucks his phone away and watches as the city forms around them.

It is no surprise to Hoseok that Yoongi lives in one of the more affluent areas. He is, after all, the Min Yoongi – a prodigy from a young age who shot into superstardom with his photography. Hoseok would be shocked if the man has worked a normal job a day in his life.

As much as Hoseok knows he should take Jeongguk's advice and insist on a ride back to his place instead, he is curious to see how Yoongi lives. He wonders if he holes up in some shabby apartment just on the outskirts of the expensive area, in a place so covered in books, artwork, and other found objects, that he has to create paths from room to room, sheepishly apologizing for the state of the place. He would, after all, still be able to bag someone as weird as Jeongguk, so it is not beyond the realm of possibility.

Or, Hoseok thinks, maybe he lives in a stuffy high-rise full of his parent's things, and despite his big age, he has to respond to their beck and call because they undoubtedly paid for his education and keep the roof over his head, and he owes them his life – the true owners of M magazine. It is all conspiracy, but Hoseok allows his mind to wander.

As they pull up to a rather nice building, Hoseok glances around, taking in the architecture. These particular apartments are spacious and large, but not very tall, overlooking both the city and the river, which is not too far in the distance, from a hillside. A penthouse in a building like this costs a pretty penny, and it is just secluded enough from the more busy areas of town that the noises from the city at night probably do not reach it.

"This is me," Yoongi grumbles as he shuts off the ignition and gets out of the car.

Hoseok hesitates, only unfastening his belt when Yoongi opens the trunk to retrieve something. Then, Hoseok gets out of the vehicle, holding his clothing tight to his chest and making sure his robe is closed. He follows Yoongi up a short set of stairs, into a rather plain but large lobby, and avoids eye contact with the woman at the front desk while they make their way to the elevator.

There are only five floors in this building, and as Yoongi uses a card to gain access to the fourth floor, Hoseok wonders if each unit has its own elevator access.

"Floor four," Hoseok chides, watching through the reflection of the silver elevator doors as Yoongi's eyebrows rise and he cocks his head in Hoseok's direction. "I would have expected a hot shot photographer like yourself to have the penthouse suite."

Yoongi's reflection smirks, and Hoseok finds himself looking away.

"I do," he rasps as the elevator doors slide open, and he steps forward into a small hallway with a single door, leading straight into the spacious unit. "This floor is my studio."

Yoongi punches in a code and pushes open the door, sliding off his shoes near the entrance and walking through the space. Hoseok follows behind just fast enough to avoid the elevator doors closing on him, and removes his shoes, as well. Although the studio looks like a typical apartment at first, with large couches near a glass wall and an open-concept kitchen, there are bags here and there with equipment sticking from them, stacked neatly on tables and chairs.

"Have a seat," Yoongi calls from the kitchen as he fills a glass of water from the sink. He seems to have dumped his bag on one of the large leather couches, so Hoseok goes that way and sits a few feet from it.

When Yoongi returns, he has two glasses, and he sets one in front of Hoseok on a large wooden coffee table, then sits in the space between Hoseok and the bag.

"I'll make this quick so you can clean up and head home," he says as he begins to unzip the bag and pull out his camera.

"Obviously, we can't see everything I shot because some of it is on film," Yoongi mutters as he shifts around with a camera body in his hand and begins to flip through photographs. "But I wanted to at least run some of these by you before I touch them up and send them off to the editors."

Hoseok leans in and looks at a closeup of his face, painted gold with his wild, crimpy hair nearly covering one eye. He may as well be Adonis with his sharp yet soft features, accentuated beautifully by makeup and a glow of natural light.

"Wow," Hoseok mutters before he can stop himself, and Yoongi flips through a few more, all with slight variations to the angle and pose of his head, as well as the intensity in his eyes.

"You're a natural," Yoongi says softly, taking Hoseok by surprise.

He glances up to find Yoongi gazing down at the photo on the screen, and feels a prickle in his palms, which begin to sweat. The woody, floral musk from Yoongi’s vehicle tickles Hoseok's senses, making him light-headed, and he breathes through his mouth in an effort to stop smelling it.

"Th-thank you."

"Are you confident with these shots? Can we go ahead and use them?"

Hoseok is surprised by Yoongi's questioning and stares at him for a split moment. Never has a photographer bothered to go over the photos with him before, much less ask how he feels about them. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow and Hoseok blinks heavily and swallows a lump of something nervous and unfamiliar.

"Y-yeah," Hoseok mutters, "Of course. You did a great job."

"Great," Yoongi responds as he flicks the power for the camera body off and sets it on his lap. "If you want to get cleaned up, there is a bathroom just past the kitchen. I will start on touching these up, in there," Yoongi points to a room in the opposite direction, across from where they sit, "so just shout when you're finished."

"Oh—okay," Hoseok says as he shifts away from Yoongi and picks up the glass of water, suddenly feeling parched.

Yoongi gets up from the couch, and says, "Use whatever you want in there. Towels are in the closet." Then he takes the camera and walks in the direction of what Hoseok assumes is his office.

Hoseok drinks more water, then stands from the large, brown sofa and slowly makes his way toward the set of doors near the kitchen. The furnishings are minimal, all made from what looks like restored wood and brown leather. Landscape photographs line the walls on this end of the space, near the kitchen and bathroom, and poster-sized versions of some of Yoongi's magazine covers are on the walls in the other direction.

In the bathroom, Hoseok quickly locates a towel, figures out the shower, and washes the gold from his skin. Luckily, as Yoongi said, it washes off easily, and he does not have to scrub too hard. The soaps and shampoos are fruity, and by the time Hoseok gets out and dries off, he smells like a basket of apples and tangerines.

It feels good to be back in his own clothes, and Hoseok towel dries his hair, then uses it to dab away some of the makeup that did not come out in the shower. As he exits the room, he cannot help but notice two toothbrushes in a cup by the sink and thinks it is a little weird that someone who lives in a different apartment uses this space to brush his teeth. Then he shrugs the thought away, shuts off the light, and returns to the couch.

Hoseok barely opens his mouth to call for Yoongi, when he sees Yoongi's head pop out from the room.

"Which side of town do you live on?" he asks.

Suddenly, Hoseok feels shy about getting a ride back home, and he begins to pull his phone out, muttering, "Oh, you don't have t—"

"Because if you are near your old campus, I have to go that way, so I can just drop you off."

Hoseok considers lying about where he lives and getting a cab, but he remembers how broke he is and, with a sigh, concedes. Yoongi probably already looked up where he lives, anyway; he has that information on file.

"Yeah, I don't live too far from there."

"Perfect," Yoongi says as he makes his way to the entrance hall and slides on his shoes, calling for the elevator while Hoseok scrambles on to join him.

* * *

"Well?" Jeongguk asks with wide, curious eyes as Jimin pours four glasses of beer, causing the first to nearly overflow with foam.

Hoseok shrugs.

"It was...weird. But fine."

"Weird but fine," Jimin parrots, sliding a glass toward Hoseok. "That's it?"

"I mean," Hoseok sighs, "I don't know. I went out to the sea, and it was sandy and windy, and he covered me in gold paint. The photos came out nice, and after, he gave me a ride home."

"A ride home, or a ride to his place?" Jeongguk asks.

Hoseok glares at his young friend while taking a sip of the cold, bittersweet beer, then sets his glass down on their shabby wooden table with a thunk.

"To his studio, and then home. And before you ask, no, he did not make any moves. We barely spoke. He just offered to let me look at the photos and then I washed the paint off in the shower, and that was it."

Taehyung gasps from Hoseok's right, and everyone turns their attention to him.

"What if he has a camera in his shower?"

Hoseok scoffs and rolls his eyes, though the thought settles like bile in his guts.

"He does not have a camera in his shower," Jeongguk mutters, almost defensively, and Hoseok takes another sip of beer. "He's not a sexual predator, he's just...sly. And conniving."

"Lovely," Hoseok grumbles, causing Jimin to laugh.

"So was he charming?" Jimin asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"No," Hoseok responds plainly. "He was kind of an asshole."

Jimin gasps. "He what?"

"I mean, I don't know. I don't think I get his sense of humor. He's kind of dry and comes off as a little cold."

"But he offered to let you see the photographs?" Jeongguk asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

Jeongguk shrugs and takes a drink of his beer, and Hoseok pushes against his arm, nearly causing him to spill.

"Why, Ggukie," he presses.

Another shrug, and Jeongguk mutters, "Just not something he typically does."

There is a sadness in Jeongguk's tone that does not go unnoticed, but Hoseok has no idea what to say to him, so he shrugs and acts indifferent. Anything to change the vibe.

Because, really, he does not want to make his friend feel sad, and he definitely does not want him to feel replaced, despite that absolutely being the goal before. But it is hard not to talk about Yoongi when Hoseok now works for him and everyone seems so keen on hearing all about it.

“He never went through your photos with you?” Jimin asks Jeongguk, and Hoseok fights the urge to reach over the table and slap him.

Instead, he opens his eyes wide and makes a faint shake of his head to tell Jimin not to go there. Jimin simply rolls his eyes, turning his gaze back to Jeongguk.

Jeongguk shrugs – apparently this is his thing tonight – and mutters, “Not at first. Only once he started trying to get to know me better. He used it as a tactic to flirt and compliment me."

Hoseok makes the mistake of taking another sip of his beer, and at the notion of Min-stoic-Yoongi flirting, he nearly shoots the carbonated beverage through his nose. Instead, a scoff lodges the liquid into his nasal cavity, and Hoseok begins to cough, slamming his beer down on the table and slapping himself in the chest. When he finally has enough wits about him, all he can do is laugh, feeling tears break from the lines of his eyes while remnants of beer burn his nasal cavity.

“Nice work, you nearly killed Hoseok,” Taehyung whines, pointing a hand over the table.

“Sorry,” Hoseok rasps, throat absolutely wrecked. “The idea of Yoongi flirting made me choke.”

A loud, almost defensive scoff comes from Jeongguk. “You have no idea. Seriously, watch out for him.”

And although Hoseok can recall at least one moment where Yoongi’s voice had taken on a soft, inviting tone, it is overshadowed by him being a snarky pain in the ass.

“Whatever you say, Ggukie.”

* * *

Hoseok wakes up hungover to the sound of his phone dinging with a new text message. He has been hitting snooze for the last forty-five minutes, and he groans as he reaches for his phone, squinting his eyes open.

The sun shines into his large window way too brightly despite the powder blue curtains hanging over them, and he curses himself for choosing something cute yet impractical, as always.

Hoseok is not surprised when he clicks on his phone screen to find that it is already past eleven in the morning. But he is surprised to find a text from an unknown number.

[unknown] Hoseok-ssi, it’s Yoongi. Meet me for dinner at 4? We need to discuss the cover.

A dissatisfied grumble rocks through Hoseok at the thought of meeting Yoongi for dinner, but his traitor of a stomach rumbles hungrily. As he saves Yoongi’s number to his contacts, he wonders what kind of posh, penthouse steak joint he will be rolling up to. Already, outfit after outfit comes to mind, and he even considers a nice silk gown and a string of pearls.

Hoseok Sure. Where?

Because the thing about men like Yoongi – assholes with a wallet as thick as their reputation is dirty – they are suckers for a pretty face accentuated by pearls.

Min Asshole I’ll have a driver go get you at 3:45. I know a little spot nearby. Don’t dress up. It’s not that kind of date.

Date. Hoseok scoffs. The nerve of this man.

Hoseok So I should wear a hoodie and ripped jeans? Got it.

Min Asshole Knock yourself out.

“Fucking hate this guy,” Hoseok mutters as he tosses his sunshine yellow duvet aside and swings his legs over the edge of his bed.

He has half a mind to dress as posh as possible for the so-called date just to piss Yoongi off, and he hums a misplaced tune to himself as he stumbles toward his walk-in closet, looking for the perfect fit.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Jimin says with his lips hanging slightly open, gazing down at Hoseok as he presses the final fake eyelash in place. "You are dressing up to meet with a man who you despise – who told you not to dress up – because you want to...what? Rub yourself in his face?"

"Phrasing," Hoseok mumbles, realizing too late how silly it seems when spoken aloud as he adds, "But yes. That is the plan."

"Sounds to me like you want him to want you."

"I don't w—" Hoseok slaps Jimin's hand away and sits up, assessing himself in the mirror. "I'm just being playful," he continues, looking at Jimin through the mirror and batting his accentuated eyelashes. "Can't I be playful?"

"Do whatever you want, Seokie," Jimin says while mussing Hoseok's hair in his fingertips, giving it some volume. "Just be careful. I know Jeonggukie is probably laying the warnings on thick because he feels some sort of way about being cast aside, but the man does have a reputation."

"I am not trying to fuck him," Hoseok insists, giving Jimin's reflection a stern look.

With a roll of his eyes, Jimin says, "I hear he's hot, so if you do, I wouldn't blame you. Just don't catch feelings."

"I'm not—"

Jimin holds up one hand and closes his eyes. "I said what I said."

Hoseok absolutely does not plan to fuck Min Yoongi.

Yes, the man is hot. And rich. And influential. And he smells like a spring morning just before it rains. And he has two tiny moles on his nose and cheek and a deep, alluring voice. But he is the enemy.

“All done?” Jimin asks, and Hoseok breaks from his thoughts to look over his reflection.

His hair is wavy and a little messy – hinging perfectly between looking unkempt and intentional – and Jimin has affixed false lashes that are only slightly longer than his naturals, with a dusting of gold shadow on his lids, which has been dabbed brighter in the creases.

Rather than wear a satin gown and pearls, Hoseok decides on a black blazer with a deep neck, a black mesh shirt, and black slacks. Elegant enough for a hip, seafood spot and casual enough for a small sushi haunt. He considers jewelry, running his fingertips over a white gold chain link necklace, but ultimately decides not to overdo it.

At 3:45 pm on the dot, Hoseok receives a text from another unknown number, telling him that his ride has arrived, and he kisses Jimin goodbye – two quick pecks on each cheek – as he slides his feet into platform black sneakers and makes his way down the hallway, down a short flight of stairs, and out the door, shouting at Jimin to stay the hell out of his closet.

A black sedan waits on the curb, and Hoseok wonders if it is just Yoongi being a silly goose and pretending to be a driver. But as Hoseok approaches, he sees a different familiar face and tenses up.

Seokjin rolls down the window, gives Hoseok a once-over, and smirks. “Getting in or what?”

Hoseok bends at the waist to look into the window. “What’s the protocol? Am I supposed to ride in the front or the back?”

Seokjin – eternally unamused – raises an eyebrow and says, “I don’t give a fuck, just get in the car.”

With a huff, Hoseok straightens out and gets into the front seat. He likes Seokjin’s attitude and has a feeling his presence might be just annoying enough to get another rise out of him on the way to the restaurant.

Turns out, however, Seokjin is even more stoic than Yoongi. He hardly acknowledges Hoseok beyond grunts and hums, and only cracks a measly smile when they pull up to the restaurant as he says, “Enjoy!”

Hoseok may not know Seokjin well, but he can spot mischief, and that man’s smile is nothing if not mischievous.

Still, Hoseok says, “Thanks, I probably won’t!” with his chin held high, because nobody gets the last laugh but him.

As Hoseok clambers out of the sedan and turns to the building on his right, realization hits. The spot Yoongi invited him to is a tiny hole-in-wall pizzeria. Hoseok turns back to Seokjin with his eyebrows raised, silently asking if this is seriously the spot, and is met by an amused Seokjin waving his fingers at Hoseok as if to encourage him to go inside.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Hoseok turns back toward the building, holds his chest high, and opens the door to the restaurant. Immediately, he is hit by an overwhelming scent of cheese, herbs, and roasted tomatoes, and he pauses in the entrance to glance around, feeling incredibly overdressed.

A spot like this does not have a host stand, but, luckily it is small enough that one quick glimpse around the place shows his dinner date in a booth, in the back. Hoseok walks past Yoongi and slides into the booth before him, doing his best not to notice the way Yoongi’s eyes rise, take in his appearance, and then drop back to the phone in his hands. He has a mask over his mouth, which he tucks under his chin.

“I told you not to dress up,” Yoongi mutters in a gravely deadpan.

Hoseok rolls his eyes and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t.”

Seconds pass as Yoongi types something out, then he sets his phone face down on the table beside him and picks up a menu. His hair is wild, hanging in his eyes, and he wears a simple black long-sleeve tee with a hint of a gold chain around his neck.

“Do you have dietary restrictions?”

Hoseok, who pretends to read over the menu but finds it too overwhelming, says, “No.”

Yoongi hums. “There’s a loaded potato pie that’s really good. Has bacon and shit. I usually get that, if you’re not sure what to order.”

Despite Yoongi’s voice giving off absolutely no hint that he actually does like the pizza he describes, Hoseok is sold. He glances over the description on the menu, and likes the way it looks.

“Sounds good. I’ll try that.”

“Beer?”

A beer would certainly help placate the hangover that lingers, making Hoseok feel fussy and antsy.

“Beer sounds good.”

Yoongi calls over a server, places their order, then sits back and finally gives Hoseok his full attention. His eyes rove Hoseok’s face and chest, then he smirks softly.

“This is you not dressed up?”

A hint of playfulness sneaks through the raspy indifference, and Hoseok considers it a win.

“Okay, I’m a tiny bit dressed up,” Hoseok admits, reveling in how the corner of Yoongi’s mouth quirks up ever so slightly. “I always do a little something, though; I didn’t dress this way just for you.”

Yoongi folds his hands over the table and leans in close, smirking. “Why would you dress up for me?”

Heat rises to Hoseok’s cheeks and he rolls his eyes and looks away, to the ugly exposed brick walls and the server wearing a garish, bright green smock. He shrugs and mutters, “Excuse me for liking to make a decent first impression.”

“You interviewed with my company and stood for photos. This is hardly your first impression.”

Hoseok slowly intakes a deep breath and makes eye contact with the man across from him whose smirk is still plastered over his stupid pretty face.

“You’re insufferable.”

Yoongi’s smile widens into a grin, and as he mutters, “I know,” the server drops off two heavy mugs of beer.

There is undeniably something about the way Yoongi’s lips curl and his eyes pierce that makes Hoseok feel small under his gaze. He wonders if he had the same effect on Jeongguk – someone who is at least a few inches taller than Yoongi.

Ordinarily, Hoseok would stare back – give just as intense eye contact and form his lips into an equally enticing smirk – but he finds it difficult to hold Yoongi’s gaze for longer than a few seconds, and even shifts in his seat as he picks up his glass to take a drink.

The beer is somewhat darker than Hoseok usually drinks, coating his tongue in a heady mix of malt and hops. He stares ahead and takes another drink, then sets it down.

“I was hoping to shoot you again for the cover,” Yoongi says as he lifts his beer to his lips and takes a sip. Hoseok looks up in time to watch Yoongi’s eyelashes flutter closed for just a split second as he savors the taste, and he instantly averts his eyes to the worn, wooden tabletop.

“I thought you said the shots we did were good,” Hoseok responds, unable to hide the slight tremble in his voice.

Yoongi sets his glass down, and Hoseok nervously looks up to find Yoongi studying him with a somewhat calm, unreadable expression.

“What I said was that you are a natural,” Yoongi corrects. “And by that, I meant that the photos we took were great. Not good. Never let anyone tell you that you are simply good.”

“Oh—okay.”

“I want to reshoot with the same makeup, but in more playful lighting. Pinks, blues...something more dynamic. Something that takes your greatness and makes it show-stopping. Understood?”

Yoongi thinks Hoseok has the ability to be show-stopping, and that fact alone has Hoseok's heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Uh-understood.”

“Good,” Yoongi says, then he cocks an eyebrow, and adds, “I mean, great.”

Hoseok clears his throat, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Yoongi asks, lifting his glass once more to take a drink.

“For believing in me. Nobody has ever called me show-stopping before.”

“Well, the audition photos you sent me were far from remarkable,” Yoongi brazenly states as he tongues the inside of his mouth.

Hoseok gasps and considers throwing his beer on Yoongi, but Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head as he continues.

“You were stunning – are stunning. You aren't the problem. Some photographers just don’t have an eye for beauty and they miss it. The makeup and outfits were lackluster, the lighting wasn’t perfect."

When Hoseok says nothing, Yoongi continues, "Nobody has given you the chance to be show-stopping, is what I mean. But with me calling the shots, you will blow everyone away – mark my words.”

The server returns and sets a steaming hot pizza in front of them, but all Hoseok can do is stare at Yoongi and attempt to let everything he just said settle.

“Are you free tonight?” Yoongi asks, pulling Hoseok from his reverie.

He struggles to form a cohesive thought and blurts out, “Huh?” forgetting what they had been talking about.

“To shoot a few more photos for the cover,” Yoongi says, reaching for a slice of pizza. “Namjoon’s schedule is clear and he can meet us at my studio, but only if you’re free. Otherwise, maybe tomorrow, or—“

“I’m free tonight,” Hoseok responds quickly.

He finds himself having to instantly look away when Yoongi smiles widely, showing off pretty pink gums as he says, “Great.”

* * *

Hoseok is full when he climbs into Yoongi’s black sedan, and he groans as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Too much pizza and beer,” he whines. “I’ve never had a photographer feed me so well.”

Yoongi shifts himself to face Hoseok once his seatbelt is fastened. “You don’t have any disordered eating habits, do you?”

“No,” Hoseok responds with a chuckle. “No, I’m blessed with a good metabolism. And I dance a lot in my free time, so I'm usually pretty good at holding a steady weight.”

“That’s good. I like my models to be nice and healthy. But if you do form any bad habits, I have a specialist on call who can help out with that.”

The concern in Yoongi’s voice takes Hoseok by surprise. Of course, his income hinges on hiring models who can perform, but typically, photographers do not care about their health. If anything, many of the people he has worked for have encouraged him to skip meals.

“I appreciate it, but there is really no need,” Hoseok mutters as he fidgets with his hands on his lap. Eager to change the topic, he says, “You mentioned before that my previous outfits weren’t that great, but need I remind you that I only wore paint in many of the shots you took.”

Yoongi reaches behind Hoseok’s seat and glances through the rear window as he reverses just enough to put space between his vehicle and the one in front of his. Then, he stops, turns his attention to Hoseok, and says, “You would be show-stopping fully nude.”

At this, Hoseok turns his head and stares out of the passenger side window. He can feel Yoongi hovering still – can smell the dewy spring morning scent that is him.

Yoongi shifts gears, straightens out, and adds, “Under the right lighting, of course,” then pulls away from the curb, and all Hoseok can do is scoff. The absolute nerve of this man.

Hoseok SOS

Jimin OMG what happened? Where did he take you? Do I need to call in reinforcements???

Hoseok Wow, no, my god. He’s just being very flirtatious, and it’s making me panic.

Jimin He flirted??? You are in trouble. How did it make you feel?

Hoseok I don’t know. Tingly. Excited.

Jimin !!!

Hoseok Not because it’s him! Okay! I am but a simple slut who enjoys being complimented. That is all.

Jimin Oh god, you’re gonna fuck him, aren’t you? Honestly, I support your decision either way.

Hoseok I am NOT going to fuck him, I just needed a distraction from his sly words and his deep, gravely voice. Thank you for your unbridled chaos, it helped.

Jimin Any time. But listen: if you DO fuck him, please report back because I need to know what the fuss is. Like…maybe his dick is made of gold or something. Jeongguk won't say a peep about it, so this is all on you. Give me every detail, baby! Every detail!

Hoseok Wow! Okay, bye!!!

Jimin EVERY DETAIL!!!

“We’re here,” Yoongi grumbles, and Hoseok looks up from his phone with a start.

Here they are, parked outside the same apartment building as yesterday. The only shred of hope that Hoseok has left is knowing that Namjoon will also be here. Because if Hoseok is being honest with himself, he knows that there is absolutely no way in hell he would stop Yoongi’s advances – should he make any.

This is bad. This is real bad.

As they get out of the vehicle and approach the building, Yoongi takes the lead, and Hoseok regrettably lets his eyes fall to a very perky, very round butt. He makes a mental note to never walk behind Yoongi while he is wearing slacks, and fails several times to keep his gaze from wandering. If he manages to hold himself back from blurting out his findings to Jeongguk next time they are drunk, it will be a miracle.

Once inside, Hoseok steps in line on the way to the elevator, making it impossible to sneak a glance. They enter the elevator, and Yoongi uses a key to gain access to floor five.

“I need to run to the penthouse for a moment,” he says, turning to Hoseok. “You’re welcome to wait in the studio level if you would prefer.”

Hoseok absolutely does prefer that option, and he nods and says, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Yoongi responds as he holds the card up once more and presses the button for the fourth floor.

As soon as the elevator dings and the doors slide open, Hoseok steps eagerly into the hallway and ignores the overwhelming scent of Yoongi's musk as he leans in close and punches in the code for his studio. Once the door opens, Hoseok lunges inside, glancing only briefly over his shoulder to wave to Yoongi as the door closes, then he kicks off his sneakers and makes his way to the couch to sit stiff as a board in the exact spot he sat last time.

Hoseok He invited me to his apartment!!! But I chickened out and told him I wanted to wait in the studio instead.

Jimin I knew you were weak.

Hoseok Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Jimin Wait, where is his studio? Connected to his house?

Hoseok He lives in a fifth-floor penthouse up on the hill, and his studio is on the fourth floor.

Jimin Daaaang. This man is made of money. Definitely let him fuck you, then! Maybe he’ll take you out to nice restaurants.

Hoseok Pretty sure he never took Jeongguk to nice restaurants. He never let the public know they were more than boss and employee.

Jimin That’s right, I forget what a player he is. Asshole.

Hoseok Seriously.

The elevator door dings, followed by the sound of the keypad, and Hoseok looks up with a gasp, expecting his mortal enemy – correction: his mortal enemy who, evidently, has a fat ass – to come stepping through the large, wooden door. Instead, Namjoon walks in, head to toe in blue denim with a dopey smile on his face.

Hoseok stands to welcome Namjoon, holding his arms out wide, and Namjoon sets down his black makeup bag, steps out of his white sneakers, and meets Hoseok halfway for a very gentle, somewhat awkward hug.

"Finally, someone whose personality doesn't give me fucking whiplash," Hoseok mutters as they break from the hug.

Namjoon laughs, pretty dimples poking into his cheeks, and shakes his head. "I take it you haven't let him charm you, then?"

"Charm me?" Hoseok all but shouts. "Please. That man is as charming as a sponge."

Just then, the elevator dings, the keypad beeps, and in walks Yoongi, changed from the long-sleeved shirt into a short-sleeved black tee, which he has the decency to keep untucked. He steps out of his sneakers and waves his arm for Hoseok and Namjoon to follow him as he goes straight into the room Hoseok assumes is his studio.

Namjoon grabs his black bag, and Hoseok follows suit, into the room. Already, Yoongi is setting up lights in pink, blue, and yellow in an otherwise dim room, and pointing them at the far wall. There is a makeup vanity near the door, which Namjoon turns on, illuminating the rectangular mirror with bright lights, and Hoseok has a seat in the chair in front of it.

"Hoseok," Yoongi calls, and Hoseok hums in response, looking at him through the mirror. "How would you feel about shooting in what you're wearing now?"

"This?" Hoseok asks, looking down at his outfit. He did wear it with intention, but even he has to admit, the look is a bit plain.

"Once Namjoon does your hair and makeup, maybe we can test some shots?"

Hoseok shrugs, holding back a smile. Yoongi likes the outfit he picked enough to want to photograph him in it, and Hoseok feels ecstatic.

He keeps his tone flat as he says, "Whatever you want, boss."

Namjoon works magic on Hoseok, crimping his hair just as he had the other day, and applying makeup in a nearly identical fashion. Hoseok apologizes as Namjoon delicately peels away the false lashes, but Namjoon just smiles, unbothered.

Once Namjoon is finished, Hoseok stands from his chair and turns to Yoongi, who approaches with several rectangular black velvet boxes. He opens one of the boxes, and Hoseok gasps at the sight of rainbow-color Cuban links.

"I thought this would look nice over the mesh top," Yoongi grumbles as Namjoon reaches for the necklace and pulls it out.

"Let's find out," Namjoon says as he gently places it on Hoseok's neck, then fastens the clasp.

Hoseok nearly dies when he looks at his reflection, and he resists the urge to reach up and touch the shiny metal with his fingertips. The weight of the necklace is heavy, but the look is sleek and elegant, and Hoseok cannot pull his eyes away from it.

"Come into the light," Yoongi says, and Hoseok does a double take in the mirror between Yoongi's reflection and the jewelry.

"Sure," he mutters as he turns away and walks over to where Yoongi has several lights pointed.

Without giving a word of direction, Yoongi begins to shoot, and Hoseok takes the cue and poses. First, he tilts his head to elongate his neck, then he straightens his spine and looks directly into the lens. Yoongi must be pleased because he steps forward and quickly captures the same pose several times before Hoseok switches.

They go on like this for several minutes until Yoongi finally says, "Put your hands into your hair. Loosely, but with an expression somewhere between exasperation and anger."

Hoseok does as he is told and puts both hands into his hair, then makes several expressions of varying degrees of frustration.

"Now soft," Yoongi says. "Like you've found something you didn't know you needed and it is all you can think about."

Hoseok's heart goes into overdrive, and he swallows thickly. Then, feeling himself soften, he makes shy glances at the camera, but ultimately, turns his gaze away. For some inexplicable reason, he feels the urge to cry.

"Incredible," Yoongi mutters.

"Can we remove the jacket?" Namjoon asks, and Hoseok stands up straight, yanked from the mindset he was just in, and nods.

As Hoseok begins to unbutton the jacket, Namjoon approaches with a comb and gently moves strands of hair into place. Then, he stands back, takes the jacket, and looks Hoseok up and down. The black mesh shirt is a long-sleeve, tucked into black slacks that are just loose enough on the leg to give a retro look, but without compromising Hoseok's slender shape.

"Have you considered getting your belly button pierced?" Namjoon asks, and Hoseok feels himself begin to blush.

"I have."

"You should," Yoongi grumbles, and Hoseok ignores the fluttering of his heart.

"I'm afraid of needles, though," Hoseok says, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Yoongi chuckles. "It's not so bad. Joonie and I will hold your hand."

Yoongi's hands are the last thing Hoseok wants on his mind, and he cannot help but gaze at them as Namjoon gently moves the neck of Hoseok's shirt and smooths his hands over his shoulders, then backs up to assess the overall look.

Yoongi delicately taps and flicks the various buttons and wheels on the camera with his long, knobby fingers, and it is all Hoseok can do not to picture those fingers doing terrible, wonderful things to him.

"The different lights reflect beautifully off the necklace," Namjoon says.

"There is a bracelet too," Yoongi responds, nodding his head to where he left more small boxes on the vanity. "Maybe put one on him, in case it shows up in a shot."

As Namjoon walks to retrieve the bracelet, Yoongi begins to shoot again, and Hoseok returns to his poses and practiced facial expressions. It feels natural to move every five or six clicks of the shutter, and Yoongi seems to have picked up on his rhythm, stepping forward and back every so often to capture slightly different angles of the same pose.

When Namjoon returns, Yoongi only pauses long enough to let him fasten a matching bracelet to Hoseok's wrist, and then he is back to shooting. Within a matter of minutes, Yoongi drops his arms to his sides and nods his head as if he is satisfied with another day's work.

"Let's go have a seat and take a look?" Yoongi suggests, and Hoseok nods and waits for the two of them to move, then follows behind them, leaving the studio area and approaching the same large leather couch.

Namjoon hovers around the back of the sofa while Yoongi takes a seat. Hoseok hesitates, but Yoongi pats the cushion beside him and beckons Hoseok over, so he does as he is told, and sits.

Yoongi's musk hits Hoseok instantly, and he adjusts in his seat, wiggling ever so slightly as if a war is waging inside him to either scoot away or get closer to the scent that is heaven and hell, all at once.

As Yoongi clicks through the photographs, Hoseok feels pride bloom in his chest. He looks stunning.

Namjoon's makeup and hair styling play a role, but even so, his expressions and the way he carries himself through each pose is profound without trying too hard. Never has Hoseok seen himself quite like this before.

"I love these," Hoseok mutters. "We did great."

"We sure did," Namjoon says behind them, placing a hand on Hoseok's shoulder. "If you're happy with the outcome, I'm going to head out, then."

Yoongi hums and nods, flicking his wrist up into a half-wave while his attention stays focused on the camera. Hoseok turns to wave Namjoon a proper goodbye, then continues looking at the photos while Namjoon returns to the other room to gather his things, then fetches his shoes, and exits.

The silence that hangs feels heavy, and suddenly, Hoseok does not want to be this close to Yoongi. Suddenly, Hoseok wants to get up and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. And when Yoongi turns to him with a soft smile and piercing gaze, a swarm of butterflies kicks up in Hoseok's stomach, threatening to make him vomit.

"I told you," Yoongi grumbles. "Showstopper Seok."

The nickname is unexpected, and Hoseok holds his breath, for fear of gasping. Yoongi has stopped on a photo of Hoseok with the blazer off, and he is bent at a slight angle that shows off his taut muscles, flexing beneath the fabric. Despite having been painted with Yoongi's bare hands, and standing before him in only his briefs during their first shoot, seeing himself like this, with Yoongi's attention turned to him, makes him feel exposed.

"You're the one working all the magic," Hoseok responds shyly. "Look at how perfectly lit this is. Magic Min."

Yoongi chuckles quietly, then proceeds to click through more photos, but all Hoseok can look at is Yoongi. The gentle way his brow furrows as he looks over his work. The way his nose swoops slightly into a cute, round button – soft and delicate against the sharper lines of his eyes and upper lip.

"Thank you," Hoseok says softly, nearly a whisper, and he lets his eyes fall to Yoongi's mouth as the man smiles.

"I'll send you proofs within the next twenty-four hours, and you'll be paid for your time today, including dinner."

Hoseok finds this information surprising and shakes his head. "Are you sure? The dinner doesn't have to count."

Yoongi holds up his hand to shush Hoseok, who clamps his mouth shut.

"Never turn down payment. If a man offers you money for sitting in his presence, take it. You're worth it."

"Oh," Hoseok mutters.

"Now, let's get you home, shall we?"

Hoseok feels lightheaded as he stands, and he stumbles over to the entrance in a bit of a daze. Namjoon had grabbed Hoseok's blazer and hung it near the door before he left, and Hoseok grabs it, wraps it tight around himself, and steps haphazardly into his platform sneakers, ignoring how the backs bend and get in the way of allowing his foot full access.

The ride down the elevator is silent, and the ride back to Hoseok's apartment has only the soft soundtrack of the radio; nobody says a word. It is only once they pull up to the curb that Yoongi twists, reaches a hand to gently touch Hoseok's knee, and says, "Thank you for today."

This moment feels far too intimate for Hoseok's liking, and he clears his throat and shrugs.

"Don't sweat it. I had fun! And any excuse to see Namjoon's dimples is a bonus."

Yoongi chuckles, gives Hoseok's knee a gentle squeeze, and moves his hand away. Warmth continues to radiate on the spot where he touched, and Hoseok stares for just a moment, considering the implications of how he feels.

"Joonie does have cute dimples," Yoongi responds, sounding almost amused.

Silence hangs, and Hoseok waits for a beat before unfastening his seatbelt.

"Okay, well, I should get going—"

"Yes, get some rest, and I'll—"

"—but thanks for everything, it was—"

"—be in touch."

"—a lot of fun."

Hoseok looks away, opens the door, and steps out. He turns back to Yoongi, leaning into the open doorway, wanting to say more to him, only to find that nothing comes out.

Yoongi leans down and says, "Take it easy, showstopper," and Hoseok smiles, shuts the door, and turns to his apartment. He does not look back to see if Yoongi is still there as he enters the building.

And later, when his phone buzzes with texts from curious friends demanding details, Hoseok ignores them, only catching a glimpse of Jimin's chaotic emoji spam before he changes a certain someone's name in his contact list to Magic Min.

“Fuck,” Hoseok mutters to himself, under his breath. “I’m in trouble.”

🎵 it’s only just a dream

in college, i had some photography classes and the one time i posed for another student, he grumbled about my eyelids being two different shapes while looking through closeup shots he had taken, and i have carried that memory for many years lmao. also, yes, the gold paint scene was inspired by Neon Demon lol don't perceive me.

tags: @btsstan12 @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 📸 this is a limited run fic, but if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment or dm!

INDEX | NEXT

#hoseok x yoongi #yoonseok #yoonseok smut #btswritersclub #yoonseok angst #sope #sope angst #sope smut #bts angst #bts smut #fic: showstopper

86 notes · View notes