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gimmethatagustd · 27 days

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collard greens | kth

Working as a counselor at a summer camp for kids isn't the most exciting job, but hanging out with Taehyung makes it worth it.

○ Pairing: Taehyung x trans man!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: A classic Jai weed fic, friends to lovers, summer camp au, smut, fluff

○ 13 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Camp Counselor)

○ Word Count: 3,670

○ Warnings: Some body/gender dysphoria, reference to top surgery, reference to hormone therapy, marijuana, oral sex, (self) hand job, Jai didn't proofread this jhsdkjfsk sorry friends

○ Notes: Today is International Transgender Day of Visibility, created to celebrate trans and nonbinary people worldwide. Particularly on Tumblr and with reader-insert BTS fanfic, there is little representation of trans and nonbinary characters. Readers are often written as AFAB and use she/her pronouns and traditionally feminine terms to describe their genitalia (even when listed as gender-neutral readers). I wanted to share a story that explicitly focuses on a trans reader. I welcome everyone to read this story, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. As F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong."

○ Disclaimer: The trans community is diverse, and this fic doesn't represent all trans and nonbinary people's experiences. If you'd like to learn more about how to be an ally for trans and nonbinary people, check out this article from the Human Rights Campaign.

○ Post Date: March 31, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? A weed playlist

“Did you know that smoking weed makes your sperm count decrease?”

You scrunch your nose at Taehyung’s vulgar question, but he doesn’t notice. He’s nearly cross-eyed as he licks along the edge of the blunt he just rolled with expert fingers.

“Not me,” you challenge. “Maybe you.”

Taehyung stares at you for a moment. You can practically see the gears turning in his head before he sticks the blunt between his lips and speaks around it.

“Shit, yeah.”

The summer air, thick with humidity, doesn’t help when your face heats up from Taehyung’s mistake. It’s funny how seemingly inconsequential moments—like Taehyung forgetting that you don’t have the same parts as him—can bring you such euphoria. Taehyung has always been good at that, though. He’s never treated you differently, singled you out, or made you feel like you aren’t enough or are too much.

You’re just two dudes perched on a mossy rock in the middle of the woods, smoking a blunt while the camp kids you’re supposed to be taking care of are asleep in their cabins.

Simple as that.

Taehyung pauses to light the end of the blunt and inhales deeply, drawing smoke through his pink lips and exhaling it slowly. The thick cloud doesn’t have a chance to disappear into the night sky before Taehyung breathes it back in through his nose.

Rolling your eyes at Taehyung’s unnecessary display of stoner prowess, you take the blunt from his pinched grip and curl your lips around the tip.

“Are you trying to say weed is, like, male birth control?” you ask, smoke coming out of your mouth in disjointed puffs and streams between your teeth while you talk.

“It basically is.”

“That feels very unreliable.”

Your fingers brush against each other every time you pass the blunt between you. The contact makes your arm tingle, and the feeling wiggles down the right side of your body the more times you reach for the blunt.

“I mean, I smoke, like, every day, and I haven’t knocked anyone up yet,” Taehyung admits with a shrug.

You nearly choke.

“You’re fucking people raw, Tae?”

“Shhh!” Taehyung giggles with his index finger to your lips. You grab his wrist and try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, but he pinches your top and bottom lips together to keep you quiet. It’s useless; his giggles are louder than you are.

“Listen,” Taehyung grins as he brings the blunt to his lips. Yours are still pinched together with his other hand. “I got tested before camp started, and I got no babies.”

“That’s not–”

“I know the test is for STIs, not babies, obviously!” Taehyung squawks, shoving you hard on the shoulder when you finally free yourself from him with a giggle, almost sending you flying off the rock. “I’m just saying I got neither.”

“Alright, alright! I believe you. No STIs, no babies.”

“Exactly.” Taehyung winks at you as he exhales a thick cloud of smoke.

Since you’re sitting next to each other, it’s impossible to escape the shy embarrassment Taehyung triggers in you. He has no business looking as good as he does when he smokes. It’s his lips and eyes, you think, watching him take another hit. The perfect pink bow of his upper lip and the plushness of his bottom lip make his mouth look pretty when the smoke swirls out of it.

When he looks at you through the smoke that surrounds you, his eyes are dark and lidded, a heavy gaze that weighs on you as you bring the blunt to your lips.

“Do you want me to roll another one?” Taehyung asks, his voice rough and thick, after a few more passes of the blunt between you.

It doesn’t feel like you’ve been outside for a long time, but a quick glance at your phone tells you it’s way past time to return to your cabin.

“We should head back, unfortunately,” you say with a sigh, “Waking up in the morning is going to fucking suck.”

“There’s probably just this last hit left.”

You wave away Taehyung’s offer of the blunt now smoked down to a pinched nub.

“I started it, so you have to end it,” Taehyung insists.

“Fine, come here.”

You’ve shotgunned weed with someone before. Although people may call it a shotgun kiss, it isn’t a real kiss. The person who inhales the smoke is supposed to blow the smoke into the other person’s mouth. Sure, that requires getting close to the other person, but it doesn’t require mouth-to-mouth contact. Everyone knows this, especially someone who smokes as much as Taehyung does.

So why does Taehyung lean in too close to press his lips against yours when you blow the smoke into his mouth?

It’s quiet outside, just the chatter of insects and other forest dwellers breaking the still summer night, so you easily hear the breathy way Taehyung inhales the smoke you’ve passed to him. It’s a soft, gentle sound that makes your entire body tingle, starting where his plush lips connect with yours.

Have you wondered if Taehyung’s lips are as soft as they look? Of course, you have; who hasn’t? Taehyung is easily one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever met, but he has always been just a camp friend.

You’ve known Taehyung for years, spending half of every summer together at this camp since you were kids, eventually becoming counselors once you aged out of the program. Despite living in different cities and attending different universities, you’ve maintained an unlikely friendship through camp.

However, now you’re wondering if you’ve been reading your relationship all wrong.

Taehyung pulls away and turns his head to the side to exhale the smoke before cupping the back of your head and leaning in again. He’s pretty like this, with his eyes closed and expression relaxed.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and for some reason, it feels like the hottest thing anyone has ever said to you.

“Yeah,” your voice is hoarse when you respond, scratchy from the smoke making your throat raw and your mouth dry. You made the rookie mistake of not bringing anything to drink.

When Taehyung slips his tongue in your mouth, you can taste the smokiness of the blunt. He cups your face with both hands and deepens the kiss, tilting his head slightly and causing your noses to brush against each other. Making out while high comes with an indescribable pleasure, something airy and electrifying that washes over your entire body in waves. It isn’t like normal arousal that you feel throbbing from your core and spread throughout your body. Kissing Taehyung while high makes your entire body tremble.

You twist your fingers into the sides of his baggy t-shirt to have something to hold onto as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, eliciting a low groan from you. The old camp shirt is faded and soft from years of going through the wash. You’ve got an identical one in your dresser at the cabin.

“We have to go back,” you insist weakly once Taehyung releases your lip from between his teeth.

“I forgot.”

“Of course you did.”

Your laugh is full of anxiety as you look away from Taehyung’s heavy gaze. His eyes are blazing red. You wonder if he kissed you because he’s high and if he’s going to wake up in the morning and pretend it didn’t happen. Is that better than the alternative outcome where Taehyung is weirded out because, well, you’re you?

“Shut up,” Taehyung grumbles, but he wears a grin as he digs the toe of his hiking boot into the ground, twisting it to make sure the blunt is put out.

“First one to the cabin gets to shower first,” he declares.

“Taehyung!” you hiss, but he’s already crashing through the forest brush with flailing arms.

It takes a few seconds for your brain to get in sync with your body, still foggy from weed and Taehyung’s kisses. You scramble to get up, having to adjust your pants with a tug to your crotch as you jog after him. Bottom growth is affirming, but it’s also a pain in the ass sometimes. You can’t imagine how cis men deal with all that.

Taking off in what you hope is the direction of the camp, you quickly realize there’s no way you’ll make it to the cabin before Taehyung. The forest floor is uneven, and you’re an idiot and didn’t wear your hiking boots. Your smooth-soled Converse slide against mossy rocks and get caught on raised tree roots, nearly sending you flying as you try to catch up with Taehyung.

When you finally reach the cabin, you’re wheezing, and your entire body is sticky with sweat. Taehyung is already in your bedroom, whistling as he rifles through the dresser like he’s having a grand time despite his hair looking like a rat’s nest and having welts on his legs from running through bushes in shorts.

“Took you long enough,” he grins as you stomp through the front door and head straight to the bedroom.

The cabin is small, with a living room big enough for a couch and a coffee table, a small kitchenette off to the side, and a door to the bedroom you’re sharing with Taehyung. You each have a twin-sized bed that sits across from the other in the small room, and you share a large dresser placed in between your beds against the back wall. On the opposite side of the room is the door to the bathroom. Everything is a tight fit, but you don’t mind. The two of you are hardly ever in the cabin anyway. Being a counselor requires long hours full of activities, meaning you’re only in your cabin to sleep unless you have an off day.

“I’m gonna go enjoy a nice, warm shower now.” Taehyung rubs his victory in your face, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and his eyes glittering like fire embers in the cabin’s pale yellow lighting.

“Dude, fuck off,” you give him your middle finger as he shuts the bathroom door with a cackle.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Taehyung to finish showering. You trade places silently, your red eyes avoiding Taehyung’s because the time you had alone made you paranoid about what happened in the woods.

The paranoia only gets worse while you’re in the shower. There’s no need to scrub yourself with your washcloth so aggressively, but you feel like your entire body is crawling. It isn’t the discomfort you once felt when you looked at your naked body. It’s been a while since you felt discomfort when touching your chest or washing between your legs. No, this feeling you’re experiencing now is something different. Rather than feeling the urge to hide, you want to be seen. You want to be seen by Taehyung, and you don’t know what to do with that desire.

Showering doesn’t calm the need pulsing through your body. You feel a little less high, but you’re still buzzing with electricity, still incredibly sensitive as you dry yourself with a fluffy towel. With your brain still floating in the clouds, you almost think you’re hallucinating the slow opening of the bathroom door. Quickly, you wrap your towel around your hips and stare at Taehyung, whose head pokes through the door crack.

“Hellooo,” Taehyung drags out the word, low and slow, as his eyes sweep over your body.

He’s blatantly checking you out, and you feel your cheeks heat up from arousal or shame; you’re not sure which. You may not experience dysphoria anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re running around shirtless, sporting scars where most guys’ pecs end. It was never “okay” to be shirtless with the chest you had before; it’s taking a while to feel “okay” doing it now.

You take a deep breath and remind yourself that Taehyung has never cared. He watched you blossom for over a decade as you shaped yourself into your most authentic form, and he kept up with every change, no matter how different things were from the summer before.

“Do you need something or…?”

Blinking, Taehyung’s face turns pink, and he shakes his head.

“No. Well, I mean, sort of?”

Taehyung laughs at himself, and you can’t help but laugh, too, because who can hear Taehyung laugh and not want to experience that same joy, even if it’s twinged with nervousness?

“What do you sort of need?” you finally ask with a grin, that shared joy warming your chest.

“Can I come in?”

“You’re already halfway there.”

With a cheeky grin, Taehyung slips into the bathroom and closes the door so you’ll stay warm. He’s wearing loose boxers and a tank shirt because the cabin’s lack of central air conditioning makes it hot at night. He’s cute like this, soft and domestic.

“Did you like it?” Taehyung keeps his hand on the doorknob as though preparing to leave, but his voice is steady when he asks the question.

“Like what?”

You know what. Taehyung knows you know what.

He clarifies anyway.

“When I kissed you, did you like it?” Taehyung switches between focusing on your eyes and your mouth. “Because… I want to do it again.”

It only takes a slight nod for Taehyung to crowd you against the bathroom counter. The kiss feels confident this time, no longer an accident or hesitant test ride. Taehyung holds your jaw to tilt your head up and kisses you hard enough to leave you breathless. You noisily inhale whenever he lets you.

“I didn’t want to wait,” Taehyung explains against your lips while you moan against his.

“For what?”

“You to finish showering.” Taehyung’s free hand runs down your side to squeeze your hip, part of his hand slipping under your towel. “Is this okay?”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you let him unwrap your towel and drop it on the slippery tile floor. Maybe it’s the weed making you feel reckless, letting this boy see you in a way you haven’t let a boy see you since you started your transition. Maybe it’s just because it’s Taehyung.

“You, too,” you groan when you feel Taehyung’s clothed cock press against your thigh.

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice, reaching over his shoulder to pull his shirt over his head by grabbing the back. Once he’s shirtless, his mouth finds your jaw, kissing across to the sensitive spot just below your ear while you tug down his boxers so he can kick them off.

Beneath the arousal building inside of you are nerves you can’t seem to shake. They’re making it difficult to concentrate on how fantastic it feels to have Taehyung’s soft lips kissing and sucking your neck. All you can think about is how you’re afraid that Taehyung will freak out, that he keeps forgetting, and how it feels nice when he forgets when you’re talking about guy stuff, but it’ll feel devastating when he realizes he has forgotten now.

Slowly, Taehyung’s fingertips skirt your torso, creeping down your side to swipe over your waist and trail along the crease where your hip meets your thigh. You hold your breath as he ventures further, eventually shooting your hands out to squeeze his biceps when his fingers dip into your hole to gather your arousal and drag it upward.

“Can I suck your cock?” Taehyung breathes, hot and ragged, against the curve of your ear.

Jolting back, you stare at him with wide eyes and feel your heart flutter painfully in your chest because you still haven’t started breathing again.

“W-What, what did you say?” you stammer, holding Taehyung’s red, lusty gaze.

“Can I suck your cock? I want to suck you off.”

Taehyung says it so simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He slid his fingers through your arousal and didn’t refer to it as your pussy or clit, as if he already knew those words would make you feel disgusting.

“You, how did you know… why did you call it that?”

Scrunching his eyebrows and frowning slightly, Taehyung pulls his hand from in between your legs.

“Uhh… you always call it your dick when we’re talking about stuff with the guys?” There’s a panicked edge to Taehyung’s voice, each sentence coming out like a hesitant question. “But, uh, I feel like most of society agrees that dick isn’t really sexy, so… I thought cock would sound better…”

When you don’t respond, Taehyung’s face shifts from pale with panic to bright red with embarrassment.

“Shit, should I not have said that? Should I have asked first? I’m sorry I—”

You kiss away Taehyung’s embarrassed babbling, your fingers dug into his hair, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands curve around to hold your lower back and pull you closer as if it’s even possible. You want him to try, to mold you into him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

When Taehyung smiles, his teeth press against your bottom lip.

“You don’t need to thank me. I just wanna make you feel good. Will you let me?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You bite your bottom lip and squeeze the edge of the counter on either side of your waist as you watch Taehyung get on his knees. The bath mat protects his knees from the hard tile when he kneels in front of you.

“You’re so pretty,” Taehyung says softly as he rubs his hands up and down the inside of your thighs with slight pressure to push them apart a little bit more, “Pretty boy.”

It’s hot watching Taehyung lick the tip of your cock, the hormones you’ve been on making it stick out beyond your folds. Taehyung is gentle when he presses your lower abdomen with his palm and uses his fingers to pull your lips back slightly to expose more of you. He gets you nice and wet before he wraps his lips around your cock, suckling it and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, grabbing Taehyung’s head with one hand so you can run your fingers through his bangs and push them away from his face to see his eyes better.

Taehyung hums in response to your moans, and you feel the vibration rumble through your groin. He’s skillful as he licks and swirls your cock with his tongue and keeps a tight suction around it with his lips and hollowed cheeks.

For a moment, you tip your head back and try to regulate your breathing because how is Taehyung about to make you cum already, just from his mouth? Sure, your body has been more sensitive since you started your hormone therapy, but fuck.

To make matters worse, when you look back down, you notice that Taehyung’s free hand is wrapped around his cock. He pumps his cock at the same rhythm as he begins to bob his head as if he’s sucking even more of you than there really is. You can say, without a doubt, that no one has ever tried to affirm you and make you feel as complete during sex as Taehyung is.

“Fuck, yeah, Taehyung,” you adjust your grip on Taehyung’s hair and start guiding his movements, pulling him up and down by his hair, “Just like that, shit, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You aren’t pulling his hair hard; you’re really only following the pace he’s already established, but it feels good. It must feel good for Taehyung, too, because he whimpers and jerks off faster. His body trembles just like yours does, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to be panting and frantic.

“Gonna cum, fuck, fuck.”

You squeeze Taehyung’s hair and the edge of the counter as you buck your hips, coming right as Taehyung adjusts his angle to lap at the gush of arousal at your hole, painting his mouth and chin.

“God, you’re so hot, you have no fucking idea,” Taehyung groans into the inside of your thigh, where he nuzzles his face.

His breath is hot and wet as he pants, trembling for a few seconds longer before he finally cums, too. Some of it leaks between his fingers and lands on the inside of your leg, but you don’t care; you just caress his hair from his face while he breathes slowly to calm himself down.

With trembling legs, you twist around to collapse onto the closed lid of the toilet, unable to stand any longer. Your head feels spacey and throbs, likely because you’d been holding your breath too much. It’s okay, though. It makes your body feel all warm and jiggly.

“We have to shower again,” Taehyung says quietly.

He looks just as fucked out as you feel, his eyes wide and staring out into the void as he continues trying to relax his shuddery breath. You can’t help but laugh, throwing your head back and letting it out, like whatever other pent-up energy you had left over after you came needs to escape somehow.

“Yeah, we do,” you wheeze even harder once Taehyung’s face cracks into a boxy smile, and he starts laughing, too.

“I got cum all over the floor,” Taehyung cackles, falling back on his bare ass and holding up his cum-covered hand.

You wipe the tears collecting in the corners of your eyes and shake your head. “That is something I don’t envy.”

“It’s so fucking inconvenient!”

Taehyung grins up at you with crinkled eyes, and you don’t know why you were so nervous before. He’s so perfect it makes your heart hurt.

“Next time, I’ll be the one to swallow,” you promise slyly, pleased when Taehyung lets out a weak moan in response.

“Bro, don’t do this to me,” Taehyung throws his head back and whines at the ceiling. "I’m gonna fall in love with you if you’re not careful.”

Grinning, you shrug. Tonight has been pretty reckless; there’s no use in being careful now.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

#diverseinsertknet #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #collard greens

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sorikkung · 1 month

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good boy gone bad | 29

lix gets every bitch except the one he wants

prev | m.list | next

a/n: we're not gonna talk about how much time has passed since the last update. we're just not. LMFAOOOO reminder that timeline screenshots rather than individual thread posts usually indicate some amount of time passing particularly when used at the end of a scene <3

taglist: @jaxavance @fiantomartell @roulette010 @jcngh0-hq @remiee @syunderful @absentcaryatid @yunho-leeknow @inarizqkis @pastelsicheng @john-joong @i-dont-know-me-either @xavi-in-kpopland @beautifulcolorgarden @hazyhwa (idk why some of the tags arent working so pls reblog 🙏 and lmk if youve changed urls ik its been a while!!)

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echotoyou · 9 months

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pizza and packing

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns/gendered language are used for the reader)

summary: you’re moving to a new city and packing up everything you own. It’s a little overwhelming to do by yourself, so thank goodness yoongi knocks on your door to remind you that you’re not alone (plus he brought a smoothie!).

wordcount: 2.4k

what’s inside: fluff, angsty reader quickly followed by comfort, yoongi’s hugs could solve the climate crisis, crying, some overthinking with a dash of spiraling

posted: august 2023 (also on ao3!)

beta read by @theharrowing!!! thank you for SO much i love you an incredible amount 🪿

note: wow this started off as me needing to process some things and then turned into an entire story lol. enjoy!! ALSO this is my first time writing fanfic so please please let me know what you think!!!!!

Moving sucks.

You knew this, theoretically. People always complain that moving is too expensive, too much work, simply too hard.

But no one warned you about the loneliness. How your home begins to echo as you pull mugs from cabinets and sweaters from drawers, stuffing it all unceremoniously into boxes. The uncomfortable chill that seeps into the newly empty spaces no longer taken up by your rug or TV. Not to forget the bare spots left by taking down the fairy lights circling the ceiling, your wall of photos and art prints, and the whiteboard calendar that still counts down the days to last month’s big celebration.

Just this morning you cried over a crumpled note found in the back corner of your desk. Rereading your best friend’s well wishes about your new home!, a new start!, a fun adventure! made you realize you couldn’t remember the last time you had deliberately picked up the phone to dial their number.

The doorbell startles you from your thoughts as a rogue tear slips down your cheek. You swipe at it and a quick glance at your phone tells you your fourth take out order of the week isn’t supposed to be here yet. You relax back onto your couch and settle beneath your multicolored crocheted blanket, willing the cheese on your future pizza to melt just a little faster.

Your stomach grumbles in protest at the thought and you join it, groaning when the doorbell rings a second time. Today’s packing-up-your-apartment uniform consisted of a set of well-loved pjs, with a few holes you are definitely ignoring, and tossing your unshowered hair into a top knot. In other words, you were not in the mood to chat up a solicitor.

“I’ve already found God! Thank you!” you yell at the door from your fortress of comfort.

A familiar low chuckle paired with a rhythmic knock greets you this time, and recognition makes you roll your eyes and grin. You untangle yourself from your cozy nest of blankets before sprinting over to the door. Flinging it open, you see a familiar sight: Min Yoongi, phone in one hand, thermos in the other, and gummy smirk plastered across his features.

“I thought you were the delivery guy,” you mumble. “Why didn’t you just knock first?”

Yoongi shrugs and holds out the thermos for you to take, “This one is banana peanut butter with kale and…” he stops for a moment, shakes his head and continues, “something else, too, I don’t know. I promise it tastes good though.”

With suspicion only just hiding the smile in your eyes, you open the thermos and take a long gulp, sighing after you swallow. Oof. Had you actually eaten anything today? Yoongi, still in the doorway, laughs out loud, his expression circling between amusement and chagrin as he catches your eye.

“Cherries. It’s got cherries in it. And now your lips are very red.” He chuckles again with a sparkle in his eye and gaze lingering on your mouth for maybe a moment too long.

“Mhm” you wink at him and take an extra swig from the thermos for good measure, turning around to walk into your apartment. You freeze, suddenly seeing the disembodiment of your living room through his eyes and feel him run into your back with a soft ‘oof.’

“Um okay so um this doesn’t normally look like this, I–”

“Y/N, you’re moving”

“Yes, I know, but um there’s nowhere to sit and I can’t make you tea or anything, because the pot is packed, and I don’t have any food or snacks to offer, and–”

Your word vomit dies down as you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, the slight pressure turning you around to face him. You’re sure he can see the panic in your eyes as he hums a short positive note.

“Do you want me to leave? I wanted to make sure you ate something with greens today and I think I’ve got that checked off the box,” he gestures toward your hands where you’re still clutching his thermos with a death grip.

With your brain still catapulting headfirst into all of the ways you are currently failing at your people-are-over-must-be-a-perfect-host duties, you purse your lips and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

You see something unfamiliar pass across his features, but it morphs so quickly into a sweet smile you can’t decipher it fast enough.

“Alrighty then.” He nods, “best of luck with the rest of your packing. Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll see you later.” He turns and walks out the door, down your front steps and disappears around the corner.

You push the door shut and rest your forehead on the cool wood for a moment, the slight chill relieving you of your hosting concerns when the next set of concerns sidle in.

Wait, did he want to stay? Better question, did you want company? Being alone for the past three days had been making you feel stir-crazy, but there was still so much to do, and it was exhausting directing other people. But he’s not your normal ‘other people.’ Did he drive away yet? Maybe you can still catch him. Ah shit, did you even thank him for the smoothie?

Your thoughts tumble and jumble with the force of a second spin cycle – UGH you also still have laundry to do. Pulling yourself from the door, you give up on trying to catch him and head back to the safety of your couch. You sip from his thermos and pull out your phone to text a quick thank you.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with the notification that your pizza has been delivered. You open the app to double check the photo the driver sent as your doorbell rings.

You break out into laughter as you pull open the door for a second time and show the grinning man on the other side the photo on your phone: Min fucking Yoongi outside your door holding two pizza boxes with a shit eating grin on his face and giving the camera a thumbs up.

“Someone order pizza?”

—

An hour later, you’re not sure who convinced who to stay, but you’ve both been fed and watered with cheesy nonsense and warm conversation.

Remarkably, he wasn’t bothered by the stacks of boxes and piles of items yet to be packed. The other half of your brain reminds you that he’s seen your apartment – and you – through all levels of disarray, some messes 100% yours, like when laundry day lasts a week and takes over your bedroom, the living room, and somehow the bathroom. Other messes were more of a group effort, when you would join forces to make the biggest mess in your kitchen possible while learning a new cooking technique from your subscription meal kit boxes.

Paper plates thrown into a garbage bag and half a pizza wrapped up for tomorrow’s breakfast later, you plop yourself on your carpet, back leaning against your couch, and sigh. You had been trying your darndest to separate the mountain of boxes in front of you into “give away” and “keep” before Yoongi had knocked on your door the first time, and they had now snuck from the ignorable periphery back into your sight.

All at once, the previously easy chatter catches in your throat and you feel yourself trail off, whatever you had just been laughing about suddenly dying on your lips.

“Hey,” a soft voice pierces through the bubble of your thoughts.

“Where did you go, just now?”

You turn to see Yoongi sitting cross legged next to you. He cocks his head at you, his voiced question clear in his soft eyes and slight frown. You avoid his eyes by looking down at your hands in your lap, and realize you are clutching your nearly empty water glass as if it was a life preserver. Raising the cup to your lips, you shrug and gesture loosely at the boxes, the white walls, the furniture marked for people who had messaged you on Facebook Marketplace.

This room would no longer be yours in less than a week, the items in it in even less time. It was more full than it had ever been and yet you felt the emptiness of each drawer and closet echoing with something akin to grief.

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, and immediately feel a warm hand touching yours, gently prying the cup from your clutches and setting it aside. He stands and ignores your protests as he tugs you to your feet. He wraps your arms around his waist and encircles your shoulders with his, pulling you into his chest and squeezing gently. You turn your head to the side so your cheek presses against the soft fabric of his shirt. The pressure of his chin sitting on top of your head feels overwhelming and wholly correct at the same time. Tears prick your eyes for the umpteenth time, and the comforting weight of Yoongi’s hug can’t keep them at bay.

“I just…” the words fade as you sniffle. “I just don’t know how to do this and I feel like I’m doing it all kinds of wrong.”

He hums, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter. Melting into the hug, you allow yourself to bury yourself face first in his soft tee and inhale deeply. His gentle scent of freshly laundered clothing with a hint of citrus is all it takes for your breath to turn into shorter, shuddering sobs, wracking your body.

You feel him gently rub the small of your back. Wave after wave of emotion floods your system, ping ponging between frustration and sadness and anger and fear. Each time you let yourself recognize and validate one thought, another sneaks in, bringing a new wave of tears.

One thought in particular stands as a concrete tower above the rest: you had been its architect for the past few months, placing stone after stone higher than the last until it was magnificent in its largess and painful in its stability. Ignoring it had become normal practice until now, when you looked up and realized you had built the tower around yourself.

You were choosing to leave. You chose to move thousands of miles from your family, and now you were choosing again to move hundreds of miles away from the family you had found here. There was no one to blame, no mystical forces of nature to shift the attention to. It was all just you.

A small noise breaks the paralyzing stillness of your thoughts, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The sound blankets your spiral in a layer of sweet, comforting darkness. You grab at the tuneless melody like a rope and as the rumbling within his chest begins to center you back in your living room, safe in his arms again, you realize he was humming. You squeeze his waist a little tighter and as you release, his humming trickles off.

“If it’s any consolation, no one knows what they’re doing.” He whispers into your hair. “Especially when packing up a home they’ve lived in for a while. This place is stocked with things, yes, but also memories. You’ve grown and changed a whole lot since you moved in.”

“So then why am I leaving?” your voice cracks on the last word as you hiccup it into the void.

He shrugs, “We both know I can’t answer that for you. I do hope that whatever answer you decided on when you started this process is still true, and if it’s not, then this is just one choice. And you can make a new one in the future.”

You ‘hrumph’ back at him and take another deep breath.

Your breathing soon begins to match his small, rhythmic motions, inhaling and exhaling as your brain clears. You pull back from where you had smushed your face on his shirt, grimacing at the snot left on his shirt, and wiggling to escape his embrace in search of a tissue. He seems to have a different idea as his grip strengthens and you look up to see his concerned eyes searching for yours. Suddenly, a cat-like grin breaks out across his features and out of nowhere, the man laughs.

“How could someone look so beautiful after sobbing like the Titanic was sinking?”

You groan, for likely the fiftieth time today, and swat at his chest. With another smirk, he releases you from the hug. You shiver from the immediate loss of body heat and quickly look around the room for something resembling a tissue that had not been packed yet. You hear him clear his throat, and you look back to be met with a tissue dangling right in front of your face.

“Thank you” your voice sounds small and gravely and you blot your eyes and nose before making eye contact with the spots on his shirt again. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry… your shirt…” your voice fades as you unconsciously reach out toward the stains, your only focus to assess the damage. He gently catches your wrist before your hand hits his chest, and places a butterfly light kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my designated moving t-shirt, eligible for dust, stains, and tears – bonus points if you get all three in one go,” he winks, fluidly moving his hand from your wrist to your fingers, and spins you around in circles until you can’t help but give him a watery grin. Pulling you in for another hug, he gently squeezes you once more before letting go and heading toward the kitchen. You hear the squeak of the faucet before he reappears proudly brandishing your glasses now full of water.

You accept the glass he holds out and let your eyes scan the pile of things in front of you. The boxes in the corner pull your attention again and you start to feel the overwhelm teeter you back over the edge. Taking a deep breath, you sip at the water and move to sit on the couch, seeking the comfort of your blanket once again.

“Let’s do something easy tonight, okay? No thoughts, just blankets.”

You nod, and he plugs in the TV that you had moved into a corner for ‘safe keeping’ while you sold the table it stood on. He settles next to you on the couch and you spy a slight knowing smile on his face as he navigates to your favorite show, the one you started over to watch with him, and the one that makes you happy cry every time.

He slides his hand into yours and it doesn’t leave for the entirety of the first, second, or third episode you watch. Neither does he when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

#bts #myg #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #fluff #one shot #bts one shot #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #diverseinsertknet

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diverseinsertknet · 1 year

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Welcome to Diverse Insert K-Net, a K-Pop Fic Network for Diverse Readers!

This network aims to help readers of less commonly written for gender identities find k-pop fanfiction more tailored to them! We will happily reblog any reader-insert fic where the reader is anything other than a cisgender female, as that seems to be the overwhelming majority of reader inserts. Anyone is free to tag these fics with our hashtag, #diverseinsertknet, or tag us in a post and we will reblog and tag it! You do not need to apply!

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hesperantha · 1 year

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Sweeter

⨳Pairing: Jimin x reader (transmasc) ⨳Genre: slice of life, smut ⨳Words: 2.7k ⨳Rating: grownups only ⨳Warnings: dysphoria, some mention of medical details, established long distance relationship, communication is not their strong suit but they’re trying, they fuck. Mention of both natal and prosthetic dicks. ⨳Summary: Change and distance are hard on your relationship. Jimin helps ease your worries when you reconnect after both. ⨳AN: thanks to @wwilloww and @chemicalpink for beta reading the mxm version and thank you to @itsallabouthedetails for fixing this version. I started writing this as a reader-insert, had a doubt, and changed it to Yoonmin. Here’s the original version, finished in celebration of saying farewell to my own huge knockers.

“But they’re great. Fun. Soft.”

“I don’t care, Jimin,” you say, trying to keep the sulk out of your voice. “They’re horrible. They’re everywhere, all the time, and I wish they weren’t.”

Jimin scoffs through the phone.

“Imagine this,” you try again, scrambling for a good metaphor. “Your backpack. It’s handy, right? It serves a purpose. Now imagine you can never take it off. It’s just there all the time. None of your clothes fit the way they should because there’s a giant goddamn backpack under them. It’s heavy. The straps hurt your shoulders. It bounces and slaps against you when you run. When it’s hot out, your back gets sweaty from it.”

“That’s not the same at all,” insists Jimin, clearly missing the point.

“But it kind of is. To me, anyway.”

“You didn’t used to think so,” argues Jimin.

“False. I didn’t used to think it was acceptable to think so. But fuck that.”

“Is this about the patriarchy again?” There’s a sharp edge in Jimin’s voice, and you’re relieved he has the decency to keep his sigh to himself.

“Newsflash: everything is about the goddamn patriarchy. And also not.”

“Look. I’m not trying to change your mind.” Jimin goes a bit serious, which you hate. “Just trying to understand. Trying to wrap my mind around it.”

“I hate to say it, but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what you wrap your mind around. They’re not yours to have an opinion on and if this is a dealbreaker—”

“Of course it’s not a dealbreaker! I love you, not your specific parts.”

“Good, because it’s a done deal.” You can’t bring yourself to ask the real question: does this mean we’re done?

“You don’t need to process, do you?” Jimin asks.

“No. I know you do, though.”

Jimin exhales heavily through the phone.

You continue. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course. Always.” You know he means it. Time and time again Jimin has been there for you, emotionally if not physically, as the two of you held each other through the tempests.

You steel yourself to voice your need: “Process on your own time. Don’t ask me to do it with you. Not this time.”

“I can do that,” he promises before drawing a deep breath. “I wish I could be there. Someone needs to give you sponge baths and help change the dressings.”

“Me too. I mean—I’m honestly not worried about that stuff—I’m probably just going to be bored out of my skull. Crap. Sorry to shit on your hot nurse fantasy.”

It’s enough to pull a dry laugh out of him, so you continue, reeling it back in.

“Anyway, I have friends. And my dad’s coming for a week.”

“Not ideal,” Jimin notes.

“No, not really,” you agree with a chuckle. “He’s just gonna talk about how it was his fault for signing me up for basketball when I was thirteen. Nevermind that my brother did ballet for all those years and is… the way he is.”

Jimin snorts. “A dudebro pussy magnet?”

“I love you. Thank you for not being a dudebro.”

When you meet him at the airport, Jimin is wearing a backpack, slouching under its weight.

“I got you a watermelon,” he says, letting one of the straps slip off his shoulder and shrugging it down his arm to hand it off.

“I can’t,” you say, the words strange and unnatural on your tongue. “Not yet. Another week. I’ll wheel your suitcase, but you’re going to have to carry it for me. At least I got cleared to take a bath. Fucking finally.”

Jimin tugs the strap back up, rolls his shoulders, and stands taller.

He hasn’t looked down yet. He hasn’t seen your shirt lying flat against your sternum, buttons in no danger of flying off. It’s Jimin’s shirt, one you used to wear open because you loved it and that was the only way it would fit. He used to call you cute when you wore it styled with a little knot at the bottom just above the waistband of your cut-off shorts. Then he called you a lumberjack when you tucked it into baggy carpenter jeans, hiding your body from yourself. You had snapped at him, then, unprepared to make a statement but unable to hold it back any longer.

“Good thing I like lumberjacks.”

That was all he’d said, but he’d quietly removed the high heels from your closet and replaced them with a pair of Air Jordans. He’d had a coffee mug with your new name mailed to you while he was in Nairobi.

Now he’s steps ahead, backpack full of watermelon hanging heavy from his shoulders while you walk behind, relieved that his flight landed on time but unsure of how things will land between the two of you.

In the garage, you wheel Jimin’s suitcase to his trunk and he slides in to lift it without saying a word, then goes to the driver’s side.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you get into the passenger side and buckle up. “How was the flight? Have you eaten already?”

Jimin is chewing his lip and looking ahead before he eventually says “You know, I thought you’d be different now.”

“How so?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it. I got used to you being you-shaped. And thought you’d be less you-shaped, but instead you’re more you-shaped and—oh god—I was not prepared for how hot you’d be. Not that you weren’t before. But now, now, it’s like looking into the sun.”

You adjust the seatbelt. The last time you rode passenger in your own car, the seatbelt was still wedged between your breasts, impossible to ignore. Now it’s an entirely different kind of distracting, lying gloriously flat across your shirt and the surgical binder underneath it. When you sneak a glance at Jimin, his smile is so broad you wonder how he’ll see the road.

You look out the passenger window, past the pillars of the garage as they go by, out over the city. When the car turns into the enclosed and darkened ramp and the outside goes black, you catch your reflection smiling back at you.

At your apartment, Jimin unpacks. Neatly folded dirty clothes get tossed in the wash, a new book is added to the shelf, and then finally, finally, he dares to take you in his arms.

You lean against him, awkwardly turned to the side so your shoulder bumps against his chest. He’s being so gentle—uncharacteristically so—and you don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t what you want. You’re just weighing the pros and cons of playfully slapping his ass to end the hug when he takes a step back.

“I think this is a good fit,” he announces, holding you at arm’s length.

There’s a lump in your throat that you will away. You’d told yourself that it wouldn’t matter, that no one’s opinion mattered except your own, but now that Jimin is here with you, you find yourself wanting reassurance again that nothing has truly changed.

The silence stretches on too long. Becomes awkward.

“Watermelon?” you suggest.

“Watermelon,” Jimin agrees, and you follow him to the kitchen and watch him butcher it, wedging the chef's knife in along the equator and splitting the melon into hemispheres. He stands each one upright, red flesh against the white cutting board, and splits them again, standing on his toes for the added power of an extra inch. You watch as the juices run out, red rivulets flooding the white field.

Jimin turns it, slices wedges, pares away the rind, exposing the soft, bright flesh inside. The knife slips easily now, dividing each part into cubes.

“Put the knife down,” you say, finding that soft, commanding tone that makes Jimin go a bit weak in the knees. He lays it to the side, blade facing away.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Are you ready, he means.

You pick up one of the cubes of melon, juices running down your fingers, and bring it to Jimin’s mouth.

“You try it first.”

He takes it from you, soft lips warm against your fingertips. There's a spot of juice at the corner of his mouth that threatens to spill over when he swallows. You wipe it away, then trace along his lower lip. His lips part softly, and you slip two fingers in.

His mouth is wet from the melon, and you know it would be delicious. Jimin closes his lips around the fingers in his mouth, drawing them in so they press against his tongue as his eyes flutter closed.

“God, I love you like this,” you say. Confirming. Just because it has to be said. “You’re so sweet. So pretty.”

Jimin drops to his knees on the kitchen floor, head bowed. Your fingers slip from his mouth, but linger—resting on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Jimin whispers.

“Don’t bring ‘sorry’ into it now. You’re here. Right where I need you.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lip, grazing your fingertip. Electric.

“Where you need me,” echoes Jimin. “You need me?”

“Of course I do.”

“But you said —”

“This. This is how I need you.” He’s so close you can feel Jimin’s breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh through your jeans.

“Open,” you tell him. Jimin obediently does, and you rest another cube of melon on his tongue, pink on pink, wet. “My sweet boy,“ you coo.

Jimin reaches to place a hand on your hip, catching the fabric of your shirt on his thumb so he can slide it up. “Nice shirt,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the sliver of skin above your waistband. “Is this yours now?”

“I think we both know it’s always been mine.”

Jimin eases the shirt up further, exposing more of your belly. He kneels upright, nose brushing your navel. He feels you stiffen as his hand skims further up your side.

“Shhhh,” soothes Jimin. “It’s ok. I know it’s not—”

“It’s not that,” you counter. “It’s me. I’m not ready.”

Jimin redirects, kissing the tender place just above the button of your jeans. “Is this better?” he asks.

You nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat again.

Jimin’s deft fingers unbutton your jeans, tugging them down. His tongue follows close behind, darting out to lick the soft fuzz on your belly. Waiting for a reaction, needing confirmation that this is right.

“Talk to me,” Jimin begs. “Say something. Please.”

“Never needed to say anything before,” you remind him. The edge of need in your voice belies the unaffected, gruff tone you try to take on. You look away, watching juice from the melon drip off the cutting board and pool on the countertop. “I missed your pretty mouth,” you say softly.

“Keep going,” urges Jimin, tugging your boxers down over your hips and slowly exposing the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Missed your pretty mouth and your pretty dick. Spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to do with both of them.”

“Yeah?”

You choke back a smirk. Jimin’s distracting you on purpose, making sure that you don’t spiral into that void of self-conscious, helpless darkness that sometimes overtakes you in these intimate moments. It’s working. “Wanna know what I did when I was thinking about your mouth?”

“Of course.” Jimin sinks lower on his knees, kissing his way slowly around to the inside of your thigh, silently guiding your legs apart.

“I got myself off about a hundred times thinking about it. Didn’t have much else to do, so I took my time. Edged myself until I couldn’t take it, then let myself come thinking about making you swallow my load.”

Jimin’s groan isn’t for show.

“I’m going to fuck your pretty mouth now,” you tell him, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder.

Jimin slicks his lips before parting them slightly, glancing up to make sure you’re watching.

Your dick is much less than a mouthful, poking out hard and wet between your lips, flushed dark. Jimin loves to tease it, to take his time until you’re begging and whimpering, and you hope he knows this isn’t the time for teasing.

The noise he makes as he slurps around it is obscene. One last glance upward and he begins to work his tongue in slow circles. He’ll know when—

“Suck it.”

—when to let you take charge, grabbing onto a fistful of his hair, ignoring the grit from another city, another time zone, pulling him in close until his nose is pressed hard against your pubic bone. You hold him there while he sucks hard, letting you rock against him as you chase your release.

Jimin’s known for years that you’re usually quiet during sex, never one to talk unless he explicitly asks you to, and then rarely more than a handful of words. He’s learned to watch for other cues: the way you sway to keep your knees from buckling, the clench and release of your fingers, the way you breathe hard through your nose, teeth gritted to cut off any involuntary noises you might make. Now Jimin dares himself to pull a sound out of you, to coax a moan, a murmured obscenity, maybe even—if the stars align—a shout of pleasure, joyful and unrestrained.

His hands grip the soft flesh of your ass as the hard floor bites at his knees. He feels himself drifting away, untethered and free as you use his mouth. Almost too lost in his own pleasure bubbling up, he knows that he needs to stay present, to be there for you the way he can, now, to show you that nothing has really changed.

Once again he looks up, watching you biting down hard on your lower lip, eyes unfocused and far away. Jimin realizes what a miracle it is to finally get this view—unobstructed, beautiful and sharp—he sucks loosely at your dick, tonguing the tip, bobbing his head and hoping you’ll look down and watch him.

You do, eventually, hazy eyes snapping into focus as the fingers in Jimin’s hair clench, pulling tight.

Your voice comes out hoarse: “I love you. You know that, right? I’m always afraid to say it when you’re like this—don’t want you to think I just love it that you’re willing to suck me off—but you—really, you.” The words slip away as a drop of sweat rolls down your neck, rushing toward the collar of your shirt—Jimin’s shirt—the shared shirt.

You’re thrusting into his face now, short strokes that smash Jimin’s nose relentlessly against hard bone and soft hair. Finally your body stiffens and stills, your pulsing dick pressed to his tongue as you let out a low groan of satisfaction and relief.

Jimin sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth as you stagger backwards toward the counter, planting the heel of your hand in the pool of watermelon juice as you catch yourself.

“Fuck,” you swear, encompassing the sticky hand, the orgasm, the sight of Jimin’s wild hair, and—most of all—the exhaustion that you aren’t quite able to put into words.

“We could do that too,” hints Jimin.

“I’m old. Gimme a minute.” You pull your jeans back up, to Jimin’s complete dismay.

“Is Ultron charged?”

You look away, biting hard on the inside of your cheek to try to keep your laughter in. “You didn’t see me for weeks, missed the opportunity to nurse me through major surgery, and your first thought is to hop on my bionic dick?”

“Pretty much. Still love me?” Jimin bats his eyelashes ridiculously.

“Shit. I said that out loud, didn't I? Can we not make it a thing that I said it while you were—um…”

“I love you too. Want me to lick that off your hand?”

“No, but I wouldn’t turn down a bath. Just pretend not to look at me or something.”

In the deep, hot tub, you pull Jimin against you, curved spine against flat chest. Closer than you’ve ever been.

tagging: @diverseinsertknet

#jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #possumswrite #diverseinsertknet

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absentcaryatid · 1 year

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Truthful Mingi

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

Your friend Mingi has been known to stretch the truth, so you don't take him seriously when he brags anesthetic affects him less than others. This means your confession of love after a medical procedure is not as secret as you thought.

1.9K words, Content note: all ages, gender neutral reader, medical setting heavily inspired by Mingi's endoscopy in WANTEEZ episode 10.

“I will go first so you know it is survivable. You'll see how easy it is, Mingi.” With those last words to your friend, you took your hand from his shoulder then walked into the treatment room with an IV bag in tow. In no time at all you were out of the endoscopy and in recovery fast asleep.

Checking on you before his own turn, Mingi leaned close and whispered, “I have always wanted to be brave like you. Nobody else would have gone in for an endoscopy on a whim just so I would not be alone.” He took the hand flopped beside your head and began to stroke it nervously with his thumb. “I always feel better about scary things in your presence. Just in case something goes wrong, I need to tell you how I feel about you. I wanted to say it in the waiting room before when you could actually hear me, but I could not work up to it. Here and now though, I want to tell you I love you.” Mingi's confession ended with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You woke from the best dream of your life, a much-desired declaration of love from your best friend. As the nurse removed the blanket, she told you the next stop was a private room to further sleep off the effects while undisturbed by other patients under her observation. As you were about to stand up, a gurney was rolled into the recovery room with a zonked out looking Mingi splayed atop it. To see him this way, there was only one thing on your mind. “Can I talk to him?” With permission granted, you made your way from your bed to his on shaky legs.

You smiled to yourself. His brag that he shrugged off general anesthesia was apparently just one of many tall tales Mingi would embellish for your entertainment. At least it had been a little more likely than the boast he did not have veins, but still, apparently he was not one of those people with the ability to wake up right out of a procedure.

“Although just a dream, to feel desired by you was the greatest feeling in the world. It made me want to tell you the same, Mingi.” Hesitantly, you reached for his hair, and began to run your fingers through it gently as the nurse kindly focused on her phone rather than the latest post-procedure patient.

“I think I fell for you before we'd even met. Actually, I am sure of it. At the PC cafe I'd overhear you and Yunho encouraging each other as you played. It wasn't just your attractive voice, but how supportive you were. And then when Yunho would make you laugh, I just wanted to hear that sound forever. When I finally put a face to the name the day you asked about what game I was playing, I was a goner.”

Mingi's eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up. “Are you trying to say you like me back?”

You almost stumbled back in surprise, but were lucky Mingi shot out a steadying arm. His reflexes were excellent for someone who had just been knocked out. In a strained voice you questioned, “You were awake? You weren't supposed to know.”

“I told you anesthetic wears off fast on me.” Still holding your arm, he pulled you in for a kiss.

Continuing to feel relaxed from being recently under, you gave into it without hesitation, while also recognizing Mingi must be feeling a little influenced himself to be so bold. Just as you were pulling away, the nurse intervened suggesting the two of you save it for later if you still felt interested when fully sober.

“Bye, Mingi,” you chirped adoringly while being shooed to the next room to sleep off the lingering effects. “I love my boyfriend so much,” you solemnly informed the nurse as she covered you with a blanket.

Unusually true to his word, Mingi did throw off the anesthetic like a champ and had followed you while the nurse protested he needed to lay down. As you fell back asleep you heard Mingi say, “I love you, and you love me too. I knew it!”

When you woke up from the procedure, you felt well rested. The nurse who heard you moving brought in your street clothes. As you changed, it felt like there was something important you were supposed to remember. After a momentary struggle to recall, you asked, “Is Mingi done with his endoscopy? Did he come out okay?”

She nodded understandingly, given how commonly memories were not retained while still under lingering effects of anesthetic. “You have already seen your boyfriend and he is well.”

“Oh, we're not dating, just friends.” Her smile at the denial made you wonder if you had mumbled something about your crush to her while under the influence, but you decided not to ask.

Now dressed, you spotted Mingi in the next room due to the partition left open. Asleep you could admire him in a way you never could while he was awake. Your unspoken romantic love for Mingi was something you expected to take to the grave since he had never given any indication he considered you a potential romantic partner. It was enough to be his dear friend, and you almost would have convinced yourself if not for the longing sigh you let out.

Groggily, Mingi opened his eyes at the sound. “You are up. Are we okay to leave?”

“We are cleared to leave once you are dressed. I already texted Yunho to pick us up.” Taking note of the odd way Mingi was looking at you, you thought to ask, “Is there drool on my face or something like that?”

“No, no, I was just trying to remember something. Probably was only a dream.” Mingi looked down at his hands, subdued. “I'll get my clothes on and meet you at the reception desk.”

By the time you left Mingi, Yunho was already in the waiting room laughing with the nurse. He was such a friendly guy that it did not seem odd at the time. Yunho was always making people smile or laugh, often complete strangers. After a short wait, Mingi appeared and you two were discharged with Yunho as the responsible party.

The elevator ride down from the doctor's practice felt tense. Although you could remember nothing, you had a nagging worry you had behaved inappropriately under the anesthetic. What could have made the nurse think Mingi was your boyfriend?

Deciding to be cautious with your still recovering bodies, Yunho jogged off to get the car while you waited with Mingi. The silence was finally broken once Yunho brought his car around to the building's entrance and met you with a huge grin. “So, you two are finally dating now? About time I'd say.”

The panic in your eyes was matched by Mingi as you stared at each other, completely lost by the conversation. Together you had the the same thought, “What?”

“You two lovebirds sit on the back seat together and I'll explain while I take each of you to your homes.”

Mingi gently helped you into Yunho's sedan then walked carefully around to the other side. He was still a little tipsy, so you helped him buckle the seat belt. Mingi visibly flushed as your hands met. Looking up, you caught Yunho's broad smile in the rear-view mirror before he began to speak.

“Mingi sent me a video message not too long ago. I believe it was intended for you though.” Handing his phone to the back seat before driving off, Yunho tried to hold in his laughter as he heard the video play in your trembling hands.

A sleepy looking Mingi was dressed in the gown from the procedure and recording in the room where he was supposed to be dozing off the last effects. “I can't wait for you to wake up, so I thought I'd tell you now how happy I am that you love me too. I'm going to be the best boyfriend ever and have a lot of plans for things we should do as a couple. First a cat cafe date and afterward a hot springs trip together.” Mingi then yawned, stretching his arms wide taking the phone along for the ride. The new angle brought a nurse into view in the background.

“Sir, you can't have the phone in here, it is supposed to stay in the locker until you have recovered. Who knows what you'll get up to.” The video ended abruptly at that point.

“Alas, I quickly realized he was not talking to me,” Yunho giggled from the driver's seat.

Mingi looked mortified as he turned your way. “I didn't know what I was saying. I am so sorry.”

You did not know what to say yourself. If Mingi liked you, it would be a dream come true, but he sounded apologetic now, leaving you to choke down a confession. Rescuing you in the moment, Yunho again piped up from the front seat.

“The nurse had an interesting story to tell. She said you each confessed love for the other. Mingi both before and after his procedure, and you when Mingi came out of his. I take it neither of you remember such important discussions? She even said there was kissing involved before she intervened.”

A hand flew to your lips as if attempting to feel the history there. This was definitely news to you. No wonder the nurse had called Mingi your boyfriend, and his forgotten recording made sense in that context. He really did love you too, but had been just as chicken about saying something.

Mingi reached for your hand. “I do remember confessing before I went under. You slept through it because I could not tell you when awake. The rest I can not recall, but it is true. I don't even remember having my phone out, so I had better check my email for purchases I don't know about.”

“Before you do, can we have another first kiss, Mingi? I want one to remember.”

“Not in my car,” Yunho pled, but he kept his eyes on the road and studiously ignored any sounds he might have heard. There may have been some halfhearted grumbling about how he should have waited to tell the nurse's story until after he had dropped you off, but you were too busy with your new boyfriend to listen.

“So, we really are dating now?” Mingi's incredulous voice went straight to your heart.

“I want you, and you want me, so that works out well.”

“Okay, good. I should ask if you are free next weekend. While I was loopy I apparently booked us a hot springs weekend. If you don't want to, I could always go with Yunho instead.”

Taking Mingi's hand and pressing it gently to your lips, you proudly announced, “Yunho can go with you another time. I'm going with my boyfriend Mingi.”

In the rear-view mirror Yunho could be seen smiling to himself, proud to have helped your romance along. That is, you would have noticed if you had been able to look anywhere but Mingi and his blissful grin that matched your own.

Mingi Masterlist

General Masterlist

#ATEEZ #ATEEZ fanfic #ATEEZ fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #diverseinsertknet #gender neutral reader #cross posted on ao3 #Song Mingi #Mingi #ATEEZ Mingi #Mingi Fluff #Mingi x reader #Mingi x You

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miscelunaaa · 1 year

Note

Three Minutes is exactly what we are looking for at diverseinsertknet so that will go out next in the queue, but before I load it up I wanted to ask if you would like me to put the general mature label on it to prevent sending minor readers your way even through the story contains no adult content. Looking over your impressively comprehensive disclaimers page (as a former teacher clear expectations make me so happy to see) I want to make sure your boundaries are respected that no interaction from minors including likes happens. Also, would it be okay to reblog your "soft-bodied reader" essay to the network later on? It is exactly the kind of larger diversity we want to remind writers about, and even as a comfortable fat person myself it had me considering things I had not before.

Mod Elizabeth

Absolutely on all fronts!! I appreciate your thoughtfulness and caution. It's incredible and refreshing! I'll go put up the mature community tag on that fic now and you're free to reblog that essay whenever you'd like :)

Y'all, check out @diverseinsertknet!!! They're doing such interesting and important work reblogging fics that need more love and feature reader-insert characters we don't see represented as much as we want to or should.

Thank you for being and working in this community <3

#asksss #absentcaryatid #diverseinsertknet

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minisugakoobies · 1 year

Text

Timezones | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: a little angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, Non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of illness (not specified), mentions of ill parent, a very soft Jungkook and reader dealing with sudden long distance, special guest appearance by Bam, yes there is a noraebang and fried chicken because last week's lives honestly felt like something a fanfic writer wrote, sorry if this makes you sad but I needed to write it

Word Count: 1.4K

Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Only thing that keeps us apart / Is a different timezone

A/N: I'm never getting over Jungkook's lives from last week. The absolute boyfriend vibes, combined with me listening to "Timezones" by Måneskin today, led me to write this. Thank you @sugalaritae for lending me your talented eyes!

I didn't specify what country reader is meant to be from, just that their family at one point while they were a child lived several time zones from where they lives now, long enough for them to think of it as their childhood home.

There are some things going on in my life that have inspired some of the plot, so… I hope when the time comes that you have to deal with such things, you have someone like Jungkook here to support you. It makes all the difference in the world. 💕

The notification comes in at a little past noon. You stare at it for a second before tapping the screen. A familiar pair of brown eyes come into frame, blinking slowly beneath a cloud of dark fluffy hair.

"Koo? Why are you awake?"

"Hi, baby," Jungkook grins, deflecting your question with the sweetness of his smile. His head rests on his tattooed forearm as he gazes at you. "Miss you."

The words make you sigh, releasing a tension you didn't even realize you were holding. Carrying your phone into your bedroom, you sink down onto the mattress of your childhood bed. "I miss you, too."

It's been over a week since you said goodbye at the airport. Eight days, six hours, and thirteen minutes, to be precise. Every tick of the clock sends that number higher and higher.

"I was just thinking about you. Wanted to check in. How're you feeling?"

You shrug, burrowing deeper into the pillows. "I'm okay. Woke up late. Just killing some time before the appointment this afternoon."

He hums, nodding. Your boyfriend opens his mouth and then closes it again. You know what he wants to say, but he doesn't need to. You know he'd be here with you if he could.

This trip came up unexpectedly. But that's how it always goes when a parent gets sick. Everything's fine until it's not. It was easy enough for you to drop everything and fly halfway around the world, but Jungkook's just starting his career now, after a long period of false starts and dead ends. He didn't have the time banked and you weren't about to ask him to give up his job to come home with you.

Home. There's that word again. It's disorienting, being back in the place where you grew up, and feeling like you're somewhere new. So little has changed here, yet it feels completely unfamiliar. Home is now several time zones away.

Home is where he is.

Jungkook's voice pulls you back to the tiny device in your hand. "What time is it there?"

"Just past noon." You don't ask him what time it is, fully aware that it's the middle of the night there. "Why are you still up?"

"Eh, got home a while ago from drinks with Jin-hyung and was hungry, so I got fried chicken. Now I'm too full to sleep."

You give him a look. "How many times do I have to tell you, you can put some of that in the fridge? You don't need to eat it all in one sitting!"

Jungkook scrunches his nose in delight at your reaction. "I know I don't need to. I want to."

You just roll your eyes in defeat. It's not a new topic of discussion. Your boyfriend has a big appetite.

There's a gentle clicking sound from offscreen, nails tapping on hardwood, and then a big brown nose pops into frame as Bam puts his head on his dad's arm, wanting to know what he's looking at. Bam's technically your dog, too, since the two of you adopted him when you'd moved in together three months ago, but you're not a fool. He's Jungkook's baby.

"Bammy!" you coo, and Jungkook tilts the phone so Bam can see your face. His tail whips Jungkook's side in his frenzy. "Hi Bammy, I miss you!"

"Bam's been such a good boy, keeping me company while you're gone, haven't you?"

Jungkook buries his nose in Bam's face while planting kisses on the dog's snout, and you laugh when he sniffs the dog. Someone else might find it weird, but you're used to his sensitive nose. He's always sliding up behind you in the kitchen or bathroom and pressing his face against the back of your neck to inhale deeply. You stopped wearing perfume at his request, when he told you how much he loves your natural scent.

Right now, you'd give anything to feel his arms around you and hear that little snff snff up close. Your sigh is a little louder than you intend, because it draws Jungkook's focus away from his dog.

"You okay, baby?"

"I am. Really. I should… I should probably eat something." Food always helps. It's one of the things your father taught you. "Keep me company while I make lunch?"

Jungkook grins again, twirling something in his hand. "How about I do you one better?" he asks, and you realize he's holding his karaoke mic, and likely has been this whole time, just waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. "Any requests?"

As you warm up your leftover takeout, Jungkook serenades you with a selection of your favorite songs. He incorporates little bits of choreo in some of the performances, like the risqué moves he does while crooning "Unholy" that make you choke on your rice. As always, his sweet tenor makes your heart flutter while he effortlessly riffs his way through a private little noraebang, just for you.

When your lunch is done, you sit in your father's old armchair, tucking your legs up on the sagging cushion. Jungkook's eyes are closed as he sings, and you know he's lost in the music. It's one of the things you love most about him, the way he gives his all to whatever he's doing. No matter what it is, he's always committed. Devoted.

You're so lucky to have him.

"Koo," you finally say when he pauses to pour himself a beer. "Baby. It's so late there. As much as I'm loving this concert, you should get some sleep." As a graphic designer, he works from home, so he doesn't have to wake early for a commute, but he's still human. He still needs sleep.

He fiddles with his frosted mug, pushing it back and forth on the table by where his phone is propped. "I know. I just… I don't like sleeping in our bed without you. It doesn't feel right." He frowns, dark brows knitting together in a look of anguish. "It doesn't feel like home when you're not here."

The last bit of tightness in your muscles dissipates as you melt at the heartache in his voice. "Oh, babe, I wish I could be home with you right now. Take you to bed, wrap my arms around you, and cuddle you to sleep."

"I wish you were here, too." The stars in his eyes seem dimmed by the sadness that hangs there. "And I'm - I'm sorry that I couldn't be ther-"

"I know, babe. I know." He falls silent at your gentle interruption. You've never hated the miles between you more than this very moment, wishing you could hold him close. Knowing he feels the same. "But this, you calling me like this to check in on me, singing to me - this means so much."

"Be better if I could hold you."

"Mmm. True." You smile playfully, chest warming when he smiles back just a little. "But don't worry. Even though you're there and I'm here, I still - I still feel your love." Of the two of you, he's the crier. But you find yourself swallowing thickly around your words. "So thank you."

Jungkook nods, letting his chin fall to his forearm again. "I'm always here, baby, any time you need some love. Time zones can't keep us apart."

"I know." You mirror Jungkook's position, watching his eyelashes flutter as exhaustion finally seems to hit him. "I love you, Koo."

"Love you too. Let me know how the appointment goes."

He yawns, and in the corner of the screen you see Bam curling up next to him on the couch. As soon as you end the call, you know they're going to fall asleep right there together.

"I will. Go get some sleep, babe."

He murmurs something that sounds like a very sleepy goodnight, and then the call disconnects. The screen fades to black, but in your mind you still see his soft smile.

Stretching, you peel yourself out of your father's chair. The appointment you have today is the one you've been dreading, but you'll be okay. In just a few more days, you'll be back home.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

Taglist 1: @babycoffeefire; @parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; @taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @jinsquishes; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse; @pleaseshutupsara; @guvgguk; @goodgollyitslolly; @laylasbunbunny; @goldensugarywaffles; @jadda98; @lovelye79; @moonacholy; @kookstempo; @luaspersona

If your URL is italicized, tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #btscarnivalnet #bangtanoasis #btshoneyhive #possumswrite #fic: timezones #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #diverseinsertknet

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sorikkung · 1 year

Text

what goes on in neverland. ⇝ ch. 6: aftercare, aftershocks, and the aftermath

word count: 8.9k

pairings: transmasc!reader x Everyone, everyone x everyone (its literally too convoluted for me to try type them out here anymore just see the masterlist for full pairings LOL)

genre: e2l, f2l, smut, fluff and lots of assorted shenanigans. hijinks, if you will

au: battle of the bands!au but make it gay and horny

warnings: nothing really? discussions of top surgery scars and gender identity?

a/n: noticed a lot of chan likers after the last chapter... yall gonna love this one :)

tags: @honeybyunnies @syunderful @absentcaryatid @mingirn (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

prev | masterlist | next

Waking up in the bed of your biggest competitive rival is definitely, to say the least, sobering.

You’re not surprised to find the bed empty next to you, but you are more surprised to find yourself still there. Staying the night was never on the agenda, but neither was really submitting to him, so you suppose compromises were made. The memories flood you with the uncomfortable kind of heat now that the lustful haze has faded, and you are left with nothing but the searing humiliation at how easily you played into his hands.

Who really won there? You really thought you had him for a moment back there, pressed against the wall and shutting you up in the exact way you wanted him to. It was all going so damn well. He seemed so close to breaking then, you saw his subtle blush and the hitches in his breath, the way he leaned into your touch rather than away from it, the way he had to kiss you to shut you up because he knew you were right. He was enjoying you playing with him, he was excited at the prospect of you having a go at him, what fucking happened to all of that?

Was that an act? Letting you have your moment so it can be even more satisfying when he gets to shut it down? Did he find you cute then, too? Or was it that goddamn golden boy, did he want to seem nicer in front of him still? Did he not want poor little freckles to see him be mean?

Illuminated by only the dim coloured light atop Chan’s bed – a warm yellow-orange, now – you wince as you roll over and check the time. 1:47am, your phone says, which isn’t that long after you would’ve finished, considering the time when you arrived there already. God, he really did take his time with edging you – but before you could wonder where exactly he went, he comes back in with a bottle of something in hand and all his make-up washed off.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“Were you about to do something to me while I was–?!“

“Shh,” he whispers, putting a finger to his lips, “You’ll wake up the rachas if you start yelling. They’re deep sleepers, but not that deep.”

He seems far too calm for someone who could have been caught doing something dastardly or nefarious, so your mouth falls shut, and he opens the bottle and pours some oil on his fingers. You notice the label on the bottle then, soothing massage oil – and after warming it up in his palms, he gestures for you to turn over.

“What?”

“Turn around. On your stomach if you want, but you can also stay sitting up.”

“Why?”

He snorts, nodding at your wrists. “You were bound for a long time. Are you not sore?”

When he says it out loud, you are no longer able to ignore the aching pain in your shoulders, wrists, and your back as well, from being stuck in such a position for so long. While you’re no stranger to aches and pains, whether it be for BDSM related reasons or pole dancing, it definitely doesn’t make sleep any easier, and probably what woke you up.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“Come on then. Turn around.” His voice doesn’t carry any sternness, nor does it even hold much impatience, simply just having a task he plans on accomplishing and getting straight to the point. You comply.

His hands on you are gentle, but firm, pressing down at the tightness in your back with enough pressure to make you moan softly, but he doesn’t so much as make a snarky comment about it. He’s surprisingly silent as he works, focused on the task at hand, and you wouldn’t mind the change of pace if not for how hyperaware it makes you of every sound you make.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, “you don’t need to hold back that much. The walls are thick enough.”

“It’s not the rachas I’m worried about,” you mutter, uncharacteristically self-conscious despite not even facing him, but you can’t deny his massage feels good. When his skilled ministrations slow down to a halt, you cast a glance at him over your shoulder.

He’s smiling at you.

“What, worried ‘bout little ol’ me?”

You whip back around with such ferocity your neck audibly cracks. “Asshole.”

He chuckles lightly, then gets back to massaging your shoulders, a little gentler this time. “I’m not big enough of an asshole to tease you during aftercare, tough guy. You can relax.”

Aftercare? It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, having done similar acts of aftercare yourself and having received it more times than you can count, but something about receiving it from Chan of all people is puzzling. Last time you checked, you were having hate sex. Not that you hate him, really, that would be a pretty strong sentiment you currently only really hold for Felix by merit of him being Eric’s flaky ex-boyfriend, but you don’t exactly like him, either. Well, you like pissing him off, and you like competing with him, and you like getting reactions out of him, and maybe you like his artistry as well, but that’s about as far as it goes.

Oh, and you like his body, too, that’s a big one. The way his hands work the tension out of your shoulders is positively divine. Suppose he’s a pretty face, too. All up until he opens that big mouth of his.

“You say that, then you teasingly call me tough guy again. All men do is lie, huh?”

“Tch, you’re one to talk,” he scoffs, pressing harder with his massage, but not too hard, so it’s welcomed. “Besides, I wasn’t teasing. You’re tough.”

You wait for him to elaborate on that, but after a long moment of silence staring at the figurines on his headboard and the flickering triangular lights above it, you realise that was where his comment ended.

“…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” he hums simply, definitively, then shifts you on the bed to turn back around and face him again so he can take your wrists and begin massaging the oil into them too. He doesn’t even so much as spare your face a glance, but it’s not avoidant. It’s focused, and just a little bit tired, too, you realise, noticing the crease in his brow.

You frown. Something about the silence feels so damn intimate – even more so than the actions itself, which you suppose are just him going on automatic after dominating someone. After all, giving aftercare is often the aftercare in itself for dominants, too, so maybe he’s doing this for himself as well.

He pauses to look up at you. “Got something on my face?”

As intimate as the silence felt, getting caught staring is far, far worse.

“Yeah,” you snort, throwing up snark as a reflex, “Ugly.”

It’s a bit harsh, you think, and the way he cocks his head makes you think he’s disguising a wince, but he looks back down at your wrists as he continues to massage them anyway.

“You wouldn’t be in my bed right now if you really thought I was ugly.”

He’s right.

“You’re right,” you echo, not really wanting that to be the hill you die on anyway when you both know its not true. That isn’t a good look on you, either. “It was a joke. I don’t sleep with ugly guys.”

“I know.”

He wraps up and pulls away, and you find yourself missing his touch as soon as it leaves you. Which is odd, because once again, you don’t even particularly like him, nor were you even expecting aftercare, and he’s already doing more for you than you would’ve bothered doing for him.

Or that you did for Felix.

The silence stretches on, and that thought grows louder. Is that what this is? Considering how Lino obviously told Felix what you messaged him, you wouldn’t be surprised if Felix told everyone else about your night at the Prism in excruciating detail, too. Based on how Chan acted with you tonight, it seemed far too deliberate for that to not have been the case. The look he gave Eric while kissing up on your neck? Hell, he had to have seen that. That’s right, he was there, he must have seen it and–

“Feeling a bit better? Want me to massage anywhere some more?”

His face is as open as you’ve ever seen it, expecting to hear a genuine response. There’s no more attitude, no more competition, no more sexual tension – despite the fact that you’re both still half naked, you in only the unbuttoned shirt you didn’t take off before he bound your wrists, and him still gloriously shirtless, just sitting in his underwear. He looks a lot less intimidating without his make-up on anymore, either, the softness of his features really bleeding through, and without such a cocky expression either, he looks like a whole different person.

The lingering soreness is more of the pleasant kind, now that he’s worked his magic, but you nod anyway. Just so you don’t have to look at him again. You shift back around. “My back’s still pretty sore, actually.”

You feel the bed shift behind you as he shuffles onto his knees, and presses a hand between your shoulder blades to push you down, and you lie onto your stomach without a word.

“Does that hurt?”

“What?” He already lifted his hand, he can’t possibly think he shoved you too hard. Is your back supposed to hurt while lying on your stomach after being bound like that? “Um, yeah. Kinda.”

“Your scar, I mean,” he says plainly, blinking at you dumbly when you peer over your shoulder again to look at him. “I mean I know it’s healed, at least, it looks healed enough, but still, pressure on such a large wound…”

“Oh, that- that’s fine,” you reassure him, plopping your head back down on the mattress and letting your eyes fall shut. “Bed’s soft. Didn’t even think about it.”

“Alright.” He throws a leg over you to straddle your hips, this time massaging your lower back as well, and while you asked him to continue mostly just because it felt nice, you now realise how much tension you had down there, too. “Can I ask how you got it?”

“My scar?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know what top surgery scars look like, but that looks a bit more violent. Makes me wonder if it was something else.”

“Ah.” You fall quiet, not really sure what to say. That you asked for it to be that way? Doesn’t really sound all that impressive when you put it like that. He’d probably ask why, too, and you aren’t sure how you would explain that to him, either.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, stopping only to crack his knuckles and pour more massage oil onto his palms before resuming the massage, “Was just curious.”

“You said it was pretty,” you breathe out, not daring to open your eyes and look at him. “Guess you’re not bad at dirty talk, huh. Suppose it is pretty violent looking in reality. I like it that way, though.”

He pauses – his words, not his hands – for a short beat before responding. “Pretty and violent aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. There can be beauty in violence, sometimes.”

“Yeah?” you huff. “Sounds like something a pretty violent person would say.”

He presses down extra hard on your shoulder and you grunt, knowing it was entirely on purpose. “Says you, tough guy. You’re a little menace.”

“Who you calling little? First freckles, now you – you guys sure do like pulling the height card for a bunch of garden gnomes. Glad to have someone shorter than you for a change? Congrats, he’s not even a cis man.”

“What do you identify as, by the way? Do you consider yourself a man, or...?” Chan asks genuinely, once again dodging your attempts at provocation. He’s getting quite good at this, and that bothers you, because provoking him was the entire fun of him, but you suppose now is too nice of a moment to really push it.

“Man enough. Man sometimes. On Tuesdays, maybe. On Wednesdays I’m just a gendery enigma.”

He chuckles. “What about Thursdays?”

“Hmm. Guy, but in the same way you call an animal friend you find on the street a little guy, y’know? Just a dude.”

His signature giggles are back, and you find yourself smiling and cracking your eyes back open before you even realise it, hazy. You can’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed since the whole competition started.

“And on Fridays?”

You yawn loudly, letting your eyes flutter shut again as sleep threatens to tug away at you once again, but you know you won’t fall properly asleep while he’s still touching you. “Gender on Fridays… that’s between me and God.”

He laughs properly at that, catching himself quickly and keeping it quiet as to not disturb his roommates, but you feel an oddly swelling sense of pride at being able to make him laugh like that. Maybe he won this game of wits you played in bed, but he can’t deny you’re at least funny.

“Alright, I’m getting tired,” he yawns as well, rolling off you and flopping back onto the bed next to you. It’s only then when you notice the bright red lines adorning his back, and gasp at the sight.

“Holy shit, Chan, your back.”

“Yeah?” He looks over his shoulder at you with a simultaneously sheepish and smug grin. “Suppose you didn’t get a good view before, huh?”

“No, I’m not— okay, I am appreciating the view, but dude, I basically mauled your back, does that not sting?”

He wrinkles his nose, twisting his torso this way and that experimentally. “A bit. It’s not bad, though.”

After he took care of you so gently, you find yourself wanting to take care of him at least just a little – just to even the playing field, so he can’t chastise you for not knowing safe kink practices, or otherwise flip it on you somehow. At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you get up and ask him if he has any ointment for it.

“Ointment?”

“Yeah, like an antibiotic cream, or something. I broke skin, Chan. There’s a bit of blood. The least you should do is get it cleaned so it doesn’t get infected, especially if you’re gonna sleep without a shirt.”

He yawns again, stretching out and then wincing slightly, no doubt at the fresh scars adorning his back now. “Get it cleaned, huh? I don’t suppose you’ll do it for me?”

You bite at the inside of your cheek. “Is this a test?”

“A test? No, it’s a question. Do I have to get up and do it myself or can I stay here?”

“...Where’s the ointment? Or should I just use water?”

“Bathroom’s around the left corner, in the cabinet behind the mirror.”

It’s exactly where he said it was, so you return with a damp cloth and ointment in hand, and seat yourself behind him on the bed. This is certainly not your first time tending to your own scratch marks – or claw marks, as Kevin likes to call them, joking that the band are your scratching posts – so you fall into the process rather quickly. A gentle wipe-down before applying the cream, that’s all it is, you could do it in your sleep.

Your heart is beating out of your chest like it’s about to erupt.

You know why. It’s not a Chan thing, you know that for sure – it’s the same when taking care of your bandmates, too, as there is something so sacred about the whole process that’s almost tender. It’s the vulnerability of it all, and you’ve since gotten more adjusted to it with the others, but without any trust built between you and Chan, it feels significantly more potent than usual. Risky, almost.

Maybe it is a Chan thing.

Silence drags on and neither you nor Chan do anything about it. Out of tiredness, probably. You wouldn’t call it entirely comfortable silence, though; for some reason, tending to him feels even more vulnerable than him giving you the massage. You suppose you can’t really keep pretending like you hate him while you’re treating the wounds on his back that you inflicted, and you’re not sure what this means, anymore. You don’t know what any of this means, or how you’re supposed to be feeling about this.

“There,” you finish, closing the cap on the cream shut. “All done.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, shifting around on the bed to get a better look at you, and you find yourself unable to hold his gaze. He shrugs and simply flops down onto the bed. “’Think I’m gonna go sleep now… oh wait, did you want like, undies or something–“

You snort. Undies. “You’re not kicking me out?”

He tilts his head up just enough to drowsily stare at you in confusion. “No? Not when you look like you’re about to melt right into my mattress. But hey, if you wanna uber home or something, go for it. I’m not keeping you here.”

He rolls over, slipping under the blankets and curling himself around a large pillow. Cute, you think. He looks even smaller like this. You wonder how you must look for him to make such a comment, how much of the number he did on you is visible, but you know you won’t get any sleep tonight if you stop to check in the mirror now.

“Yeah, I’ll take you up on the undies.”

“Aight.” He yawns again, stretches, clearly falling asleep already as he grabs you a spare pair of boxer briefs and tosses them at you as he slides back into bed. Once your shirt is on the floor and you are under the blankets with him, you find yourself subconsciously gravitating towards his side of the bed for warmth, to which he responds by turning over and draping himself over you instead of the pillow. It reminds you so much of sleeping with Sunwoo, Eric or Mingi that you find yourself lulled right back to sleep at a record speed.

If waking up in the bed of your rival was sobering, waking up in the arms of your rival is like a bucket of cold water to the face.

What is worse is that it takes you far too long to realise it, at first. Sleeping with strong arms around you is your norm, so you don’t really question it as your sleep-fogged brain slowly starts turning its gears, and you practically jolt when you pull your head back and realise you’re snuggled up to the one and only Bang Chan and pointedly not one of your bandmates.

“You’re not Sunwoo,” you blubber out, sliding away from him on the bed, and Chan just drearily groans and rolls over, pulling your half of the blanket with him.

“No. M’not.”

He stays still there, so you suppose this is your cue to get out, make your walk of shame, et cetera. Not that it was ever really a shameful walk for you, it being more like a walk in pride at the accomplishment of the notches in your belt, but Chan being who he is and his roommates being who they are make you finally understand why they called it the walk of shame in the first place.

“Where y’goin?” he mumbles, peeking out at you over his blanket as you start picking your clothes back up and getting dressed – still in his underwear with yours discarded on the floor somewhere, but at this point you consider leaving it behind as a prize, just so you can get out of there quicker.

“Where do you think? Home. Unless you’re up for round two? I’m warning you, I won’t go easy on you this time.”

Chan laughs out loud, wide and bright and fucking humiliating. You threatened him and he’s laughing at you. You scramble to get your things quicker. You need to leave, and you need to leave now, before you can dig your own grave even deeper.

“Have brekkie before you leave, at least!”

You pause to gawk at him, curly hair now free from its chemical restraints and sticking out in every which direction, his softer face illuminated by the morning sun. Who is this man?

“Breakfast? Seriously?”

He stares back at you like you are the one out of your mind.

“Yes? Do you not usually have breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”

“I pissed you off, tossed you around, let you bring me home and fuck my brains out, and now you’re making me breakfast? Chan, do you like me or something?” you guffaw, the only reasonable conclusion you can come up with using the limited brainpower you have access to before noon. Seriously, who the fuck does mornings these days? It was either that, or he’s trying to kill you with kindness and make you feel bad. Ha. Like he could ever.

Chan furrows his brow, recoiling in mild disgust and confusion. “No? God, is that what you think? I’m literally just being a good host. You stayed the night, I had my way with you, now I take care of you. It’s not rocket science, y’know.”

It’s not rocket science, he says, but trying to make sense of him is looking more and more like a complicated algebra equation you failed in math before dropping out. Why does he feel the need to take care of you? You’re not his responsibility. He doesn’t owe you anything. You were mean to him on purpose and he knows it, so he might as well have tossed you out on the curb as soon as he got off. Maybe called you an Uber if he wanted to be a gentleman. But this?

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just said why! Have you never had someone be nice to you before, or something?”

“Wh– of course I’ve had people be nice to me before, I’m not that pathetic,” you scoff, folding your arms. “Just not after I’ve gone out of my way to aggravate them on purpose.”

Chan just snorts. “Maybe you should stop aggravating me on purpose, then.”

“So that’s what this is!” The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place, and you stare him down intently – or maybe that’s just the morning glare in your eyes. “You’re trying to kill me with kindness, aren’t you? Think being a good host will make me go easy on you? Smart, but I have less of a conscience than you seem to think I do–“

“God, a man can dream, I guess! No,” he sighs your name in the most exasperated tone you’ve ever heard from him, “this isn’t some evil plan to take you down as a competitor, I’m literally just being nice. Because I like being nice to people. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“You don’t have a reason to be nice to me. I sure as hell ain’t nice to you! Every time I think you’ve grown some backbone you–“

“Oh please, that is not what you were saying last night,” he interrupts, finally starting to lose his cool. Good. You hate fighting him when he’s so clear-headed. “You wanna be so tough and scary so bad, but you insisted on cleaning my wounds before bed–“

“Oh my god, you are in love with me, aren’t you?”

Whether you actually think Chan harbours any sort of romantic feelings for you leans heavy towards no, but the accusation is one you can think of very few people who wouldn’t get a rise out of. Not to mention how funny it is to see them flounder to prove themselves just for you to twist everything they say against them.

“In love with you? Are you seriously that self-obsessed? No, no– I’m not falling for that, you know I’m already–“ he cuts himself off this time, realising the hole he just dug, but it’s too late.

“So you are in love with Felix, you admit it!” you cackle victoriously, clapping like a seal. “You’re right, we already knew, but I sure wonder if Felix does. What was his Instagram tag again? Lix something?”

“Sure, go ahead and tell him, like he’d believe you,” Chan huffs, “You’re not subtle either, tough guy! ‘You’re not Sunwoo!’ Hm, I wonder why you’re thinking about waking up in his arms.”

“We sleep together, genius,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes, “the entire band, we all sleep together, I did not think any of us were subtle about that.”

“I know that, but why is it Sunwoo’s name specifically you think of first thing in the morning, huh?”

Fuck. Why is it Sunwoo? As soon as you ask yourself that, your recent conversations flash through your mind, and you sure as hell are not about to let Chan of all people know about that.

“Because your arms felt like his, it’s not that deep!”

“I don’t mean this in a body-shaming way, but his arms are like half the size of mine. I’m not exactly convinced.”

“Then don’t be! I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You really don’t! So why do you keep acting like you do have something to prove to me every time we meet?”

His words slice through you like a hot knife through butter, and it takes a second too long to come up with a response. He’s right. You fucking hate when he’s right, and you would sooner edit a Wikipedia article to win an argument against someone when you’re in the wrong than admit it to him.

He sighs. “I don’t get why you have such a raging hate boner towards us. I know Eric has beef with Felix and we’re neck and neck in the Battle of the Bands, and you get your kicks out of provoking people, but you seem to think that I – or the other guys too, for that matter – would act against you if you slipped up enough to give us a chance to. But we’re not like that.”

We’re not like you, is the unspoken message there, but you hear it loud and clear. “Why wouldn’t you? Felix still has something to prove, that much I can tell for certain. Lino was quick to spill my secrets as soon as he had them. Hell, Changbin threw me over a table for something entirely consensual and even went as far as to slut-shame all of us. Like, riddled with diseases? Really? You’re no better than we are just because we actually own up to being assholes, you just lack the self awareness.”

Chan tilts a brow up at you, then it furrows into a puzzled expression. “This is what I mean about you bringing out the worst in people. Lino went for it because he knew you’d definitely do the same, and Changbin... he doesn’t start fights as often as you’d think he does based off of your experiences with him. They’re usually justified. Though I will admit the slut-shaming wasn’t, he was just trying to get some sort of edge over you since he didn’t know you knew about Hyunjin’s career. He’s actually done sex work in the past too, got his fair share of STI’s, it’s not an insult that comes from a place of actual prejudice.”

“Oh, so its all blatant hypocrisy then! Wow, that’s sooo much better, you guys are such morally-correct heroes.”

He rolls his eyes so hard you think he got a glimpse of his brain, then pinches the bridge of his nose in barely concealed frustration. “Okay, yes, sure, he’s a hypocrite! I’ll admit to that! But you’ve had something to prove since before any of that happened, so I’m just wondering why exactly you expected us – why you expected me – to be some sort of villain from the get-go! Why do you want me to be the bad guy so bad when I’m just trying to be nice to you and make you some goddamn breakfast?!”

You see he has reached his wits end, and it’s no longer a noble attempt to defend his team but a cry for help to save himself. You knew your verbal spars had more behind them than he tries to act, but now he can’t pretend like he’s their infallible shield anymore. Nor can he pretend his little posse are all virtuous saints. In a way, you finally won, you made him crack.

So why does it feel so much like losing?

“Because I just don’t get why you don’t,” you confess in an aggravated sigh, “Other people would! I’d argue that you should, given it all! It feels— it feels wrong to have you just, clean me up and make me breakfast when we’re not even friends! We don’t even like each other! Like, this goes above and beyond even for just a Tinder hookup!”

Chan barks out a dry laugh. “It’s like you really can’t comprehend the concept of someone being nice to you. Have you never had someone properly take care of you before?”

“I have! My band take care of me better than I could even ask for. But that’s the difference, they’re mine. They’re my band, I mean, we have a bond even deeper than family, we take care of each other because we love each other. What reason do you have to take care of me of all people? I haven’t given you a single reason to and yet, you do anyway.”

“You think people need a hard-earned reason to be nice to you?” Chan remarks back at you, and it shocks something deep inside you with an ice-cold chill. Yes? Maybe? That would sound stupid if you say it out loud. Would it? It makes so much sense to you, though. People can be nice without reason sometimes, but not to people who don’t deserve it.

Not to people like you.

“I... I’m not saying people can only be nice to people once they’ve done something to earn it, I just mean that people aren’t usually nice to people who have given them a reason – or in my case, multiple reasons – not to be. If someone hurts the people I love, I’m not making them breakfast, I’m kicking them to the curb when I’m done.”

“I know,” Chan deadpans, no doubt thinking about Felix too. “That’s where we differ then, I guess. I don’t filter who I’m nice to based off of some invisible tally of who deserves it or who doesn’t. I choose to be kind because it’s how I want to be, not because it’s what someone does or doesn’t deserve. I’d like to say that all people deserve kindness, but even I cave and deliberately deny people of that sometimes. I’m only human, yeah? We all are. Even you. So I’m not sure why you’ve convinced yourself you’re so unworthy of my kindness that you lash out at me for it. Have you been wronged that much?”

He says it so casually and gets up to wash his face in the connected bathroom like he didn’t just cover you in paper cuts then drop you in a pool of lemonade and salt. Have you been wronged that much? Hell, have you been wronged by that many? You think back to your family, then your former friends, their friends, your peers. You think about your band, all runaways or renegades from similar surroundings, and the safety you found in them being like-minded individuals. How you all met because you were all so scorned taking the road not taken, so driven yet so lost.

Society has a way of chewing you up and spitting you back out into more pieces than you started off in, then expecting you to pick them up and glue them back together yourself, as if you are the one who did it. That’s just how life is; there is no childhood without hardship, no adult without trauma, despite the best efforts of many and the lack of effort of many more. Everyone has their own demons to fight, all while fighting for their lives in the blender that is late-stage capitalism and man-made prejudice.

You know all this. Yet when Chan asks, ‘Have you been wronged that much?’ Part of you thinks that all of that is bullshit and somehow you and your band have ended up being through hell and back for no other damn reason than drawing the short straw in the hand dealt to the rest of the world.

“I don’t... I...”

You struggle to find words for the emotions you are feeling – rage, grief, sadness, bitterness, envy, but there’s something else in the muddled pit of them all that doesn’t quite fit with the others. Hope, maybe? That’s a dangerous emotion, but that’s rarely stopped you before. You wouldn’t be where you are today without it. Fear? Closer, but what for? Relief? At what?

Chan walks back out of the bathroom with a hand towel around his neck, then right past you towards the kitchen.

“Come on. I’m making pancakes.”

Feeling like you don’t have much of a choice not to – or a reason not to, for that matter – you follow him, plopping yourself wordlessly down on a stool on the outer side of the counter.

He doesn’t say more as he takes out the ingredients and gets to work, a simple recipe but nonetheless homemade compared to the pre-made pancake mixes you use back home. You take the chance to observe your surroundings, spacious yet rather cluttered with the various belongings of the multiple men in the household, and that is when you remember you two are not the only occupants currently home.

“Are the others still asleep?” you ask, and he just shrugs while pouring batter onto a fry pan.

“Probably. We’re not usually up before noon, but I’ll make some for them to have for lunch.”

“Did I wake you, then?”

“Yeah. But it’s fine. I got more sleep last night than usual, honestly.”

It will never not be jarring to you, the difference in the kind of conversations you have with Chan. You’re either arguing with blades drawn, or you’re laid completely bare with nothing but an emergency razor blade hidden under a band-aid on you, conversing like you actually know each other. Like there’s any sort of closeness or trust between you. You don’t know if that is just because you’re more used to fighting him than not, or because something about Chan with his guard down makes you feel even more exposed than ever, or if it’s the things he’s done and said in the past twelve or so hours that changed the air between you. There’s discomfort in how comfortable it is, a juxtaposition you have no idea how you got to.

“Don’t get much sleep, huh?”

He nods, scarred back still facing you as he cooks. “Not usually. I tend to stay up late until I’m exhausted enough to maybe catch some sleep when I finally go to bed, then try to sleep on and off until it gets too hot at noon and I just give up. Well, not all the time, I do get uninterrupted sleep some nights, but the staying up super late and getting up late is pretty consistent. So yesterday I went to bed kinda early.”

“2am kinda early, huh?” you snort, and he chuckles.

“Yeah. Earlier than five, at least.”

The relatively comfortable silence from last night returns, and you find you don’t hate it as much this time. It’s still rather foreign, but not as deeply unsettling as it was before, so you are content to just take in the view of his half-naked form cooking a gigantic stack of pancakes until he finally plates and serves.

“Eat up, then.”

You do.

You have been dreading returning home since the moment Eric threw his little fit last night, so you are already bracing yourself for metaphorical impact – the impact being rancid vibes more than anything else – from the very moment you open the front door to your apartment.

What you find instead, is a messy-haired Han with the buttons on his shirt done up one buttonhole too low, skewing the whole symmetry of the shirt sideways. If the bruises on his jaw and neck are any indicator, you’d guess this is Sunwoo, Wooyoung, or maybe San’s handiwork, but given that it’s your apartment he’s coming out of, you put your money on Sunwoo.

“Damn. You too huh—”

“I was just leaving!” he blurts out, shoving past you and speed-walking away while still putting on his layered jackets, and you snort and close the door behind you.

“Let me guess, that was the work of one man starting with a ‘Sun’ and ending with a ‘woo.’”

“You know it!”

He calls back at you from the kitchen, and you realise the mop of dark hair you spotted on the couch is not him and his permed curls, but simply Wooyoung’s atrocious bed hair. Or maybe sex hair. Could be either or, with him. Walking into better view, you notice the whole band is here already, seemingly waiting for you with Eric standing between the two couches expectantly.

“Ah good, you’re finally here!”

He sounds less than thrilled, and the rest of the band don’t seem all that excited either, barring Sunwoo’s aura of smugness at having his plaything leave moments prior. The tension in the room is palpable, like mugginess on a humid day, except the windows are wide open and the constant drone of the fan on in the background makes the would-be silence even louder somehow.

“Oh boy,” you groan, “if you’re going to grill us all on sleeping with the enemy, frankly I do not want to hear it.”

“You think I wanted to hear Jisung screaming out Sunwoo’s name repeatedly last night and calling him oppa?” Eric guffaws, as if that’s somehow your fault. You take a quick glance at the man in question, who only looks even more proud of himself, so you snicker at him.

“Wow, nice.”

“No, not nice, what the fuck you guys! Is there anyone here who didn’t fuck a stray kid last night?!”

“Huh?”

You look around the room at the others, only thinking you and Sunwoo did, but the only one who cautiously raises his hand is Kevin. You figure Wooyoung and Mingi probably got Changbin to crack with the added influence of Lino, but your eyes widen at San.

“Whaaat? That Hyunjin kid was testing my patience. Though I can’t say I wasn’t curious after his stream—”

“Seriously guys, did everything they said just evade you? They dissed our music, our message, Wooyoung and I’s dancing, our sex lives— and you’re going on and fucking them instead of fucking them over? What the fuck you guys!”

Wooyoung just shrugged. “I sure fucked him over his boyfriend, I think he appreciated the view—”

“You’re not even taking me seriously at all!” Eric roars, eyes flaring, but he’s right. You aren’t. You don’t think anyone else in the room even is.

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re trying to come at us for who we choose to sleep with. Like, I thought we agreed that what we do with other people is none of each other’s business, and it’s extra hypocritical when you were the first to do so this time. Last year we literally fucked a homophobe from the rival band to humiliate him and now you’re drawing the line? Just say you’re upset about Felix still and be done with it,” you tell him with scalding bluntness, and you can see the hurt visible all over his face. It does make you feel partly guilty, but you meant every word you said. Suppose you didn’t hear everything the others said once you were preoccupied with Felix and Chan, but you don’t think it would have changed your path of action regardless.

“Fine then,” Eric hisses, bitter and thoroughly done. “Fine! Fuck them all if you want, have one big fat orgy in our living room for all I care, but don’t expect to touch my ass once you’re done with them. Kevin, you’re the only one left with hole privileges.”

Kevin wrinkles his nose and raises a brow, puzzled. “But I’m a bottom?”

“Good! Then don’t use them! An extra fuck you to the rest of them!”

He storms off after that, slamming the door to his room behind him, and you all take a collective sigh at his little temper tantrum. They aren’t anything new, but he usually isn’t this unreasonable, but you all know why. Felix. It always comes back down to Felix, the first love who broke his heart into so many pieces he is still trying to glue them back together. You feel sorry for what he is going through, you really do, but that doesn’t mean you are going to let him walk all over you and lash out like that.

“So. Movie night?” San suggests to break the tension, and the others are quick to nod and mutter in agreement.

“Definitely not here, though,” you pitch in, Eric’s loud trap music blasting from his speakers through the closed door, right on cue. “Let’s give him some space to cool down.”

“I’ll stay here,” Sunwoo suggests, “Just in case he needs to talk it out while we’re still gone.”

“Let me,” you offer, “I’m not huge on movies anyway—”

“Respectfully, I think he’d rather talk to anyone but you,” Kevin interrupts with an apologetic frown. “You did kind of fuck around with his ex without him. I don’t think he wants to confront how jealous that made him. He still misses him so much.”

“I know,” you sigh, sinking down into the couch, wedged between him and Mingi. At this point you have already accepted movie night is not going to happen until you have talked this all out with the others. “I think it’s more than that, though. When I was talking to him about it while training him on pole, he said the rest of the kids made him jealous, too. Because those are all effectively, and I’m paraphrasing this bluntly, mind you, but they’re basically his replacements. His and the rest of their dance crew that he left. He wanted me to fuck Felix with him to prove that he too had moved on and met cooler, hotter and more talented friends to make music with, so he could feel in control again. But I think it backfired on him as soon as they started winning and rubbing it in our faces. At least, based on his outburst just then, that’s my guess. Still needa ask him directly, preferably once he’s let off some steam.”

Mingi plays with your hand as you talk, his large ones easily encasing yours and tracing patterns along your skin. “Sounds about right. Maybe we should stop sleeping around with them, then. It’s not like we’d have much of a dry spell without them, as hot as it is I don’t know if it’s worth making Eric upset.”

“That’s treating the symptoms, not the root of the problem,” you point out, noticing the way he stays fixated on your hand, not looking at you, but more so, not looking at Wooyoung. “That’s the thing I don’t get about monogamy. People will go to such lengths to make sure their partners don’t get jealous, instead of trying to unpack why they feel so bad about seeing someone else with them. Like, clearly he has a lot of insecurity about being replaced, or other people being better than him. I get that. So we just need to show him how much we value him, and how irreplaceable he is to us. How fucking with other guys doesn’t change that.”

That seems to stir something within Mingi, gears turning in his head visible on his face. You hope that it’s the realization you think it is, because while Mingi has never been the overly jealous type like Eric is, you know from many late nights drinking hot chocolate on his shoddy balcony that his insecurities are just as loud and all-consuming sometimes. You haven’t had the chance to properly check in on him since his fight with Wooyoung in front of you, but you hope he can read between the lines nonetheless.

“Huh. And how do we do that?”

“We put him in control again,” you say decidedly, nodding. “A position of power, of some sort. Make him the star of our next stage, build it all around it. Let him run it, even. And of course, him permitting, suck his dick till he’s shooting blanks.”

A unanimous chuckle ripples through the room at the last part, knowing full well how the combined effort of the six of you could make that a very easy feat.

“He did call us here to talk about our next stage,” Wooyoung hums thoughtfully, “I think he wants to do another special stage like we do at those dance clubs, with you taking over drums and Sunwoo on bass so he and Mingi can dance with me, if I were to guess. He seemed particularly torn up about their comments on dance specifically, which makes sense given how that’s how Felix left him.”

“What did they even say about your dancing, anyway? I didn’t catch that, was too busy arguing with—”

“Sneaking off to suck Felix’s dick in a hallway, we know,” Wooyoung snorts, shifting himself into his usual seat, that being Mingi’s lap, and leaning against his chest. “They said I danced like my sex appeal could make up for a lack of talent. Which is whatever, honestly, I just used that to make Changbin admit he still found me hot and eventually lead to bringing him home – amazing ass, mind you, he wanted to top so bad and I damn near let him but—”

“Okay, okay, details later, what else did they say about us?” Knowing each other inside out means that the tendency to cut each other off is never taken too personally, given how much you all have the tendency to ramble. You’re grateful for it, because at times like this, you need to get straight to the point. “Did they insult Eric’s dancing too?”

Wooyoung grimaces, lips pursing into a line, and that is enough to confirm your suspicions. “...yeah. To be fair, Eric did bring it up first. He was taunting them about their dancing and how they should go compete in dance competitions instead like they used to in Force – but oh, that’s right! Felix left Force, and for this, and he implied it was because he knew that they’d never make it in an actual dance competition without Force. So they dragged him and the rest of Force through the mud, saying maybe the reason they disbanded as soon as Felix left was because they knew he carried the team and they were nothing without him. You can imagine how hard that would have hit.”

You poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. Can’t exactly say their response was entirely uncalled for, then, but at the same time, Eric made a solid point. Why didn’t they just enter dance tournaments instead? You remember Eric going to compete in a whole ton of them between Force and Triple Z, the dance crews he was in with Felix and Wooyoung and Mingi respectively.

Force since disbanded with Felix’s departure since he acted as the glue that held the crew together, the other members closer with him than each other, while Triple Z still meets up sometimes, but a lot more casually than they used to now that most of them aren’t studying anymore, and have a lot less free time working to pay rent. Especially with the Battle of the Bands coming up, you don’t expect they will be doing anything big for a while now. At least that meant Eric finally stopped overworking himself between all his commitments.

You think about the week prior he spent learning a whole new medium of dance just to prove a point, and you quickly retract that thought.

“I think I know just what he needs,” you speak up, the puzzle clicking together in your head one piece at a time. “Not just what he needs, what this competition needs. An even match.”

“An even match?” San echoes, and you nod, noting the way he looks slightly disheartened, but you continue before he can think that the band isn’t a worthy competitor to the current reigning group.

“An even playing field, I mean. They’re doing something completely different to everyone else; that’s why they’re winning, because they can’t be compared to anyone else. We just need to give them something to compare to. Another dance group. Four of us are already some form of dancer, and the rest of you are fit and fast learners. If we spend the next week on the grind, we can make a dance performance out of one of the old tracks Kevin or Mingi produced for Force or Triple Z that never got used– and if we let Eric run this little boot camp, he hopefully will feel like he’s in control of the situation again and that we still value his opinions and role on the team.”

“So... your vote is basically plagiarism then,” Wooyoung snorts, crossing one leg over the other with a playful flourish, almost kicking you in the face in the process. “I’m interested. In fact, if we want to really boot camp this, we should all take the week off work. I think I can help cover the costs that may arise from that one.”

“No way!” San gasps, eyes quickly widening while the rest of you glance around at each other, not getting the memo. “Don’t tell me that sugar daddy you were talking to is actually legit...?”

“More than legit,” Wooyoung preens, evidently rather proud of himself. “I found out how to squeeze even more dough out of him. He loves seeing me in fancy designer brands, he has no idea I just stole half of it and have been using the generous allowance he gave me to spoil Mingi instead and buy other sorts of useless shit and necessities. So I just pretend I’m this fashionista diva who only wants to wear the most exclusive of designer, and even with all the money he’s giving me, it doesn’t give me the connections to get limited edition pieces from exclusive collections... and he gets them for me, of course, and do you have any idea how much those kinds of things sell for?”

If there was one thing you always admired about Wooyoung, it was how clever that sly fox could be when it came to things like this. Trust Jung Wooyoung to milk rich old men for all they’re worth, but still not consider that microwaving rice three times would make it into a solid brick. The duality of man.

“Why haven’t you told us earlier?!” San seems almost offended, lips falling into a pout. “That’s huge! You’re basically rich now!”

“Ew, gross,” Wooyoung wrinkles his nose, “I’m not rich, I’m exploiting the rich. Big difference. Don’t lump me in with those bastards! I didn’t tell you all yet because I didn’t want to get my hopes up in case it was a scam or he ended up being dangerous, but... I think we’re in the clear now. I’m still going to pole dance because I love it and I don’t want my only source of income to be reliant on some old rich man’s whims, but I can afford to take a week off and pitch in for you guys too. I might have to leave periodically if he calls, though, but luckily I already know how to dance. I’ll catch up quick.”

“It’s a plan, then,” Kevin speaks up, and the relief it fills you with is immense; you were the most concerned about his reaction to the idea, as he was the least inclined to heavy physical activity out of all of you, but you figure you must have been underestimating him – he may be no dancer yet, but Gaga nights at the gay club have him vogueing like he is one. “We make our next stage a dance stage to rival theirs, and Eric gets to put us all through dance hell? Good thing I started working out…”

You look around the room for any signs of protest, but luckily enough, everyone seems to be on the same page. You see a particular spark in Wooyoung and Mingi’s eyes – for completely different reasons – that make you think this really is the right path to take.

“Going once, going twice… agreed, then!” You clasp your hands together, determined. “Someone pick a movie, and we can tell Eric when he feels like speaking with us calmly again.”

a/n: not gonna lie this might be one of my favourite chapters so far hehe those chan scenes were extremely fun to write. anyway if you havent already, let me know your thoughts thru this google form or even through an ask, either or can be anonymous if you want (tho if you want me to reply to your form responses, pls do sign off w ur @!) as always reblogs are always appreciated and im always down to talk in depth abt these characters if any questions or brainrot arises. LOL

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echotoyou · 6 months

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ah, there you are (kth)

pairing: roommate!kim taehyung x gn!reader

what's inside: just a little soft fluffy tae comforting reader on a rough day

warnings: brief mention of fighting, mommy issues

word count: 326

a/n: this lil drabbly boy was in my docs begging to be a longer thing but I just couldn't keep her trapped as a wip. maybe I'll revisit them in the future but for now, enjoy!

posted oct 2023 (also on ao3)

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You hadn’t heard him come into the room, causing you to jolt slightly as you feel hands squeeze your shoulders. They pause just for a moment before rubbing up and down your upper arms. You relax into the sudden warmth, and unconsciously let out a small sniffle. The arms move to cross over in front of your chest, pinning yours to your sides as you become the recipient of a back hug from over the arm of your couch. A head settles on your shoulder and you hear a low voice.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh and attempt to wriggle out of his hug, his comfort somehow feeling just right but also too warm at the same time. He lets out a chuckle and tightens his grip.

“Mmm. Nope. I’m not letting go until you tell me what’s on your mind,” he teases. “Unless you actually don’t want to share, uh, boundaries and all that?” His voice switches to one of concern as you don’t respond, instead choosing to flop back to your previous position. You do your best to look at your roommate, his head still sitting on your shoulder, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

“I had a bad day.” you mutter, and he huffs.

“Who do I need to fight? Just point me at ‘em and they’re absolute toast.”

Your lips turn up into a watery grin. You lean your head against his and tightly close your eyes.

“I don’t think you can fight my mother, Tae.”

“Hm. You’re probably right. I think she’d win.”

His conviction startles a laugh out of you at the thought of your mother beating up your roommate.

“Ah, there you are,” you can hear the smile in his voice as you continue lightly laughing. His arms start to slacken, threatening to unclasp from your chest, but you grab his crossed forearms and squeeze him back.

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you whisper into the ether before releasing your grip.

#bts #bts drabble #taehyung x reader #v x reader #kim taehyung #kth #bts fluff #diverseinsertknet #drabble #mgthecat chitchats

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diverseinsertknet · 1 year

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Navigation by K-pop Group Names T- Z and Numbers

Look for the K-pop reader insert fic you want at DiverseInsertKNet with links organized by Group Names T through Z and Numbers below. This list will regularly add groups and idols as more stories are reblogged to the network. Entries without a link are currently in the queue and waiting to be published. Desktop/web browser users- the original version of this post on DiverseInsertKNet will always be the most up to date.

Our navigation page has links to groups with other names listed alphabetically as well as fanfic labeled by Gender and other kinds of diversity.

The Boyz- Jacob Bae, Choi Chanhee, Ji Changmin, Ju Haknyeon, Kim Sunwoo, Kim Younghoon, Lee Jaehyun, Lee Juyeon, Lee Sangyeon, Kevin Moon, Eric Sohn

The Rose- Kim Woosung, Lee Jaehyeong

Tomorrow X Together- Choi Beomgyu, Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Huening Kai, Kang Taehyun

Treasure- Choi Hyunsuk, Hamada Asahi, Kanemoto Yoshinori, Kim Doyoung, Kim Junkyu, Park Jeongwoo, Park Jihoon, So Junghwan, Watanabe Haruto, Yoon Jaehyuk

Twice- Chou Tzuyu, Minatozaki Sana, Yoo Jeongyeon

Victon- Choi Byungchan, Do Hanse, Han Seungwoo, Jung Subin, Kang Seungsik, Lim Sejun

WEi- Jang Daehyeon

Wonho

VERIVERY- Ju Yeonho

VIXX- Jung Taekwoon, Lee Jaehwan

Xdinary Heroes- Goo Gunil, Han Hyungjun, Kim Jungsu, Kwak Jiseok, Lee Jooyeon, Oh Seungmin

xikers- Choi Hyunwoo, Choi Sumin, Ham Jinsik, Jung Yujun, Kim Junghoon, Kim Minjae, Lee Yechan, Papungkorn Lertkiatdamrong, Park Junmin, Park Seeun

ZEROBASEONE- Han Yujin, Kim Gyuvin, Kim Jiwoong, Kim Taerae, Park Gunwook, Seok Matthew, Shen Quanrui, Sung Hanbin, Zhang Hao

2PM- Nichkhun Buck Horvejkul, Hwang Chansung, Jang Wooyoung, Kim Minjun, Lee Junho, Ok Taecyeon

8TURN- Alex Moon, Yang Minho

#masterlist #navigation #diverseinsertknet #male reader #gender neutral reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #directory #kpop x gn reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x gender neutral reader

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absentcaryatid · 4 months

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Seonghwa's Shared Passion

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

The reader makes a new friend at the mall, one just as interested in LEGO and K-pop as the reader.

2.2K words, Content note: all ages, gender neutral reader, no reader romance, lots of LEGO mentions, Seonghwa gets San as a romantic partner and the reader is very happy for them.

It was the day a life-changing friendship was to be born, but you could not have known that at the time. The lanky man who stood before you bore a staff tag with the name Seonghwa. You had found yourself in his warm presence due to a chance visit to the mall for a quick lunch. With time to spare afterward, you had chosen to stop over at the adjacent LEGO store to see if the 'Dynamite' BTS set was back in stock.

“Still backordered I'm afraid, and no date set for when it might be available again.” As your face fell, the rather stunning clerk nodded sympathetically. “It was a lucky thing I could get mine before the store opened on the day it dropped, a perk of working here, along with the generous staff discount. I'm in the same boat on my Star Wars Razor Crest set though, so I know the production wait can be difficult. Is there anything else I can show you while you are here?”

Picking your jaw up off the floor after recalling the cost of the Mandalorian ship and how much this guy must really like LEGOs, you managed to resume the conversation. “Thank you, no. I devour the online and print catalogs so I'm pretty familiar with all the sets that interest me.” You turned to leave then spun back with a delighted expression. “Actually, I had forgotten I want to work on a new custom build. I like to recreate music video sets from my favorite K-pop groups. Got a little bit behind in ATEEZ releases and I still have to complete last year's final video.”

Seonghwa followed your train of thought with swiftly delivered knowledge on the level of a dedicated fan. “Oh, 'HALAZIA', that one is great.” He even did a little of the hand choreography on the spot. Not particularly smoothly, but Seonghwa was a store employee and not an idol. With a self-effacing little lick of his lips as he seemed to recall what he was supposed to be doing on the clock, he then enthusiastically asked, “You thinking the wet abandoned mall or the stadium for the scene?”

“Eventually I'll build both, but want to start with the stadium because I like the effigy.”

Seonghwa grinned as he made a beeline for the minifigure accessories. “You are going to need this western hat in black then. Wait, forgive me. If you are familiar with recreating scenes for ATEEZ you probably already have the 'HALA HALA' style hat already.”

“I'm not about to raid my 'Say My Name' or 'Answer' builds on display to get those hats so I have been buying them in bulk online every time they show up in a video. Going to need a lot of yellow pennants from the knights range though, and some more drawbridge chains to repurpose.”

With the store otherwise unoccupied, Seonghwa spent the better part of an hour excitedly talking to you as he assisted in finding the best part matches for your planned LEGO build. He impressed you with his knowledge of the full range of specialized parts, an equal to your own expertise from years of play. It felt good to meet a kindred spirit who liked to go beyond the instructions with a hobby of designing free-form creations.

The surprising shared interest in K-pop also had you warming up to the engaging salesperson. You were charmed as Seonghwa felt comfortable enough to disclose his fantasy of being in the popular six-person group ATEEZ. “I like to imagine the idols in a circle dancing to 'HALAZIA' and there I would be in the center right along with them.” The joy left his face. “You probably think I am silly.”

It was the admission that your daydreams ran like that sometimes too which cemented a mutual affection for each other. You became a regular in his store rather than purchasing online, and together would pore over the Pick-a-Brick catalog on his lunch breaks whenever you were nearby. As much as you loved the conversation, you were concerned he needed time off the subject. “Are you sure you are okay with talking LEGO parts over lunch? That means you’re not really getting away from work.”

Touched by your thoughtfulness, Seonghwa beamed and lightly placed a hand on your shoulder. “This is working on a hobby with a friend. We can call each other friends by now, right?” From that day onward you would meet up outside the store for comfortably platonic meals out or visiting each other's homes. Star Wars content and music videos became a typical reason to find yourselves together when not consulting each other on various LEGO projects.

As he again admired the collection of music video dioramas scattered around your apartment, Seonghwa had been the one to suggest sharing photos of the custom builds online. He was convincing and soon you decided to go for it. Immediately popular, the images made the rounds in both LEGO and K-pop circles. Seonghwa was tickled to discover he was credited as a consultant from the 'HALAZIA' model onward, and the next development had him over the moon.

Your latest one-of-a-kind project depicting the 'Bouncy' flaming saloon set got re-tweeted by the ATEEZ account after Yeosang mentioned in a YouTube live that he had seen the impressive photographs. Seonghwa proudly told everyone in sight at work the next day that he had been in charge of procuring all the lights and the little LEGO goat at minifigure Hongjoong's side.

Getting official recognition from KQ and the members themselves felt amazing, but the high was not to last. Seonghwa had some news about rising in his career, and as a dear friend you should have been happy for him.

Holding your hands as he sat across the dining room table at his place, Seonghwa explained the situation. “I'll still be working with LEGOs, but I'm leaving sales work.”

At first you were excited. “With all your building experience, are you going to be a LEGO Certified Professional like you've talked about? Been thinking about doing that myself. It seems like such a cool job getting the budget to dream up massive sculptures for events.”

Seonghwa did that habitual thing licking his lips again, a sign you had learned to recognize as anxiety. “Actually, I have been putting off telling you this, but the job is in LEGO's global headquarters in Denmark. I'm moving to Billund at the end of the month.”

While you tried to be stoic, you were sure he could tell the reaction was mixed as he shared more details of the promotion. This was no mere desk job Seonghwa had qualified for. To become a master builder for the company was an incredible honor and very competitive, but the cost of losing his presence was hard to take.

Wanting to do something special for your friend before he left, you booked Seonghwa a session at the glamour photography studio a few storefronts down from his shop. The few times you had picked him up after work he had often mused about getting one of the K-pop makeover sessions when walking past the studio. Although he played it off as a joke at the time, you had sensed there was a serious longing there.

When you presented him the certificate for the makeover and portrait package he hugged you the longest he ever had. Once pulled back, “Thank you,” was all he could manage, but there were tears of joy in Seonghwa's eyes that said everything.

True friend that he was, Seonghwa convinced you to share the experience because being silly together was far better than alone. So after a significant amount of coaxing on his part, and a promise of dinner out afterward, the two of you agreed anything goes and put your hair and eyebrows in the hands of the artists.

Grinning at each other through the mirrors at the styling stations, you watched Seonghwa transform. He always had been attractive, but in the hands of professionals he looked like a real idol. Gone were the Angry Bird eyebrows he had regularly joked about, now elegantly shaped. Seonghwa's natural hair color had become a white-blond, and between shading and other makeup effects he had become truly stunning.

While you would love to say your transformation had been as dramatic, Seonghwa seemed to be a perfect canvas in a way you did not, but that was okay. It was still a lot of fun, especially together. You were very glad not to have missed this opportunity. It was probably the last day seeing him in person before taking him to the airport within the week.

Hair and makeup got you halfway into character as idols for the day, but trying on various outfits for the photography session completed it. Shared laughter helped reduce your awkwardness when posing, but it was Seonghwa who really took to modeling. He had always seemed poised, but watching him go through a variety of stances and gestures gave you the feeling of watching a pro at work. It was not only you, the photographer herself commented on it in a way that felt genuine and not just part of the service. The resulting portraits alone and as a duo memorialized the fun day.

Far too soon after that Seonghwa was physically gone from your life with his relocation to Denmark. Thanks to technology you could still build together over video calls at least monthly. It took some trial and error but eventually you learned wearing a microphone helped your voices carry over the sound of rustling plastic bricks. As good as the time together was, you were sorely feeling the loss of fully being together in person. Not just his warm hugs, but there was something about Seonghwa's laughter and smiles that were not fully conveyed online.

On one chat you observed a new decoration in his home, hanging behind your friend as he talked. It was a large poster with a mostly familiar image. The six-member team of ATEEZ had surprisingly grown to eight. Seonghwa and another man had been edited into a shot on the 'HALAZIA' stadium set. The spacing was a little wonky after Seonghwa's new neighbor San had used photo editing skills to flip vibrantly red-haired Wooyoung onto the other side of the lineup leaving room to insert the two new fantasy members, but to Seonghwa it was a prized possession. The poster commemorated not just his dreams and time with you getting the K-pop makeover, but also a growing closeness with San who stood alongside him in the revised image.

Meeting San had been such a boon to Seonghwa. The hesitation originally felt over moving to a new country was eased significantly when he had the great fortune to encounter another fellow K-pop and LEGO enthusiast in his apartment building. Even if the Star Wars collection was not San's favorite, no man was perfect. You had listened eagerly to weeks of Seonghwa's developing crush on his neighbor. While some people might have felt replaced, you knew your friendship was as strong as ever, and if anything, it would be great to know yet another person who shared your passions. The way Seonghwa's face lit up every time he spoke of San left you genuinely happy for him.

When Seonghwa hesitated to ask him out, you finally recommended he have San over for dinner as thanks for easing the transition to the new city. Fortunately, San had a similar level of interest and was able to ask Seonghwa out over the course of the successful evening. You cheered as Seonghwa's giddy texts came in afterward, thanking you profusely for helping him along.

It had been over a year since he had left the mall store when Seonghwa suggested you use some of your vacation time to visit Denmark. It took little convincing before you accepted. You missed your best friend, and also there was the matter of wanting to meet the person who had won Seonghwa's heart. The plane ticket would be expensive, but at his partner San's urging the couple decided you had to stay with them while in the country. Going to the LEGOLAND theme park with the lovebirds was a day you would remember forever, but there was one thing even better.

You had thought the LEGO museum would be the trip highlight. Instead, it was getting a tour of the LEGO headquarters where Seonghwa worked. The whimsical environment changed your life. From that point on you changed your career path from LEGO Serious Play facilitator doing corporate training to any role that would lead to your own employment in Denmark. Excited by your plan, Seonghwa had some suggestions for departments best suited to your skills.

It took time, but being reunited with Seonghwa as his newest neighbor after your own move to Denmark was the best feeling ever. Commuting to LEGO headquarters together and working side by side was a dream come true. Things were just as perfect at home. Just as you were not threatened by San's romantic role in Seonghwa's life, kindhearted San was just as warmly understanding of your deep platonic love for his partner. The three of you three of you remained best friends forever, united by shared interests that had brought you and Seonghwa together in the first place.

General Masterlist

Masterlist of Stories with No Reader Romance

#ateez fanfic #gender neutral reader #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa fanfic #diverseinsertknet #no reader romance #platonic relationship #cross posted on ao3 #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff

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