justasparkwritings · 2 months ago
The Littlest Dumpling {1}
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Pairing: Min Yoongi x OFC
Genre: Non Idol AU / Author AU
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Swearing!
Word Count: 4.7K
Summary: Yoongi’s ready to shop his newest book idea, what he isn’t ready for is you.
Master List
Tag List: @4ksj, @jagiya, @ot7nem, @knjkitten, @teamtardis-notdead​
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       A dark sky streaks with lightening, thunder rumbles throughout the land.
       Boulders quake, but our hero stays strong. He pushes his sweatband up and adjusts his hanbok. The sweat still drips down his brow, his scar, long perpendicular to his eye shines in the flash of lightning.
        “I am not my brother,” Lil King Yoongi said, his sword unsheathing itself from underneath his garment. “I am not my father, either.”
        “Then who are you?” The hooded figure asked. His sword was drawn too, ready to strike in attack.
        “I am King Yoongi.”
        Lil King Yoongi Volume 1
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        “Damn it,” Yoongi throws his pen across his desk, watching as it nails the framed picture of him and his parents, holding his first ever published piece of writing from when he was a teenager. It was small, a local newspaper that held an essay contest. He had written stunning prose about why he loves books, and the local library. His essay had won, beating out all the competition from his 1000 person high school and surrounding areas. The prize was having his essay turned into a column, and getting to shadow the local newspaper staff for a month. He was allowed to create a column and run 4 articles. Naturally, he chose to read and review books.
        Yoongi’s Reading Review became a hit, and after the success of it’s limited run, he was offered a junior staff position. He submitted 1 article a month, full of up to 5 book reviews. He reviewed everything, novels to essay collections, to biographies and new comic book editions. In Summer months, when his classmates were off from school, hanging out at the local pool and the mall, making out on the empty football field and gearing up for football season in the fall, he worked. In the summer they upped his count from one per month to two, and as a rising Junior they upped it again to three. Every dollar he saved went to buying more books, despite what his parents wanted (saving all the money), he couldn’t help but reach for that hardcover fantasy novel. He couldn’t stop himself from indulging in a reissue of a comic he just discovered. Yoongi loved it, exploring new lands and times, sharing what he’d discovered with other people his age. It hadn’t made him popular, perse, but it had ignited a fire within him.
        A degree in creative writing, and MFA and a series that has garnered him a Newberry honor, and he’s sitting at his desk. The desk he started writing on as a boy, refinished and brought to his apartment from his parents house, still had indents from when he would write so hard on loose leaf paper that he permanently changed the make up of the desk. Now he has glass resting on top of it, protecting those early scribbles.
       With his favorite pen now lost behind a table, the words in front of him look like utter shit.
        “Fuck.” He mutters. “Fuck!”
        Yoongi has a meeting with a new publisher, someone his agent set him up with so he could make his first foray into official childrens books. He had the idea, and the concept and what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t well, say it. Nothing came when he thought about his newest project. And what did was complete and utter shit.
        Why had he thought he could do this?
        Easy, he had to. Just like breathing, he had to write.
        The Littlest Dumpling, is a story about a little boy who looks, much like he did and does, like a boiled dumpling. He becomes brave as he goes through school and out into the world. His mom calls him Little Dumpling, affectionately, his brother teasingly, and his father prefers more traditional nicknames for his youngest son.
        It’s meant to be both hopeful and easily identifiable as a story any kid can cling to. But he can’t get started. And that is terrifying.
        Lil King Yoongi had flown out of him. He had written four volumes of it before he got a publishing deal. He knew it inside and out, every aspect of it. His agent had wanted him to make a spin off when the last book came out last year, but he wouldn’t do that. That felt so disingenuous to the characters. There was no prequel, there was no sequel. Lil King Yoongi was complete.
        So he took five years off. Went to Korea with his parents, saw his friends, rested and did a few guest review spots for new books and his local paper that still asked him to. All in the hopes that he could, when he was ready, put pen to paper and write his next great work: The Littlest Dumpling.
        Then the deadline came - his agent, Marc, set up a meeting with a new publisher. And he tried. He really really tried. But now, sitting in the waiting room, bouncing his leg and trying not to crack his knuckles, he’s going into this meeting with an idea and no pages to show.
        “Mr. Min?” Alexis, the assistant asks. “She’s ready for you now.”
        Alexis guides him to the office, through a hallway of framed book covers, pictures with authors holding their books and quotes pulled from said books. It’s a gallery wall to end all gallery walls, and Yoongi kind of wishes he was a part of.
       Inside the office, which seems more like a fort than a functioning structure, you are standing behind a desk, waiting.
       “Mr. Min, welcome to Serendipity Publishing, where we believe every book we create is meant to be. Have a seat. Alexis will you bring some coffee?” You rattle off in quick succession, no hint of annoyance in your voice, but a little sparkle of fire in your eyes.
        “Sure thing,” Alexis smiles.
        “I’m Y/N,” You extend your hand to him, and he takes it cautiously. ”And I get paid to say that phrase, though I’d much rather not.”
        “Oh,” Yoongi’s taken aback. “Okay, then please call me Yoongi.”
        “Okay Yoongi. Welcome. I’m so excited to meet you and discuss your work.”
        “That won’t last long,” Yoongi mutters.
        “Nothing - just, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t know if I have anything, good.”
        You’re caught off guard by his deprivation, tipping your head to the side and staring at him quizzically. “That seems unlikely given the success with your graphic novels. But note taken. I am ready to be pleasantly disappointed.”
        “So, I have this idea -
        “Wait,” You hold up a hand and stare at Alexis who has just entered the room. “Do you want cream or sugar?”
        “Black, just black,” Yoongi says.
        Alexis, hot pink curls bouncing, sets two cups of coffee down and walks out, shutting your office door behind her. Yoongi takes the opportunity to glance around. It’s an office carved out of book shelves. There’s a window, a window seat and your desk in the middle. Every single wall is covered in what appears to be clear floating shelves filled with books.
        “Have you edited or published all of these?” He asks.
        “The company has, but if you keep looking you’ll find a few that aren’t our label. I snuck them in,” You say.
        “Aren’t you going to get caught?”
        “And what, fired? I’d love to see them try.”
        He nods approvingly. “So you’ve been here long?”
        “Yeah, straight out of college, started reading the reject pile, found a few gems, got moved up and eventually here I sit: Head of New Acquisitions, Young Adult and Children’s Lit.”
        “That’s a fancy title,” He says.
        “Better be, Vassar wasn’t cheap,” You crack a smile, and his shoulders relax.  
        “Ah you’re a Vassar grad?”
        You shrug. “That’s what my diploma says.”
        “Not up to snuff?”
        “I expected a Sarah Lawrence or like, Whitman.”
        “Small college in Eastern Washington. Wow!” You laugh. “That’s not where you went, is it?”
        “Berkeley?” You already know.
        “How’d you like the rain?”
        He shakes his head and offers a gentle smile. “About as much as you want to drink black coffee.”
        “Ah, you noticed?”
        “Yeah, I assume you brought yours from home?”
        “Of course.”
        Yoongi reaches for his mug, with the company logo in gold and rainbow across the front, and takes a sip.
        “It’s hot!” You say quickly, watching as he winces.
        “Fucking fuck,” Yoongi mutters. “Thanks for the warning.”
        “Who takes a sip of coffee like it’s ice water?” You ask, your mind racing to decide if a lawsuit is possible from too hot coffee. How embarrassing, going down for serving an author coffee that was scalding.
        “Valid,” He accepts your sympathy easily.
        You let the moment pass, then start again. “So you wrote a book.”
        “The new one, or the old ones?”
        “The new one, and your agent wants you to what, shop it around? We’re willing to make you a deal today, Yoongi.”
        “What if my idea is shit?” Yoongi’s earnest gaze is a little concerned, vulnerability and weakness showing through.
        “You wrote a five part saga about a lil king that has sold millions. It’s one of the most popular graphic novels in the history of graphic novels. You could go anywhere, do anything,” You lean forward, your voice just above a whisper. “But you’re here.”
        “How serendipitous,” he jokes.
        “Precisely. So tell me, Mr. Min, Yoongi, what is this new project?”
        He takes a deep breath, wishing he had water instead of this coffee.
        “Our parents all give us nicknames as kids, whether or not we want them. We either grow into them, or out of them. My new project takes shape with a little boy who affectionately is called, Little Dumpling.”
        “Oh my god,” You mutter. “I’m already hooked.”
        “The Littlest Dumpling is about this boy. I want the first book to be about his nickname, how he got it, what it means. Then the next to be about adventures he has as his alter ego, Littlest Dumpling, and as himself.”
        “Let me guess,” Your elbows prop, chin resting in hands. “You can’t fucking write, can you?”
        Yoongi stares at you, unsure how you could possibly know he’s had writers block for a year.
        “I - I currently have writers block. But, at present, I have outlined the first three installments.”
        “What’s book 1?”
        “His classmates find out his nickname.”
        You take out a piece of paper that has his name written across the top in very curvy lettering. “And two?”
        “His bully picks on him for the lunches he eats.”
        “Traditional Korean?”
        “Yes,” He agrees.
        “I’m in. I love it.”
        “But, I don’t have anything written.”
        You wave your hand through the air, dismissing his objection. “That’s okay, I’ve signed deals with people who had far less than you do.”
        Yoongi isn’t sure if this is comforting or concerning.
        “I see that look - but think about it, look at where I am. I know what I’m talking about.”
        “I don’t doubt that you do, but I’ve never gone to a publisher with an idea and no pages. It’s like streaking across the football field at halftime.”
        “I get it, and i know we’ve only been talking for twenty minutes, but trust me, Yoongi. You can do this.”
        He inhales through his teeth, sucking in air loudly before exhaling and doing it again.
        “I’m going to be incredibly difficult about the illustration, it has to be perfect.”
        “Understood, and editing too, I’m assuming?” You ask, jotting his answers down.
        “I have an editor and illustrator in mind for you, both have done work with our authors before to great success. I’ll get the contract sent to your agent and legal team today for them to go over and discuss. What we’re paying you will be included and competitive.” You switch to your computer, drafting an email to legal. That’s what it looks like to Yoongi, but really you’re typing send the contract ASAP.
        “That’s fast.”
        “Look, you’re Yoongi Min. I can tell you right now there’s at least five other agencies and publishing houses who want you to sign with them. Your current agencies is shitting themselves over losing you and your future projects. The sheer fact that you’re leaving your primary publishing house is, the most exciting get anyone could imagine right now. I know that’s pressure, I know that that means that you are having writers block. But Yoongi, I’m telling you, and I will keep telling you, we are your best option. You can pick who you want. You can go anywhere, truly, but we are dedicated to children’s literature. We are dedicated to the highest quality illustrations and collaboration amongst all our artists. We aren’t some big magnate, or conglomerate. We aren’t going to license your work without you knowing, and we aren’t going to publish something you aren’t 100% proud of. I promise you that.”
        “So, once I send the deal over, please take your time to look it over and understand it all. I will give you a list of editors with a single name starred for who I think you should work with, same for illustrators. But it’s up to you. Serendipity is a fabulous publishing house, and I can guarantee you will not regret signing with us or working with me.”
        “You’re incredibly convincing.” He says.
        “Like I said, Vassar. Business and creative writing degrees.”
        Why are you so hellbent on impressing him?
       “Double major, damn.”
        “I’m incredibly impressive, Yoongi. And I won’t hide it.”
        Yoongi wants to smirk, to keep calm, to remain somewhat nonplussed. But he can’t, not when you are looking at him like he’s the hope diamond and you haven’t yet realized he’s cursed.
        He can’t look away, so he whispers instead. “You shouldn’t.”    
“So, like I said. I’ll send it over and we can meet next week to sign or you can come by for more hot coffee and turn me down. Either way, we should talk again.”
        “Yes, okay, sounds good.” He agrees.  
        “Great. Do you have any questions for me?”
        Yoongi does. “What’s your favorite children’s book?”
        You smile, not waiting a moment to respond. “Harriet the Spy for classic literature. Where the Mountain Meets the Moon and Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library for contemporary. Oh and The Westing Game.”
        Yoongi beams, he hadn’t been expecting that. Not one book, but four?
        “Okay, okay, I haven’t read three of those.”
        “You should. You can borrow my copies,” You stand and move to a specific corner of your book shelves, taking down all four and handing them to Yoongi. “Then you have to come back and see me.”
        “Okay, sounds like a deal.”
        “If you bend pages or damage them in any way I will take it out of my offer.” You warn him, finger pointing accusingly at the middle of his chest. He’s standing a little too close, he realizes that as he backs away.
        He picks up his coat and mutters, much louder than he intended. “You’re feisty.”
        “Thank you. It’s one of my winning qualities.”
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        Yoongi has met with a few publishers in his day, and at the behest of Hoseok’s girlfriend, sat through many episodes of Younger starring Sutton Foster and Hilary Duff. But his meetings were never quite like the TV shows, or films, that glamorized publishing houses. No one was itching to sleep with each other, or fuck him while editing his books. But then again, he was in children’s publishing. Perhaps if he wrote a book geared towards adults, he’d have a similar sexy experience. But he hasn’t. Instead he’s just… Yoongi.
        The littlest dumpling that ever lived, slinking into his agent’s office to discuss the deal. Or, if his agent has anything to say about it, you.
        “She’s the hottest new publisher in the game, Yoongi’s,” Jane Huang says. Her quaffed hair is the color of flames, reds and yellows blurring into orange and curled atop her head. The sides are delicately shaved and bleached blonde. He always gets distracted by the ancient Chinese symbols dancing up her forearm, giving way to rich greens and emeralds that make up the bonsai she has stained into her skin. Jane, or Janie as Yoongi calls her, stares at him from her place behind her desk. Her office far less occupied than yours. “She’s promising you the world. Or at least, what sliver of it she can.”
       “It’s all great - but how does the contract look?” Yoongi asks.
       “She’s offering more than the others.”
       Ah yes, the others. All the notable publishing houses, the few that still cared about his work after his brief hiatus. All offering far less than Serendipity, with a publisher far less enthused than you.
       “The contract is clear, you aren’t going to get a better deal for the amount of work you’ve put in,” Jane says.
       “I’ve put in a lot of work! There’s a concept, I have outlines!”
       “But you haven’t written shit, don’t try to bullshit me, Yoongi.” Her tone is reminiscent of a scolding from his mother - which he knows if he points out, she will absolutely ream him for it.
       “Noona, I know. But there will be,” Yoongi waits for her to erupt, hoping for sparks ready to ignite.
       Instead she gently rolls her eyes. “I hate it when you call me noona. I’m not even that much older than you, and you have known me for long enough to know that.”
       “Sorry, Janie.”
       “Thank you. I’m glad you’re feeling confident. I was beginning to think you lost your nerve, and how embarrassing would that be for either of us? Humiliating.”
       He scoffs. “I haven’t lost my confidence, mostly. I mean a little. Most of it is totally gone and tied up with my writing ability which, now that it’s lost and probably never coming back, seems like a great time to sign a new contract with a new publisher who -
       “Yoongi!” Jane interrupts. “Stop spiraling. You’re fucking fine.”
       “Sorry,” He says sinking deeper into his chair.
       “She wants to meet with you again?” Jane asks. She finishes putting stickie notes where Yoongi needs to sign the elaborate and thorough contract.
       “Yes, to officially sign the contract.”
       “Isn’t that why Doc-U-Sign was invented?”
       “Yes, she also lent me a few books so i have to give those back too.”
       “I’m sorry, she did what?” Jane asks. She keens at him, elbows on her desk, body moving towards him as if she’s about to pounce. “She did what?”
       “She lent me a few books -
       “Books she’s published?”
       “No,” He’s desperately trying not to blush.
       “So, social books? Books about writing children’s books?”
       “No,” Deeper red, the colors of hell.
       “Yoongi,” Jane’s voice rises an octave, screeching in his ears.
       “Well if you’d let me get out more than a word I’d tell you that i asked her what her favorite children’s books are, and she let me borrow the ones I hadn’t read.”
       “And have you read them?” She asks.        
       “Of course,” He rolls his eyes.
       “She’s flirting.”
       “She is not.”
       “Yoongi, you’re dense but not stupid.”
       “She lent them to me, I read them. I’ll give them back when I sign the contract. That’s it.”
       Jane is still smiling, more like smirking and only a little green with envy. “Good, because no matter how hot and talented she is, you can’t fuck your publisher.”
       “Who says I want to?” Yoongi feigns ignorance, of course he wants to. He has eyes and ears that heard you spill genius to him.
       “The glimmer in your eyes, Yoongi. That’s who.”
       “Come on, you’re fucking some younger guy, why can’t I do something a little reckless?”
       “And jeopardize your career?”
       “I wouldn’t, she wouldn’t.” Though Yoongi has no idea what you would and wouldn’t do, with him. Or anyone that works for you.
       “You’re an idiot if you think sleeping with your publisher won’t absolutely tank your reputation and career,” Jane says.
       “It’s a hypothetical. I didn’t even know she was flirting with me until two minutes ago!”
       “You definitely knew she was flirting, because you were flirting too,” Jane teases. “Of course you were. Have you seen her?”
       “Have you seen the guy you’re sleeping with?” He tries desperately to pivot.
       “Uh, yes?”
       “Great because I haven’t, so tell me who he is.”
       “Yoongi!” Jane tips her head back in exasperation.
       “And not that we’re coworkers not friends shit, because you have been my agent for five years and we are more than just coworkers.”
       “Work friends is better than coworkers,” Jane reminds him.
       “You’ve told me about every exploit you’ve had over the last five years, and yet for some unknown reason you won’t tell me about this new person. Is it someone I know?”
       Yoongi and Jane met when he won a collegiate award for an initial draft of, what would become the first draft of Lil King Yoongi. He had busied himself turning his Yoongi’s Reading Review into a city wide column, and then in college leading his collegiate paper and winning writing scholarships. She’d been following his career as they both experienced tangential success. Jane had won some of the same prizes years before him. That’s how she got her start, and how she stumbled upon him. Reading his work in a contest for a 5K scholarship.
       To say in the last few years they’d become best friends would be a stretch, but Yoongi is right. They’re more than coworkers.
       “You know they’re younger than me, what more do you want?” She asks.
       “You’re being shady,” Yoongi accuses.
       “You’re being nosy.”
       ”Ms. Huang, I believe I am just trying to be your friend,” Yoongi says.
       “He isn’t in publishing if that helps,” Jane concedes. “And he’s around your age. And incredibly hot.”
       “That’s more information than I had… so I’ll take it.”
       Jane lets a beat pass. “But he isn’t as hot as Y/N.”
       “I didn’t even -
       “You have eyes, idiot. You know she’s a stunner.”
       ”Fine - she’s beautiful,” It’s his turn to concede.
       “Thank you!”
       “But I’m not, she isn’t interested in me. She wants my book, she wants my story. That’s it. That’s all.” He says.
       Jane shakes her head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
       “I do.”
       “No, you don’t Yoongs,” She leans forward again, staring intently at him.
       He’s uncomfortable under her gaze. “How do you know?”
       “Your eyes, Yoongi. Your eyes.”
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       “You’re back!” You say, smiling widely at Yoongi as Alexis brings him into your office. “Oo with presents?”
       “Just your books,” Yoongi hands the bag to you. “I liked them. Where the Mountain Meets the Moon was my favorite.”
       “I’m glad! So, tell me, good news or bad news?”
       “Uh, depends?”
       “I’m ready to sign my contract.”        
       “Oh shit! Yes! Great news!”
       “What would’ve been bad?”
       “If you didn’t want to sign it, if you decided you didn’t want to write The Littlest Dumpling. If your old publishing house offered you more money to write more Lil King Yoongi’s. There are a lot of possibilities, Yoongi.”
       “Clearly you’ve thought of all of them.”
       “Isn’t that my job?”
       “That’s fair.”
       “Well, while the contract is printed, let me show you the list of illustrators and editors. I’ve already starred the ones that I think would be great for this project.”
       You open a folder with his name neatly printed and take out a piece of paper with two columns. Passing it over to him, Yoongi doesn’t take long to skim it and choke on his own spit.
        “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” He says, looking across the top of paper to you.
        He’s quick on his feet. “I will sign the contract, but I have one stipulation.”
        “Oh?” You ask, surprised he doesn’t have more. A lot more. He could ask for almost anything and you’d oblige. You need this win.
        “Yes, I will not, under any circumstance, work with him,” Yoongi hands over the list and watches as your eyes linger on the name you had starred.
        “Okay, why not?” You ask.
        “He’s an asshole.”
        “Okay, but what about his work?”
        “Who cares?” Yoongi snaps.
        You clear your throat, trying a different approach. “Did he wrong you in your past? Is that what it is?”
        You nod, understanding. “So you won’t work with him because he was a dick in college?”
        “High school. And we were childhood friends before that. Our parents are still best friends,” Yoongi rushes through it. A sordid past told in a quick breath.  
        “Oh my god! Yoongi! That’s even more pathetic.”
        “Is it?”
        “Yes, it is. Your parents like him, why can’t you?”
        Yoongi shakes his head, because really it’s more complicated than a petty disagreement or squabble in high school. It goes back years, decades really, and has hurt Yoongi the entire time. It’s so much more than his parents liking Seokjin, actually his parents liking Seokjin is part of the problem.
       “I will never, ever work with that man,” Yoongi says softly, his eyes hard and his jaw set.
       “So you’re telling me you won’t sign the contract if I make you work with him?”
       “Okay,” You nod and lean back in your chair, watching him. “So you have two options: One, walk away from Serendipity. Or, two, which I definitely think you should consider: get over it and push your feelings aside to create a great piece of work. Jin would be a perfect editor. He is incredible and has edited several best sellers. He is the best, and it would shock you to know how much we pay him to keep him here instead of going to Penguin or Random House or another boutique publishing house. Insane.”
        “I - that’s it?”
        “What, I’m not entertaining your teenage angst? Nah, I’m not doing that. I run a business, and if your ego is so fragile you can’t grow up, fine. But that’s who you’re going to work with.” You tell him.
        Yoongi exhales. His agent had prepared him for this, well not the Jin of it all, but the potential that his pettiness would be overruled and ignored. He would have to work with people he didn’t like, or who didn’t like him, no matter what field he was in. But this?
Maybe he should grow up and move on. Though Seokjin is the last person he wants touching whatever masterpiece you think he’s capable of writing. But- again - maybe you’re right. Maybe Jin is the best option, and he is finally ready to move past it.
        Yoongi inhales deeply through his teeth. “Fine.”
        “Fine?” You ask.
        “Fine - I’ll,” He exhales sharply, “I’ll bitch about it the entire time.”
        “I don’t care.”
        “You’re going to be the one who hears about it.”
        You smile, already looking forward to it.
        “That’s my job. Now tell me, what did you think of Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library?”
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        Having signed his contract and returned home with another two books that Serendipity had in fact published, Yoongi felt ready to finally put pen to paper. Though the physical demand of crawling on the floor to dig his pen out from behind the table seemed beyond reproach. But, he finally, truly wants to start writing this new piece.
        That is, until his phone buzzes, and a new email has arrived.
Subject: Untitled YM Project: Editing
From: Seokjin Kim
        Yoongi -
        Wow! It’s been a long time. What a weird coincidence you’d stumble into Serendipity Publishing. I am excited to work with you on this next project, Dumpling.
        Let’s get coffee and discuss your plans soon. I am eager to figure out a schedule and start working!
PS - I know you’re probably going to request I be taken off this project, and I’d love to tell you there’s a solution besides sucking it up and dealing with me… but unlucky for you, there isn’t. Lucky for me, I get to helm the latest project from Yoongi Min. What a partnership we will be.
        Yoongi throws his phone at the wall.
        Fucking pompous asshole who thinks he’s god’s gift to literature. What an asshat. Who emails like that? Who says that shit? Who flaunts their status and power in front of someone they have to work with?
        Yoongi’s fucked - because of course Seokjin is right. You were right when you said it earlier. There is no one better than Seokjin Kim. And Yoongi, despite his protesting and frustration and youthful hatred, absolutely has to work with him.
Next: The Littlest Dumpling {2}
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precededbychaos · 8 months ago
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• Merry & Bright 2021 • • 25 Days of Christmas/Holiday One-Shots • • Dec. 5 • MYG • Smut 🔞 • Tumbler & AO3 8PM PST #merry&bright #merry&bright2021 #merryandbright #merryandbright2021 #justasparkwritings #btsoneshots #btsimagines #btsfic #ao3author #tumblrauthor #christmas #christmasfic #christmasimagine #yoongific #yoongiimagine #yoongismut🔞 #yoongismut #myg https://www.instagram.com/justasparkwritings/p/CXIMIhFrSU2/?utm_medium=tumblr
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ressjeon · 10 months ago
xx Louise
@aglassofpinkchampagne Jin works at Swarovski hehe 👀
summary: "he can tell it's your first time and he was supposed to help you, it's just that he's never met a customer like you before"
wip ask game
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ficswithluv · a year ago
The Word of Your Body by @justasparkwritings - Kim Namjoon has fallen in love with a plus sized American woman… What happens when the insecurities come to the surface? I love this fic! It's one of a few that discusses body insecurity and working through it with a partner in a clear, honest, human way. The vulnerability, the empathy, the fact that it's based on a plus sized reader aids in making the superb writing shine.
Hi! Thanks for the rec! We will add it to our masterlist.
-- Admin Kat
0 notes
ggukkieland · 9 months ago
📕BTS Fic Reads - 2021 Oct
I almost forgot to share these fics (I blame my crazy schedule). I wanted to do a Halloween Reading List but oh well 😭. Still there are so many great fics I enjoyed last month and  thank you authors for sharing your fics!
If you are a reader like me, please don’t hesitate to show appreciation by reblogging the fics or leaving these wonderful authors comments (keep it nice though). 
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Note: if link doesn’t work, click on author and go to their masterlist
🥕 Ongoing - most recent chapter [as of date this list was posted] 🥕 Completed - completed one shots | series 🥕 S - smut | F - fluff | A - angst
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🥕 [Ongoing Series]
↬ Namjoon
Coming to Korea @burberryplaid - two shot [1/2] | 7.2k+ | royalty au, princess!reader, Coming to America (the film) inspired | a, f
Problems @reliablemitten​ - drabble series [2/?] | 700+ wc | Secret Agent AU, Spy AU, spin-off of Bona Fides Series (see description under OT7 Completed Fics), new OC (Head of the criminal org that Jimin worked for), undercover | s
↬ Seokjin
(reading same ongoing fics from previous lists)
↬ Yoongi
What the Water Gave Us @madseok - series [1/?] | 3.2k+ | water ghost!yoongi, neighbor!jungkook x reader too, enemies to lovers au (ish) | f, a, eventual s
↬ Hoseok
(reading same ongoing fics from previous lists)
↬ Jimin
Commitment-phobic @burningupp​ - SMAU | strangers to lovers, one night stand
Facade @taeescript​ - series [3/?] | 10.2k+ | CEO AU, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, (this is an old fic so it might be familiar! But this is a new version 🥰 | a, f
Life is Beautifully Ugly (At Times) @salvejoon​ - series [4/?] | 10.6k+ | Enemies to Lovers, Godparents AU (like Life as We Know It), Slow Burn | a, f, eventual s
The Worst Guys @justasparkwritings​ - series [8/10] | 57.8k+ | Greek God AU, modern setting, Doctor!Jimin | s, a, f
↬ Taehyung
Aftermath @honeyedhoseok​ - drabble series [2/?] | 3.2k+ | CEO!Taehyung x Journalist!Reader from Exposure series, established relationship au | very fluffy so far! 🥰
↬ Jungkook
Burning Love @bangtanficsforyou​ - series [1/?] | 14k | CEO AU, Exes AU, Ex turned Boss | f, a, eventual s?
Feelings @bts-reveries​ - SMAU | Best Friend AU, Unrequited Love (JJK), College AU | f, slight a
Forever is a Long Time [stylized as Forever…(Is a long time)] @eureka-its-zico​ - series [1/?] | 10.4k+ | dilf!jungkook, single dad au, widower!jungkook, OC’s partner WAS jungkook’s wife, Agent AU | a (so far), eventual f/s?
Goodnight and Go @ggukxego​ - SMAU | exes to lovers, friends to lovers, arranged marriage | a, f
Hotter Than Hell @chateautae​ - series [1/3] | 27k+ | supernatural au, enemies to lovers, road trip, demon au, fallen lucifer!jungkook x human!reader | a, f
Legend of the Lamp @opaljm​ - two shot [1/2] | 23k+ } fantasy au, genie!jungkook, magic au, strangers to lovers | s, f
The Big Cats @breakiebunny​ - series [2/?] | 26.8k+ | Hybrid AU, Enemies to Lovers, Mafia AU, Amur Leopard Hybrids needed to mate to avoid extinction of breed | s, a, slight f (was part of a previous reading list but the story was turned into a series yay!!)
↬ OT7 or Multi-pairing
Bloom @hobiwonder​ - Namjoon x Reader x Jungkook
series [2/?] | 10k+ |  Hybrid AU, Fox Hybrid!Namjoon, Bunny Hybrid!Jungkook, Lawyer!Reader | f, a, eventual s
Deep Waters @bangtanloverboys​ - Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook
series [4/?] | 9.8k+ | Sci-Fi, Siren AU, Marine Bioligist!Yoongi, Siren!Jungkook | a, f, s
Mother Knows Best @jeonygi​ - OT7’s Mothers x Reader
Drabble series [5/?] | 2.8k+ | Platonic OT7, overbearing mothers who want OC to be their future daughter in law, humor | f?
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🥕 [Completed Fics/Series]
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Seat 287 @knjsnoona​ - one shot | 6.3k | professor!namjoon, dom!namjoon, themes of infidelity (ugh I still feel bad for the guy who knocked me trying not to spoil lol) | s, a
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In Your Dreams @jjungkookislife​ - one shot | 2.5k | part of the Halloween Nights themed series (go check it out for other members), supernatural au, established relationship au, incubus!seokjin, kind of different type of incubus (he doesn’t get energy from sex), this is really soft yet hot | f, s
The Seance @junqkook​ - one shot | 8.7k | ghost hunters au, demon au, PLOT TWIST, horror/thriller, mystery, Halloween fic, supernatural, boyfriend!seokjin, feat ot6 | a
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A Tiger’s Judgment @borathae​ - one shot | 21.7k | Part of the The Tales of Sisters themed series, warrior!yoongi, princess!oc, enemies to lovers, fantasy, healer!oc (magic), OC is not a nice person. At first. | a, s, f
Entropy @donewiththejeon - one shot | 12.1k | established relationship, boyfriend!yoongi, butterfly effect, time loop au, themes of death (please don’t proceed if such theme makes you uncomfortable | a, f, implied s
Misfortunately, Yours @sor-vette​ - series [8/8] | 32k | fantasy au, dark fae!yoongi, horror, royalty au  (sort of) | a, s
Rule of Thirst @prolixitae - one shot | 12k | established relationship that’s kind of going downhill, effects of Vampire!Yoongi, vacation au | a, s, slight f
The Elevator @lamourche - two shot [2/2] | 28.5k | a/b/o dynamics (kind of different take on this, no werewolf stuff), alpha!yoongi, omega!oc, in heat, trapped in elevator, neighbor au, feat doctor!seokjin x nurse!hoseok, dreamer artists (yoongi producer x struggling writer!oc) | s, f, a
The Raindrop Prelude @inktae - one shot | 14.8k | pianist!yoongi, mentor!yoongi, piano student!oc | a, implied s
Tear @crazy4myself​ - one shot | 5.8k | exes au, hate sex, producer/artist!yoongi, newly broken up scenario, break up au | a, s
Yoongi is a Rock @yoongsisbae​ - drabble | 1.3k | rock!yoongi (yes, he is a rock), inspired by The Giving Tree (Shel Silverstein) | a, f 
did I cry after reading this? yes, about 10 minutes (insert taehyung meme here) It’s that awesome. You think it’s a crack fic but you’ll end up crying but  you’ll feel better after. Added it to my ⭐#holygrailfics  because it’s just so unique. I also sent this to friends so they will cry with me lol)
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All The Things I Hate About You @madseok​ - drabble | 1.6k | Enemies to Lovers AU, Coworker AU | s, a
Constrictor @darlingwoes - one shot | 6.8k | dance instructor!hoseok, dance student!oc, teacher au, dancer au, tsundere vibes for hoseok here | s
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Fever @hobeemin​ - one shot | 9.8k | vampire!jimin, slayer!oc, starcrossed, reincarnation themes, slight enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, supernatural au | a, s. f
Star-crossed @scriptaed​ - one shot | 22.7k | CEO!Jimin, Coworker AU, Pining, Secret Identity, struggling OC (and Jimin supposedly but…), Rich!Jimin | a, f, s
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My Fair Lady @ot7always​ - one shot | 8.1k | Crown Prince!Taehyung, Captain of the Guard!Reader, Royalty AU, Starcrossed AU, Historical | f, s, a
Not That Good @taleasnewastime​ - one shot | 20k | College AU, One Night Stand AU (sort of), Strangers to Lovers, OC not as thrilled about the taexperience and Taehyung thinking he’s “not that good” | a, f, s
The Art of  Touch @chataeutae - one shot | 24k | Painter!Taehyung, Royalty AU, Princess!Reader, Period AU/Historical AU, Forbidden Love, Strangers to Lovers | S, A
To Hold a Dragon’s Heart @softlyjiminie​ - one shot | 19.1k | fantasy au, dragon!taehyung (shifter), warrior princess!reader, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, starcrossed, some evil villain | s, a, f
Too Far Gone @euphoriyoongi​ - series [4/4] | 13.4k | Actor AU, One Night Stand AU, actor!taehyung x actress!reader, second lead!taehyung | s, f, slight a
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A Lazy Saturday @ssaleil​ - drabble | 1.6k | established relationship, morning setting, cockwarming theme | s, f
Beneficial @jiminables - one shot | 13.7k | fwb au, childhood friends au, pining!koo, loss of virginity themes | a, s, f
Boredom, Disinterest, & Intimidation @likeastarstar​ - one shot | 3k | Office Party AU (of some sort), Strangers to Lovers (public smut), Jungkook is a distraction to OC’s networking party | s
Delayed @okayymochi​ - one shot | 3k | stranger!jungkook, delayed flight, sort of Vacation AU, they spend the next hours together (such a cute concept 🥰 I actually want to see how they’ll spend time together) | f
Fetish for Blood @jjungkookislife​ - one shot | 6.8k | supernatural au, strangers to lovers, vampire au, witch oc, soulmate au of sort (or mate? is that what bloodsingers are?), really fluffy too in a heartwarming way 🥺 | f, s
Hypothermia @yandere-society​ - drabble | >3k | supernatural, demon!jungkook, established relationship, boyfriend!koo, christmas au, themes of death (but it actually came out fluffy? This is just so different I swear it’s more comical though a twisted scenario) | f
In the Moment @goldenscript​ - one shot | 4.2k | Best Friend AU, Childhood Friends AU, Jungkook has been avoiding OC, card game of some sort, idiots to lovers | f
My Fine Ass Neighbor @margielamadbitch​ - one shot | 4.7k | neighbor au (friendly acquaintance type, newly broken up Jungkook, newly pierced!jungkook, some sort of strip game | s
Nowhere with You @gamerguk​ - one shot | 2.6k | car mechanic!jungkook, boss’ daughter!oc, secret relationship | a, f, slight s (there might be more of this couple but I think it can be read as a standalone)
Orange Tulips @kainks​ - one shot | 10.2k | reincarnation au, soulmate au, slow burn, a classic basically? | a, implied s
Raven Unit @themfchase​ - series [6/6] | 60.9k |  political au, taskforce au, war crime, suspense, feat OT7, president’s daughter!OC, soldier!jungkook | s, a, f
(so this was actually part of my Sep 2020 Reading List (which I was supposed to update/revamp) but I decided to include it again since I was able to do a review last month and this deserves more love 🥰)
Sharp Cookie @minyfic​ - one shot | 13.1k | exes au, ex turned boss, fuckboy!jungkook (ugh I think OC was too easy 🙄 make jungkook suffer!), art gallery setting | s, a, f
Suck it Up @jungkxook​ - one shot | 9.7k | vampire!jungkook, best friend!reader, college au, friends to lovers, humor, halloween au | s, f
Stuffed Pumpkin @floralseokjin​ - one shot | 6.4k | college au, OC is pining for seokjin, costumes gone wrong, kind of e2l-ish? (more of OC is neutral towards JK), really cute! (my attempt to reblog my favorite fluffy halloween fics that time) | f, s
Uncrushed :stylized as (un)crushed @hansolmates​ - drabble | 2.4k | human!jungkook x witch!reader, unrequited love, pining (oc), magic au, unrequited from jungkook too at one point | a (it’s kind of sad and I feel bad T_T)
“Jungkook scares you” + Part 2 @zephyoongist​ - drabble [2/2] | 666 wc | FWB AU, Unrequited Love | a
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Ready or Not @ughseoks​ - OT7 x Reader (Hoseok-focused)
One shot | 9.2k | newlywed!hoseok x reader, horror, thriller, inspired by the movie of the same title, really creepy family, PLOT TWIST | a
Jimin x Reader x Namjoon
Bona Fides @reliablemitten -
series [11/11] also Namjoon x Reader pairing | 47.2k | Agent!Reader x Art Thief!Jimin, Secret Agent AU, Trainer!Namjoon, handler!yoongi too, threesome (KNJ x R x PJM)  | s, a
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posted: 2021 Nov 08
link to other reading lists
other fic rec lists (by theme)
I love to read so feel free to message me about fics! 🌷
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1K notes · View notes
ts19009 · 11 months ago
(Contains smut and mature subject matter)
(Bold means favorite)
(Updated 23/10/2021)
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year 22 ( childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader) @guklvr​
The Maid of Honor Misadventures ( one shot, one night stand!au, wedding!au )   @jjkthclub​
changes in between ( roommate au, s2f2l; some crack, fluff, angst, smut ) @taegularities​
all over you ( fantasy!au, HP!au, exes/e2l!au, light angst, fluff, smut, a lot of smut ) @taegularities​
champagne problems ( ich!jk, friends with benefits, slight sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, some light angst ) @smoochkooks​
the swirling ways of stars ( fantasy au ) @inktae​
Delete Voicemail (angst) @evangelene​
Ode To The Nature Of Romance ( Jungkook x Reader (of; female) )  @yeoldontknow​
One Year, My Love (  historical/royal!au, marriagecontract!au, based off the kdrama 100 days My Prince; ) @hayjeon​
Responsibility (prince!jk x princess!reader) @ts19009​ aka me!
NUISANCE ( lawyer! jeon jungkook x lawyer! reader (feat. ex! kim taehyung) ) @seokahwrites​
Superdad2 ( dilf!jungkook x female reader) @jimidol​
New Cravings ( fluff, smut, DILF Jungkook, established relationship, domestic. ) @breakiebunny​
white lies ( , athlete!jungkook x reader, childhood best friends, fake dating, idiots to lovers,) @noteguk​
stoic ( infidelity , ceo!jungkook x reader ) @blue-jade​
to build a home ( ungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk  x nanny!oc) @soft4gguk​
opposable ( zookeeper!jungkook x reader ) @minyfic​
bonus ( jungkook x reader ) @minyfic​
Love to Hate ( Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers ) @kpopfanfictrash​
Fight for you ( bodyguard!jk x heiress!reader; angst, smut (18+) ) @ahundredtimesover​
(road)tripping for you ( roadtrip! AU, strangers to lovers! AU, only-one-bed! AU, summer! AU, fluff, a bit of angst ) @latetaektalk​
Home short: Back to you ( happy reunion, fluff, smut ) @bonny-kookoo
tutus & tiaras ( DILF!JK, pregnant!reader ) @1kook​
The art of (Series) (FAV)- ( strangers to lovers, fwb, dilf!jk x store clerk!oc, dom!jk ) @venusiangguk
Babymoon -(dad!jungkook x f!reader) @solarwonux
Snowyhills (surgeon!jk x surgeon/wife!reader) @kooks3uphoria
Birds ( [Doctor!Jungkook x Travel Blogger!Reader][Smut, Angst]) @missbickerbocker
Come here, I’m your paradise (honeymoon!au) @borathae
Smitten ( arranged marriage!au, strangers to lovers ) @megahwn
Late Supper (angst) @secretmischief
The Babysitter (babysitter!jk x mom!reader) @secretmischief
This is how we break ( exes au; angst, fluff, smut (18+) @ahundredtimesover
Can’t wait to told you ‘I told ya’ (dilf!jk x bff!reader) @moon-write
Good mood ( rockstar!jungkook x fem reader ) @jimidol
I choose you ( Angst Lite & Fluff, Fatherhood/Parenthood ) @justasparkwritings​
Lowkey ( popular!reader x nerd!jjk ) @xpeachesncream​
Someway Somehow (Fav rn) (bffs to lovers) @1kook
No Harm done ( detective!jungkook x suspect f!oc ) @kookie-chimchim​
Zoom Call (strangers to lovers) @1kook​
Slow and Steady ( involving infidelity, Jungkook x OC (x reader) Painter!Jungkook, Smut, Angst) @yoonia
tis’ your throne ( rich!jungkook x f!reader ) @kookie-chimchim​
Prima Noctra ( king!jungkook, virgin!reader, royalty au ) @taesinferno​​
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Obsidian (Master List) ( Murder mystery, smut) @kpopfanfictrash​
soaring high ( dilf / single dad!Taehyung x reader ) @taegularities​
5 times he said i love you ( slice of life au, fluff, angst ) @n3onguts​
once upon a boy ( rich!Taehyung, strangers to lovers, cinderella!au ) @eternally-writing​
Devoted Love ( Hwarang au, strangers to lovers ) @streetlight11​
slow dancing in the night ( established relationship, fluff, slice of life, model!taehyung, model!reader, ) @jiminzfilter​
W H I T E O U T ( Two idiots pining; Brothers best friend AU. ) @secretmischief​
Bad word (Dad!tae x daycare!reader) @personasintro
Under wraps ( enemies-to-lovers / fake dating / fluff / smut ) @jungkxook
Pulse (medical!au) @rohobi
Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ( Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU ) @justimajin
Paint me ( Smut, fluff, strangers 2 lovers ) @yoonjinkooked 
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g.p.s - god, parents suck ( dilf!jin x hotelier!reader) @hansolmates
With you @yoonpobs (divorce!au)
the money project ( melodrama, angst, enemies-to-friends-to-lover, fake marriage, intense pining on each other ) @namjoonchronicles​
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404 notes · View notes
casuallyimagining · 8 months ago
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Min Yoongi x gender neutral reader
Summary: After a year of being on the run and the world’s shittiest luck, Yoongi comes across a familiar face. You. The only problem? Everything is trying to kill him including, he assumes, you.
Genre: Zombie AU, Magic AU, Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 7,548
Rating: M
Warnings: blood, gore, cauterization, murder, major character injury, fire, guns, implied death of a child
Notes: Thanks to @justasparkwritings, @joheunsaram, @nottodayjjk​, and @sugasbabiie​ for beta reading.
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“Shit,” Yoongi cursed, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he poured water over the cut on his hand. It was a deep gash, not deep enough that he could see the bones, but definitely deep enough that he should probably get stitches. But he was bad with pain and even worse at using his left hand for things, and there was no way in hell he had the balls to stitch himself up.
It wouldn’t turn out anyway, even if he could use his dominant hand and even if he was great with handling pain. His hands were shaking. Even now, as he twisted the cap back on the bottle of water, he could see the liquid sloshing around inside ever so slightly from the tremble he had developed.
Running for your life and a year of rationing meals would do that to a person, he suspected.
He had been stupid for packing light. He had left in a hurry, and he had assumed that a lighter pack would be better than a laden one. And maybe he was right. But right now, all he could think of was the jarred kimchi and the almost full box of rice he had left in his pantry.
Yoongi had tried searching the stores in the small towns he came across as he traveled north--he had searched three already this week, and it was only Tuesday--but all he had gotten was a single unopened bottle of water, a semi-clean t-shirt, and a cut on his hand. Oh, and possibly a mild concussion from when the Stalker had broken through the roof and landed on him.
He ripped the t-shirt into strips, stuffing the clean ones into his backpack and leaving the not-so-clean ones on the ground to leave behind. He would probably regret that later--he seemed to regret a lot for not even being 30 years old--but he just didn’t have the space or the desire to carry them.
Groaning, he wrapped two of the strips around his hand and secured them tightly. Honestly, it was probably too tight, but he had to get the bleeding to stop somehow. If only that Stalker hadn’t had a dagger. He could have set it on fire easily, or electrocuted it no problem. But it had surprised him by pulling that damn dagger out of nowhere and managed to get a pot-shot in on him. Now he would have the scar to remind him that he had possibly the worst luck on the planet.
He let himself fall backwards with a heavy sigh. The grass in this part of the town had grown up higher than his waist. There was no way they could find him here. Stalkers were dumb as hell, and the Scouts relied on tracking sound and movement to find their prey, so as long as he stayed perfectly still and quiet, he was safe for the moment.
Or, at least, as safe as he could be.
Yoongi allowed himself only a second of rest before standing up with a slight groan and dusting himself off before shouldering his pack. He would have to get going if he wanted to find somewhere safe to camp for the night. Otherwise, he’d have to spend the night in a tree. Again.
He had spotted a small hospital in a nice neighborhood when he came into town. Maybe if he could find it again, he could search the hospital for some decent medical supplies. Or, at least, something better than a bottle of water and the least dirty parts of an old shirt.
Getting back to that neighborhood took longer than anticipated. There was a group of Stalkers milling around a few of the main roads, and rather than getting into a fight he was woefully unprepared for, he decided to carefully skirt around them. He chose a house at random and hunkered down for the night.
Yoongi never thought he would be so happy to finally come across a town, even if it was mostly ruins. But after two weeks of slowly making his way along the broken highways, it was surprisingly comforting to be among buildings again. It was nice to be able to fall asleep with four walls protecting him from the elements.
The village he grew up in--right along the west coast of the country--was one of the lucky ones. When the Calamity struck a hundred years ago, they’d only had a few majji in town. The militia that had sprung up to defend the town had worked quickly, and there had only been minor destruction left in their wake.
Not every city had been so lucky.
Most cities, at least the ones Yoongi had experienced, looked as though the majji had razed them to the ground when they turned. In the decades following the Calamity, the Stalkers and Scouts had lost most of their magic. But back when it first happened, back when they were all just newly turned majji, they’d still had all their powers.
Yoongi had passed through so many towns burned beyond recognition. One, a city he’d stumbled upon shortly after he’d set out, was so far gone, he could barely tell it had been there at all.
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He’d been running--literally running--for the better part of the past half hour. He couldn’t breathe. There was a sharp pain in his side, just under his diaphragm. His legs felt like jelly. But he couldn’t stop. He was still too close to home. The Defense Force could still find him. And there was a small group of Stalkers that had been following him for the past three miles. Yoongi wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of.
The Stalkers, who wanted to rip him limb from limb and feast on his organs.
Or the Defense Force, who all wanted to kill him for something he couldn’t control, despite the fact that most of them had known him since he was born.
Yoongi could hear the Stalkers behind him when he stopped briefly to breathe. He groaned in pain. He took small comfort in knowing that the Stalkers were breathing just as heavily as he was. But they were relentless, so he took a deep breath and set off again at a jog.
He should have come across a city by now. Yoongi was never the best at geography, but he knew the city wasn’t too incredibly far from his hometown. Certainly it would be close enough by now for him to at least see it on the horizon. It was one of the largest cities in the state, for god’s sake. There was no way he could have missed it.
The dirt under his feet suddenly changed textures. It was softer, looser. When he looked down, it was a light grey. Yoongi frowned. Well, that wasn’t right.
He jogged a little further and ducked behind a tall tree, leaning against the trunk to catch his breath. It was surprisingly cool to the touch, chilling his back. As soon as Yoongi’s breathing regulated enough that his wits returned, he paused. Trees shouldn’t be cold.
Looking around, there were trees sticking out of the ground at irregular intervals in the small area surrounding him. The tops were jaggad and did not look like branches. No leaves, either--strange for late summer.
“What the-” Yoongi felt the sides of the thing, his hands falling into divots on either side.
His fingers found a hexagon and threaded peg sticking out of the side, and suddenly, it clicked. These trees weren’t trees. They were steel beams. They had fallen and impaled the earth, creating the uneven grove surrounding Yoongi. As he looked around, he could see more. The intersections of the streets where the grass had barely overtaken the asphalt. The concrete structures, broken and crumbling and covered in foliage. And the dirt, grey from the ash and cinder.
The city was razed and burnt to the ground. No trees, no buildings. The only vegetation was barely higher than Yoongi’s knee. It had to have fallen shortly after the Calamity had happened. How had the scouts from Yoongi’s village not known about this? Perhaps they had never come this far.
A groan off to Yoongi’s left startled him, and he could hear the Stalkers shuffling through the grass. They had found him once again.
Yoongi took a step, his foot hitting something hard under the ash. He bent down, reaching blindly to see what he stepped on. His fingers found something smooth and he pulled  it up, his breath catching in his throat. The charred remains of a porcelain doll stared back at him, its skin stained from the ash and the fire, its painted details flaking off. He dropped it back into the ash, wiping at his face to stave off the tears as he jogged away.
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“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi mumbled, pressing himself against the grimy wall of the hospital as much as he could. It was dark in the hallway, the only light coming from a few of the windows in the patient rooms that hadn’t been boarded up. But even in the darkness, he didn’t like what he saw.
The hallway was teeming with majji Stalkers. Yoongi could see at least seven, but there were plenty of open doors to rooms and offices and supply closets that he couldn’t see in. Those were the areas he was most worried about. He considered turning around and just leaving the hospital, but a particularly painful throb from his sore hand and the ache in his muscles reminding him that he scaled a pipe and climbed in a second-story window kept him rooted in place.
The walls of the hospital were disgusting, but no more so than the rest of the abandoned buildings he had come across in his travels--few as they were--so he forced his back against the plaster and carefully inched closer. If he could just get to the nurse’s station, he could sneak through to the other side of the hallway to the supply closet.
He was impressed by his own stealth. Not only had he made it to the nurse’s station without incident, but he had managed to silently take down two Stalkers along the way, grabbing them by the wrist and boiling them from the inside out. Not exactly the most graceful of deaths, but it was hard to alert your friends when your brain was so hot it was oozing out your ears in liquid form.
Unfortunately, that was where his luck ran out. The supply closet was locked, and on his way back to the nurse’s desks to search for a key, Yoongi somehow managed to kick a metal cart that was overturned, causing it to make the loudest and most disruptive clattering noise he had ever heard. Of course, it drew the attention of every Stalker in the hallway.
“Ah, fuck,” Yoongi swore, his hands starting to glow with the light of two small flames. He pushed them into the air, lighting the area as much as possible. It wasn’t like he was trying to be subtle any more.
He managed to grab one of the Stalkers closest to him, its limbs twitching and jerking as Yoongi sent electricity through it. It screamed as it died, and he shoved it away just as the next Stalker grabbed at him. Its nails raked across his arm, tearing the sleeve of his shirt. A quick glance down, and he saw the beads of crimson starting to collect on his skin.
Now he really needed to find the disinfectant.
He kicked at the Stalker and it fell away, giving Yoongi an opening to put some distance between it and him. Three Stalkers approached him on the right, and without thinking, he threw out his arm, a fireball shooting from his palm and making contact with the center Stalker. It caught easily on the Stalker’s clothes, spreading across its body, and, as it flailed, to its friends. The three turned majji erupted into wails as they burned.
A snarl from behind him startled Yoongi but didn’t give him enough time to actually react. He groaned as the Stalker grabbed him. Its arms felt gross as it held him, its skin like poorly cooked chicken, the weight of its limbs somehow strangely heavy and yet not heavy enough. Its arm wrapped around Yoongi’s neck, and he barely had any time to consider how strong the Stalkers were despite hardly having any muscle before he felt the pressure on his windpipe.
He took as deep a breath as he could, his fingers scraping against the Stalker’s flesh as he tried to free himself. He could feel the panic start to bubble within his stomach. He had been grabbed plenty of times, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. He didn’t want to get bitten--he couldn’t get bitten. Because if he did, he would turn into one of them.
Or, at least, he assumed he would.
The truth was, he didn’t know what would happen if one of the turned majji bit him. He didn’t know anything about the disease that affected the country’s magic users, turning them into the shambling, mindless monsters they were now. He had only known about his powers for a small part of his life. And it all fucking terrified him.
Yoongi attempted another deep breath, tucking his chin to relieve some of the pressure on his trachea. His head cleared slightly, and he swallowed down the panic and grabbed onto the Stalker’s wrist. He could feel its skin heat up in his hand. It took a second, but the Stalker let him go, squirming in Yoongi’s grip. He held tight, even as the smell of burning flesh permeated the air. A moment more, and the Stalker slumped to the ground, burned from the inside-out.
Glancing up and down the hallway, he didn’t see any more majji, and he allowed himself a second to relax. His chin dipped and touched his chest for the briefest of moments as he let out a sigh, and then he was back to it, ducking into the nurse’s station and pulling open drawer after drawer to find the supply room key.
The supply room itself was the most beautiful thing Yoongi had seen in a year. Everything was old, and it was covered in a thick layer of dust, but the room--barely larger than a closet--could have been the eighth wonder of the world for all he cared.
Thanks to the metal door and hidden key, no one had bothered to raid the room, leaving its spoils for Yoongi to take. He stuffed his bag full of disinfectant, bandages, painkillers, and pretty much anything else he could manage. Sure, it was probably all expired--the hospital looked like it had been officially closed 20 years ago. But did Yoongi care?
No he did not.
Medical supplies were hard enough to come by. There was no way he could afford to just leave behind supplies just because they were slightly less effective. If the disinfectant was even slightly good, it was better than what he had now. And so he looted the room until his bag was bursting at the seams. He even grabbed a suture kit for if he grew the balls to actually stitch up a wound.
Unwrapping the bloody rags from around his hand, Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut at the sight of his palm. That was a lot of blood. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to soak through the cotton material of the t-shirt, but it was enough to make him a little sick to his stomach. He let out a heavy breath and uncapped a bottle of disinfectant, pouring the liquid over his cut.
“Mother fuck,” he hissed, shaking his hand quickly to try to get the alcohol to dry faster. Apparently, expired did not mean less painful. Hopefully, now that the wound was properly cleaned and he could bandage it with real supplies, it would heal better.
Two pieces of gauze and a half a roll of self-adhesive wrap later, Yoongi was making his way to the stairwell, ready to abandon the hospital and never look back. It was a great plan. Until he actually stepped foot outside.
As soon as Yoongi opened the door, a flash of pale blue light nearly blinded him. He tried to pull his hand away from the door handle, but it didn’t budge. A block of crystal clear ice encased his hand, leaving him stuck in the doorway. Above him, an ear-piercing screech sounded, and the panic started to bubble again in Yoongi’s stomach. He had only heard that screech once before, and he had nearly died.
The majji Spectres were a force to be reckoned with. They were smart--worse, they were clever--and despite being just as infected as their Stalker friends, Spectres could still use some of their magic. There weren’t many Spectres roaming around, which Yoongi was grateful for, because he was almost certain he’d be dead if there were more.
Another screech, and the Spectre approached, floating down slowly from the roof of the hospital, its loose clothing billowing out behind it like it was some sort of undead god descending from the heavens. Its icy blue eyes were trained on Yoongi.
His hand was freezing. There was no way he’d be able to produce a flame anywhere near enough to melt a normal ice cube, let alone a magical one. This was just Yoongi’s luck. Things were finally looking up--he was actually excited by his spoils from the hospital--and now he was going to die. It wouldn’t even be a cool or noble death. His corpse would become food for the Spectre, and that would be it.
The undead majji was close enough it could almost touch him, its arm outstretched toward his head. Yoongi could see the magic dancing on its creepy, skeletal fingers. It chilled him to the bone, and the spell hadn’t even been cast yet. A second later, and it felt as though a bullet had pierced his skull, the pain from the cold was so severe. He had heard somewhere that freezing to death was peaceful. Apparently, that didn’t apply to magically freezing to death.
But then the pain was gone. Yoongi hadn’t realized his eyes were closed tightly until he opened them. The Spectre reeled backward, an arrow pierced directly through one of its icy eyes, the tip sticking out through the back of its skull, just behind its ear.
Yoongi’s head turned in the direction the arrow had to come from, the ice keeping his hand on the door melting ever so slightly without its majji to keep the spell intact. A lone archer stared back at him, their bow knocked with a sleek, black arrow.
They adjusted the placement of the bowstring against their cheek, and Yoongi froze. “You should probably stop moving.”
It took longer than he would like to admit for his brain to process what was happening. And by the time it finally caught up, the archer had moved closer. He could see their face, but really, he didn’t need to. It didn’t matter how much time passed. He knew that voice.
It made his heart soar and his stomach sink.
His mouth dried up like cotton when he saw how hard your eyes were. You looked pissed. But worse than that, you looked like you actually wanted to kill him.
“Hey,” he said weakly, immediately feeling his soul leave his body. Your grip tightened on your bow, and really, after that, he wouldn’t blame you for loosing an arrow straight through his brain.
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, no, that’s fair.”
You glared at him for a moment longer before lowering your bow, wincing as you slowly added slack to the string so the arrow didn’t fire. You slipped the arrow back into the quiver on your back before you looked at him again.
“You should probably get out of that before you get frostbite.” You nodded to the block of ice still melting off Yoongi’s hand. “You wouldn’t look good with a hook hand.”
“I think that’s pretty subjective, but your opinion is noted.” His laugh died in his throat when you stared at him blankly, your eyes still angry.
It hurt a little bit--okay, it hurt a lot--to see you like this. You had been his best friend, the one person he could always count on to be there for him, and now… He still wasn’t sure if you were going to kill him or not. He wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to. Your father was captain of the Defense Force. It was his job to hunt Yoongi down as soon as he presented majji abilities.
Maybe your father had sent you to do the Defense Force’s job. Lure Yoongi into a false sense of security, only to rip the rug out from under him when he least expected it. But as much as he wanted to be suspicious, as much as he wanted to be skeptical, Yoongi had to admit that it was really nice to see another living human.
It was especially nice that that human was you.
He finally managed to warm his hand enough to melt the ice fully, and by the time he was able to pull himself away from the door, you had taken a few steps away. He followed silently, unsure of where you were going but sure that he wanted to go wherever it was. He would take his chances with your potential murder mission for now.
It had been so long since Yoongi had seen you. Now that things had calmed down, he was able to get a decent look at you. He was surprised by how much you’d changed, and by how much you hadn’t. Your hair was longer, and despite your age, you had a small streak of grey hair that had started to sprout on your hairline. There was a small scar on your chin that hadn’t been there before, and he wanted to ask about how you got it. But he found himself clamming up as the two of you walked through the tall grass and the streets of the nameless town.
Because how do you start a conversation with the person you loved most after you abandoned them without a word?
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“What did you do to your hand?” you asked him finally, ducking into a building on the other side of town from the hospital.
The first floor was spacious and open, the furniture had all been looted a while ago, but it had to have been an office building of some sort, or maybe a store. In the corner near a broken window, a rucksack was shoved up against the wall, and Yoongi could see signs of a small fire.
“Stalker with a dagger.” Yoongi held up his bandaged hand, proud of the basic medical care he had done. “It’s good to see you.”
You were silent as you sat your bow against your pack. It was an old recurve that Yoongi vaguely recognized from your father’s armory. The dirt and grime were evident on the leather grip of the carbon fiber frame. It was obvious you had cared for the bow well, but there was no mistaking the wear and tear of time and use.
Your back was to him, but Yoongi could see how tense you were as you took off your jacket. For a moment, he didn’t think you were going to respond. And he understood, he really did, but he could still remember a time when you would tell him everything about how you were feeling. The space between you now was palpable.
But finally, you spoke, your voice small but hardened. “One year.” You sighed, turning to face him but not meeting his eyes. “I’ve been tracking you for a whole goddamn year, and that’s all you have to say to me?”
“I…” To say he wasn’t expecting that was an understatement. “What do you want me to say?” Yoongi didn’t say it to be combative. He genuinely was confused.
“How about: ‘I’m sorry about not contacting you for a year.’ Or: ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a majji.’ Oh! Or something like: ‘I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.’”
He listened intently, unsure of what to say. What could he say? Nothing he could possibly tell you would change the past year, nothing would make it better, make you feel better. He hated how disappointed you sounded, hated that he had made you feel that way. But he had no idea what to say. So he kept his mouth shut.
After a second, it became clear that he wasn’t going to respond, and you rolled your eyes, motioning for him to show you his hand. He obliged, wincing as you poked at the self-adhesive bandage he had wrapped the wound with.
“If you had told me you were leaving, I would have gone with you.” The way you said it--so casually, as if you were commenting on the weather or what you were making for dinner--made his face heat up. You unwrapped the bandage slowly, barely lifting the gauze when it became accessible.
“That needs stitches,” you mumbled to him, closing his fist around the gauze and before turning to your bag. You pulled out a spool of thread and a needle and gestured for Yoongi to sit.
“That’s probably why you didn’t, right?” you continued, measuring out a length of thread and severing it from the spool with your teeth. When had you become so resourceful? You placed your needle in his free hand.
“Heat that up.” Yoongi did as he was told, producing a small flame in his hand that heated the needle until it was glowing hot.
“I assume it’s easier to escape when you’re just one person.” You idly wrapped the thread around your finger, waiting patiently for the sanitized needle. “You don’t have to wait on someone else, or worry about their safety, or find extra food for them. You can just be your own person in exile.”
When the needle was cooled, you gingerly took it from him and threaded it. Yoongi yelped when the metal pierced the skin of his palm, and you apologized softly. In that moment, he could pretend that he was back at home, you patching him up after he did something stupid or clumsy--after all, you had begged your father to teach you first aid so you could take care of Yoongi, not yourself.
You continued to talk as you worked, both in an attempt to distract him and, Yoongi suspected, to get out your feelings in the least awkward way possible.
“I think I probably would have done the same, you know? Like, if the roles had been reversed and it was me on the run, I don’t know that I would have told you I was leaving. Panic is a bitch.” Yoongi chuckled slightly at that. “And, I mean, I don’t know that I would have wanted to think about you being forced into exile with me. Not knowing what was beyond the walls of the city, I don’t know that I could live with myself if I had to watch you die. But fuck, man. It hurt when you left.”
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi repeated weakly. You were tying the knot on the final suture.
You sighed, and he could tell that his meagre apology wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. But it was what he could manage right now. He was still so surprised to see you, still a little weary even though ultimately, he trusted you.
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It had been a month since you had saved Yoongi from the majji Spectre, and though he had seen it countless times, he was fascinated with watching you hunt. He was fascinated by your patience, despite the fact that it wasn’t at all surprising. You had always been able to sit quietly and watch. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you when you were kids. You were someone to sit quietly with, watching as the other children ran around playing. You never judged him for being quiet or for being alone.
In his time on the run, he had learned about plants the hard way, finding old, wild gardens of vegetables when he was lucky. And when he couldn’t find a garden, he was trying to find edible plants in the wild, going by old memories of drawings in books. Most of the time, he ended up sick, barely managing to find a safe place to sweat it out before he passed out from the pain.
But ever since you had found him, Yoongi ate like a king. You would spend an hour perched somewhere out of the way, quietly watching for a passing rabbit, or, when you were lucky, a deer. Before, he had gone to bed hungry more times than he could count. You didn’t let that happen.
He had taken to sitting with you while you hunted when your perch wasn’t too inconvenient. The two of you had made it to yet another nameless village, this one much smaller than any of the ones you had been through before. The whole thing was only two blocks wide, the grass and trees had overgrown the roads completely. Yoongi wasn’t sure they had ever actually been paved to begin with, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the town had been bigger before the Calamity.
He sat with you now, his back against the crumbling concrete railing of the stoop you were sitting on. You sat cross-legged above him, your bow in your lap, your eyes scanning the grassy road ahead of you. You had both seen some rabbits grazing in this area on your way into the little village, and you had told him they would come back. Yoongi wasn’t sure how you knew that just from looking at the ground, but he trusted you, so there he sat. You had found him, after all.
“You had another nightmare last night.” Your voice was so soft, Yoongi wasn’t sure he had actually heard you speak. Your eyes were still focused ahead of you, watching for the rabbits.
His eyes fell to his fingers as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He hadn’t realized you had heard him. The nightmares had been plaguing him for a year. They had started that first night, after your father had come to him and told him to leave the city. He’d had one nearly every night for the first few months, and then they had slowly left him alone. Before you found him, he’d only had a couple nightmares that month.
Since then, he’d had a couple nightmares every week.
“Did I disturb you?” He hoped not. Yoongi thought he had woken up with a shout, but he wasn’t sure if he was still half-dreaming or not.
“No.” He heard you shift with a sigh. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You sounded really freaked out.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
It wasn’t a lie. His nightmares had always been the same. Death--his, yours, sometimes both--seemed to haunt his dreams constantly. He had seen it before. He had no doubt he would see it again. Sometimes, he would be turned in his dreams, become a Stalker or a Spectre and he would go on the hunt, looking for you.
He’d found you in his dream the night before, and had woken up with the image of his hand on your throat imprinted on his mind, the smell of burning flesh in his nose.
“Yoongi.” The tone of your voice caused him to look up at you. You sounded sad, and when he met your eyes, he could see the tender concern in them. “You don’t have to keep it all bottled up, you know? You can talk to me.”
He nodded. “I know. I-”
An explosion less than 10 feet away from where you sat drowned out whatever Yoongi was going to say next.
It split the tree off to your left, sending splinters and shrapnel into the air. You were on your feet in less than a second, standing on the steps in front of him. Three figures rounded the corner at the end of the block in a v-formation, weapons raised and trained in your direction.
As they drew closer, you groaned, and for a moment, Yoongi had no idea what was going on. But then he saw the colors of their uniforms, the logos on their shoulders, and he understood. The Defense Force had finally caught up to him.
“What are you doing here, Kilgore?” you asked once the three soldiers stopped. They stood about twenty-five feet away. Two of them trained their guns on Yoongi. The third was focused on you.
Your grip tightened on your bow, and suddenly, Yoongi was nervous. You were a good shot with the thing--the best shot he’d seen, though admittedly he didn’t have much to compare it to--but all three of the soldiers had guns.
“Your daddy told us to follow you.” The one in the middle responded. His voice had a twang to it, and it was gruff. He sounded older, but he was wearing a backwards cap, so Yoongi couldn’t really tell. He didn’t recognize the name, but your father had many colleagues that Yoongi had never met. Kilgore laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. You know it’s the law. Majji are dangerous. They have to be eliminated.”
“You know how I feel about that.”
The way Kilgore said your name made Yoongi’s skin crawl. “We’ll go through you if we have to. Orders are orders.”
Yoongi stood then and took a step forward so he was standing beside you. The sudden movement startled one of the soldiers, and a shot rang out, burying itself in the concrete beside Yoongi’s hip. The sound scared Yoongi, and he felt his hands heat up with flames.
What happened next, Yoongi couldn’t really say. It all happened so quickly. There was shouting, and then a loud bang. He could hear the ‘thwip’ of your bowstring, and he knew that at some point, the flames left his hands. It was over in a few moments, and when Yoongi finally came out of the brain fog, he was confused by the sight in front of him.
The three soldiers were on the ground, two of them were charred beyond recognition, the other one had two arrows sticking out of him--in his neck, the other in his shoulder. Beside him, Yoongi saw you leaning against the concrete railing.
“Can you go get my arrows for me?” you asked, a tension in your voice he had never heard before. When Yoongi finally could tear his eyes away from the dead soldiers to look at you, his heart sank.
You were still clutching your bow, but your arm hung limply at your side, your shoulder a bloody mess. Yoongi could tell you were trying hard not to show him you were in pain, but he could see it in the way you sat on the railing, how you were careful to be as still as possible, how you exhaled slowly through pursed lips.
“We should get you back to camp,” Yoongi said softly, wrapping an arm around your waist and helping you stand.
You nodded, but pointed at the dead soldier. “My arrows. I’m running low.”
Yoongi sighed, leaving your side only briefly to tug the arrows out of the soldier’s body. They were lodged pretty deeply, and he had to put a good bit of force behind them to get them out. He wiped the blood and gore off the shafts using the soldier’s uniform and brought them back to you, slipping them into the quiver on your back.
Walking back to camp was slow going. Yoongi insisted on applying consistent pressure to your shoulder, which made for awkward traveling. But eventually, you made it back to camp--a small house on the edge of the village that had been locked when you found it. Now, the house had no door, but it was a worthy sacrifice for the small store of--admittedly expired--canned goods in the house’s pantry. Yoongi was thankful for those cans now that your rabbit hunting expedition had been tragically ruined.
He helped you sit in one of the chairs in the kitchen before gingerly sliding the quiver off your back, careful not to bump your bleeding shoulder. Now that you were back at camp, his brain was blank. He had no idea what the fuck to do. Cuts, bruises, scrapes, he knew how to handle those. But a gunshot wound? His brain felt like dried-up cotton as he stared at the hole in your shoulder.
“Hey.” Your voice drew his attention, and Yoongi’s eyes met yours. He could see the pain in them, but your expression softened as soon as you saw how freaked out he was. “I need you to help me with this, okay?”
His brain short-circuited. “I… I don’t…”
Your hand came up and cupped his cheek, forcing him to look you in the eyes, to focus on your face and not your shoulder. “I’ll walk you through it. You got this.”
“I trust you, Yoongi.”
He swallowed the bile that was working its way up his throat and nodded. He didn’t like how pale you looked. “What do I do?”
He listened closely as you told him how to inspect the wound, helping you out of your jacket. Thankfully, your sleeveless shirt gave him decent enough access to the bleeding that he didn’t need you to take off your shirt. Also thankfully, the bullet had gone the entire way through your shoulder--Yoongi was sure it was causing you plenty of pain, but he wasn’t exactly sure he was strong enough mentally to dig a small hunk of metal out of your joint.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, dabbing a rag covered in sanitizing alcohol on your skin. You hissed at the contact. “I know, I’m sorry. Let me just get this clean and we can get to the fun part.”
You chuckled darkly but otherwise didn’t respond. Your skin was clammy and cold, and he noticed you struggling to keep your eyes open.
“Stay with me, okay?” Yoongi sat the rag on your lap. Your shoulder was as clean as it was going to get while you were still bleeding. He pushed your hair back off your forehead. “Tell me what to do next.”
“You’re going to have to cauterize it.”
You swallowed thickly and did your best to level him with a hard stare. “It’s the fastest way to stop the bleeding.”
You were right. He knew you were right. But god, he wished you weren’t. Majji were supposed to have healing powers, though he had never quite figured them out. But fuck, he would give almost anything to have those powers now.
Yoongi felt the tip of his finger get hot. “You ready?”
You gave him a weak nod, and he apologized softly. You inhaled sharply when he made contact, gripping his other arm to steady yourself. Your fingernails were sharp against his skin. When he was satisfied with his work, he paused, allowing you some respite before moving to the other side of the wound.
Your head sagged against him, what little energy you had left gone. Seeing you that pale caused the panic to rise in his stomach again. He held a rag to the still-bleeding back of your shoulder and allowed you to slump forward against him. Yoongi could tell you were dizzy from the pain, but after a few deep breaths, you nodded to him and he proceeded to work on the other side of your shoulder. He apologized the whole time.
After what seemed like an eternity, he was done. Carefully, he cleaned the rest of the blood off your skin and wrapped a bandage around your shoulder so the wound didn’t get infected. He gingerly helped you to stand, supporting your weight for the ten feet it took to move to lay on the old, tattered couch in the next room. He sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning against it so that he could look at you. You offered him a weak smile, and your hand found his hair, fingers running through the dark strands soothingly.
“I should be the one comforting you,” Yoongi said with a humorless laugh, leaning into your touch.
“S’okay. You did good.” You sounded sleepy, but he was worried about letting you fall asleep with all the blood you lost.
For a while, things were silent. Outside, the sun set, the sky going from blue to orange to black. Yoongi could see the stars through the cracks in the boards on the window. When you stilled, he was concerned that you were asleep, but then you shifted, and, though your eyes were closed, your fingers continued to card through his hair.
He sighed, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. “I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you for the past year,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear. He didn’t want you to fall asleep just yet, and talking was the only way he knew how to make that happen. “I didn’t know about the magic. I swear I didn’t know. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you.”
If he had known that his life would have changed irreparably a year ago, he probably would have done some things differently that day. For one, he would have stayed the fuck in bed. Aside from that, though, while he could have done a lot of things, he wasn’t sure what would have helped.
Maybe it was meant to happen.
Maybe he was meant to be walking through that field with you. Maybe he was meant to have been talking about something totally inconsequential that you had found absolutely hilarious. Maybe the two of you were meant to have been attacked by the majji Scout. Maybe he was meant to throw out his arm to protect you. And maybe he was meant to launch that fireball, killing the undead magic user on the spot.
But he did regret everything after that. He shouldn’t have run. He shouldn’t have listened to your father as closely as he did. He should have at least said goodbye. But at the time, it seemed too painful. He was too scared.
He was too much of a coward.
“I should have said goodbye,” he admitted softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
When he looked up, your eyes were open, and you were watching him intently. But he didn’t feel scrutinized. A soft smile played on your lips, and though you looked like you could pass out at any moment, your eyes were tender. “It’s okay. I get it.”
“It’s not, though. I left you alone. I didn't say goodbye.”
“You’re here now.” Your hand moved from his hair to his cheek, your thumb ghosting across his cheekbone. “You didn’t run when I found you.”
“I missed you.” Yoongi had said it automatically, but once it was out there, he realized how true it was. He had missed you deeply. There had been an ache inside him that he hadn’t even noticed was there until it was gone when you were in his life again. “God, I missed you so much.”
Your thumb felt wet against his cheek as it continued to swipe against his skin. He didn’t realize he was crying until you carefully scooted closer and pulled him into you. With a sigh, he buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your body. You held him tenderly, your hand moving back to stroke his hair, your other arm falling around his shoulders. It felt like his mind was broken--blank, except for how much he had missed you over the past three years--and stuck on repeat. It didn’t matter how much he mumbled it into your skin; you responded to him every time, little ‘I missed you, too’s and ‘I know baby, it’s okay’s in an attempt to soothe him.
After a while, the tears stopped flowing, but he didn’t move, allowing himself another moment to be lost in your warmth. But even that had to end when he felt you shift to get your shoulder more comfortable.
“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbled, wiping his face as he pulled away. “I’m sorry, I just… I…” He floundered at the end of the sentence, his eyes darting from his hands, to your eyes, to your lips, and back to his hands.
Your hand cupped his cheek again, a soft, knowing smile appearing on your lips. “I know.”
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Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to message me or leave a comment if you’d like to be on the taglist if I decide to turn this into a series.
Taglist: @lostatthebarns, @horanghae18​​
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taegularities · a year ago
backstage secrecy | kth (m)
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Summary: He was a little too sexy on stage tonight.
pairing: Taehyung x female reader
rating: 18+
genre: idol!au, established relationship, fwb ?? not sure; smut
warnings: explicit sexual content: dom!taehyung, begging, marking, fingering, pussy slapping with his dick?, hair pulling, praising (wbk), squirting, creampie, rough sex, mirror sex
word count: 1.4k
a/n: ... this was very spontaneous and very fast, don’t judge dumb mistakes pls husaihsad :) inspired by sowoozoo tae, beta’d by the lovely @justasparkwritings​​ & the banner is a screenshot of one of @kimtaehyunq​​‘s amazing gifs !! <3
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He pushes you face forward against the cold wall of his dressing room, watching goosebumps erupt on your skin instantly as a single drop of sweat trails down his temple.
When you applied for the open spot of a stylist, you didn’t know a loose strand of hair or fingers brushing through their tresses could fuck you up like this - frankly, you thought your job would make you immune to everything that comes with being near these men.
But you failed to consider that Kim Taehyung’s mind had been infiltrated by filthy thoughts the minute he saw you, eager to make you his before anyone else could. And who were you to resist the charm of the most beautiful man alive, a sweetheart in live videos and interviews but an unforgiving beast when it comes to your pussy?
And now, here you are, minutes after their concert has ended; attacked and absolutely driven crazy by the outfit he is wearing. No one in this country can blame you for wanting him right in this instant, honestly.
Taehyung’s hands are quick to pull down the panties under your silky skirt, fingers tracing your skin until they settle between your folds. The gasp that escapes you both is enough to spur you on, your ass moving towards him while his lips latch onto your neck immediately.
“Fuck, you’re wet. So drenched, and I haven’t even properly touched you yet.” His deep, sugar coated voice vibrates in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he kisses you softly, gently.
“Jacket…” you mumble, a hand reaching back to tug at the light grey coat he’s wearing over a white shirt. “Off…”
“Off? Didn’t you say you loved me in this fit?” he asks quietly, his fingers on your pussy rubbing a little harsher and his mouth letting out a groan at the pure wetness that he’s causing. “Didn’t you tell me I drove you oh so crazy walking around like this?”
“I fucking hate you,” you breathe out, loving the way he marks your neck, despite the fact that he shouldn’t, and adoring how his fingers dip into your tight cunt only for a few seconds before he pulls them out.
“You really do not sound like you’re hating this or me, baby.”
You push and rub your ass against his rock hard cock, making him quiver and hiss before he turns you around to face him. His hands settling behind your knees, he pulls you up, pressing you against him as he carries you to his vanity.
You tremble when your back meets his large mirror and a moan leaves your tongue when he opens the button of his loose, white pants and slips out of them and his underwear. Taehyung detests waiting - always so impatient for you - when he clearly knows he can have you wherever and whenever he fucking wants.
“Taehyung…” you say when he pulls up your shirt, freeing your tits for him to admire, nipples perking up as the cold air of the AC hits them.
He comes closer, aligning his cock with your entrance as his fingers bury in your hair and pull your head up, lips only a few inches apart from each other. “Go ahead, beg for me. Tell me what you want, Y/N.”
“You know it, you-”
“Beg,” he orders again, the tip of his leaking cock rubbing between your nether lips. His teeth pull at your mouth harshly, suckling for a moment before he pulls back. Dark eyes meet yours as they send out a warning, and when you still only pant without uttering a word, he grabs his cock and slaps it against your clit without a notice.
“God, I-” The hand that’s not holding his dick is still in your hair, still tugging as he looks down at you with a mirthy smirk. “I want you to fuck me senseless, Taehyung, plea-”
You don’t even need to end the sentence, because your approval is enough. With one hard thrust, he slams into you and bottoms out, growling at the sight of your eyes rolling back instantaneously.
He starts moving hastily; your drenched pussy clearly indicates that he doesn’t need to ease you into the process - your walls suck him in so smoothly, pulsating and clenching around his cock as he fucks you with skilled movements. You let out a loud wail into his ear when he reaches the right spot, his face buried in your neck and his warm breath tickling your skin.
His eyes are still open, watching your side profile in the mirror intently, your cheeks nearly pressed against the cold material and lips parted in utter bliss. His fingers follow your sides, squeezing your tit twice as he makes his way further down and stopping at your hardened, swollen bud.
“Quiet,” Taehyung tells you, releasing your hair and pushing two fingers into your mouth instead, “You know that Jun- fuck - that... Jungkook is in the next room. Can’t have him hear you.”
Although you’re entirely sure that he’s heard you already - if not your moans, then the table moving and slamming against the wall every time Taehyung’s cock rams into you without mercy. You hold onto him in order to stay steady and put, feeling the drool run over your lips and cover his fingers.
You nod and he lets go, wrapping one arm around your torso as he stops his movements for a second. You nearly think he’s about to edge you and decline you the pleasure of him fucking you - but instead, he shifts, making sure you’re in his firm grip before he loses his mind entirely.
“Oh my fucking god, Tae-” you manage as he releases what’s left of his energy, directing it into you, his cock so incredibly hard-hitting that you lose the feeling of what’s left and what’s right. “Oh, oh god, I-”
“Cream my cock, c’mon,” he pants, the fingers on your clit picking up speed as he relishes in the way you moan his name repeatedly. “How are you so- so fucking hot?”
You’re unable to answer, a slave to his ministrations and irrevocably lost in his touches and kisses. You wrap your legs around him tighter as the knot in your stomach threatens to come undone; you’ve long given up containing your volume. Jungkook can hear what his friend is able to do - you don’t care.
And then, finally, suddenly, relief washes over you, your cum drenching his thick length as you let out a broken mewl. Velvet walls wrap around him snugly as you find a hold on his dark blond hair, some of it damp from the sweat at the nape of his neck.
“Yes, fuck, like that. You’re so good, so fucking good for me, kitten,” he praises, pressing tender kisses on your nose and mouth before he looks down.
Your arousal is running down your thighs and onto his table and his eyes widen just for a second before his hips start to stutter. His thrusts become unsteady, still hard but increasingly slower. His head shoots up towards the ceiling, a deep and long moan filling the air as he spills inside you.
You don’t notice that his nails have formed crescent marks on your waist until he lets go. His palm flattens on your skin as he nearly falls into your arms, his body not only exhausted from this act, but every other one he performed on the stage too.
“Love the way you squirt,” he whispers as his weight crushes you, suffocating you under him while he kisses down your jaw and neck. “Looks so hot. You’re so unbelievably sexy, baby.”
He pulls out swiftly, eyeing your fucked out state before he places a sweet, passionate kiss onto your lips. By now, you’re leaking even more, your and his cum dripping out in waves as he caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers.
“You’re a beast,” you remark, letting out a tired laugh as you lean into his touch.
“You love that beast,” he argues back, leaning in to nibble at your earlobe before he continues, “That should do. Don’t think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”
You chuckle, slicking his hair back as you say, “Worth it, though.”
“Yeah? Then why don’t I…” he begins before his thumb finds your clit once more, the usual dumb smirk decorating his face that drives you insane within moments.
“Tae, seriously, you-”
But words and complaints aren’t necessary when you know that he will give you exactly what you want every single time.
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i swear this wasn’t planned lol this man just gives me ideas and breaks me :) if you enjoyed it, like/reblog and send me an ask !! i appreciate your feedback lottssss <3
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eternally-writing · a year ago
helping hands | jjk
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genre: fluff and angst
rating: G (no swearing or sexual content)
pairing: Jungkook x reader
theme: parent!au, idol!au, husband!au, one-shot
word count: 3k
warnings: none
synopsis: Parenting in general? Hard. Parenting while your husband Jungkook is away on tour? Extra hard.
special thank you to @justasparkwritings for beta reading this and @moccahobi for helping me with the title!
banner by me!
It had been 2 weeks since Jungkook had left on tour. You would think that after being in the industry for 10 years he would have a little more leniency with his schedule, but even after the birth of your little girl, Jungkook couldn’t seem to get out of a 3 week tour around Japan and Korea.
It seemed like the Earth was weeping with you today as the rain battered against your window while you made what seemed like your 15th cup of coffee for the day. Your daughter Gidae was for once not crying - and you were eternally grateful since it gave you time to change out of your puke-covered shirt and close your eyes for 5 seconds... as if that was any replacement for the lack of sleep you’ve encountered.
All your friends whose husbands were busy idols or businessmen gave you the advice that “everything falls into place over time when you’re parenting on your own”. That it just magically happened. You’re not sure what memo you missed, or if there’s some book you forgot to read, or if worst of all, you lacked some parental intuition that everyone else possessed. Jungkook had left 13 days ago, and nothing had fallen into place.
Between Gidae being up all night every night, the pile of puke covered laundry sitting in a pile in the corner of your room, the dirty dishes in the sink that had accumulated to the point that you were eating your microwave meals with plastic cutlery, you definitely felt like a failure.
And probably the worst part of it all was that Jungkook wasn’t here to help you. This wasn’t the first time Jungkook left on tour while you two have been together, but it was the first time he had left you since Gidae had been born. The first time he had left you, a first time mother, alone with your child for an extended period of time. The first time you needed help and couldn’t ask him for it.
As if on command, while you were bracing yourself on the counter in exhaustion, your phone began to ring.
Incoming call: hubby kook ♡
As you pressed “accept call”, you could immediately heard the hustle and bustle of the backstage crowd. Too tired to be the first to say hello, you waited to see how long it would take for him to realize you were on the other line.
“Hey Y/N, just checking in before the show! How are things?” cheered Jungkook.
You could imagine what Jungkook looked like as he talked to you: already dressed in his first stage outfit, a makeup artist blotting away at the nervous sweat on his forehead, him grinning ear to ear with his hyungs and bursting with excitement for performing.
On a normal day, if you had maybe actually gotten some sleep or eaten at least one meal that didn’t come out of your freezer in the past week, you probably could have mustered a convincing “good! How’s the show going?” But you were on your last straw, and it was already giving way.
“Bad Jungkook. It’s bad. I haven’t slept at all for as long as I can remember. I have no clean clothes or clean dishes, I haven’t showered since you left so I smell like a pungent mixture of puke, sweat, and god knows what else, and Gidae misses you and won’t stop crying.So yes, it’s horrible without you here.”
You knew that wasn’t what Jungkook expected to hear,the sharp intake of breath on his side serving as a telltale sign you had caught him off guard.
“Baby I-, I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
You couldn’t stop your voice from cracking as you continued. Your chest was tightening, feelings bubbling over.
“It’s -“ you paused to take a breath. “It’s really hard without you Jungkook. Really really hard.”
Jungkook tried his best to piece together the words over the phone, but you could already hear the speakers in the background calling for Jungkook to head to his position for the start of the show.
“Y/N I-“
“You have to go Jungkook, I know. Bye.”
You didn’t give him a second to recuperate as you ended the call.
No parenting book ever provided you with advice on this. The loneliness, helplessness, and frustration you were feeling right now. Crumpling down to the kitchen floor, you felt like the world was collapsing around you as you sobbed.
As if on cue, Gidae’s cries joined yours from the other room.
You woke up slouched in a rocking chair in the nursery, with your hand reaching down to touch your daughter’s in her crib. She seemed to show you some leniency by sleeping more than 2 hours at a time, but unsure of how much free time she’d give you, you figured you might as well get a head start of the day since you felt like you were miserably falling behind already.
While mixing some formula in your kitchen, you heard a knock on your front door. The only people who ever came over were the boys and a couple of your friends, and you definitely weren’t expecting any visitors at 8am.
Frying pan clutched in your hand (safety first, right?), you creaked open your door to see a small woman standing in front of you.
With a cheery smile painting her face, the lady began to speak.
“Mrs. Jeon, I’m Seokjin-ssi’s nanny. I’ve been sent here today to take care of Gidae. Here’s a note from Mr. Jeon.”
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You couldn’t help the smile that decorated your face after reading it. After so many years together, Jungkook still managed to surprise you. Taking in that there was now a woman in your house who was basically Supernanny here to help you, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
When Jungkook said that you were going to be pampered today, he sure meant it. By a “car” being outside, he actually meant a glorious Porsche with a driver and all your favorite snacks tucked in the backseat. He had booked an entire spa day just for you to get whatever treatments you needed without having to deal with the hustle and bustle of anyone else being around. Simply being in an environment that didn’t always sound like crying and children’s TV shows felt like heaven. A schedule had been waiting when you arrived, including a built in “nap” (multiple hours is just sleep, right?) in one of their private suits and lunch with none other than your best friend. It was the best surprise, and the girl talk you shared was exactly what you needed. Of course the mom guilt crept in, but whenever it did you reminded yourself of Jungkook’s words - you needed this, and only once you take care of yourself will you really be able to take care of your daughter.
You weren’t sure if it was because of the hydrating face mask or the 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep that you were able to get, but you walked into your house with a new pep in your step thanks to the relaxing day that Jungkook planned for you.
Welcomed by Ms. Yeong wearing an apron and bustling around your kitchen, you smelled freshly baked cookies (chocolate chip, your favorite too) and were thrilled at the sight of a clean house in front of you.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she began to speak with that signature smile.
“I’ve cooked dinner for you tonight and also have meals for the next 3 days in the fridge. The dishes are all done and your laundry should all be folded in your drawers. Gidae just had some milk and is now watching some Cocomelon.She woke up from her nap around 3 hours ago.”
In your excitement you couldn’t help giving her the biggest hug, squeezing her tightly. Slowly, Ms.Yeong began to pat your back, unclear about whether this hug was really for you or for her.
“I’m just doing my job Mrs. Jeon.”
You pulled away to look sincerely into her eyes.
“You are seriously a lifesaver Ms.Yeong, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
After patting your back again, it was her turn to be sincere.
“You’re a good mother, Mrs. Jeon. I know it may not feel like it sometimes, but you really are. Gidae is lucky to have you as a mom.”
Tears began to prick at your eyes, but unlike yesterday, these were happy tears. With all the failures that you had felt in the past two weeks, it meant everything to hear those words from someone, to get some confirmation that you weren’t completely messing things up.
Unable to make any words come out of your mouth, all you could do was nod in appreciation at what she was able to do for you today. Your eyes glimmering with unshed tears said all the words that Ms.Yeong needed to hear.
As she walked out the door, you made a mental note to message Seokjin and thank him for finding the angel on Earth who saved you today.
Picking up your daughter from her crib, you cooed and brought her to you. Settling into your rocking chair, you cradled her gently in her arms.
“Mommy missed you today, babygirl, and I know you miss daddy.”
At the mention of the word “daddy” you could see your daughter perk up, looking around and trying to find said male.
All you could do is kiss her forehead. “I miss your daddy too. He’s really amazing, yknow.”
“Amazing, really? I may have said handsome, or sexy, or...”
Your head whipped around to the source of the sound.
And there he was, in the flesh. Jeon Jungkook, the man you had been waiting to see for days on end, was standing right at the door.
“Hi my love,” he said with his silly grin.
Your heart felt like it was bursting as you saw him there, and you couldn’t help but start sobbing your heart out (and I mean ugly sobbing). You felt a waterfall of emotions seeing Jungkook so close.
“Hey hey hey, what’s with this crying? I came home because I didn’t want you to be crying anymore baby.”
Walking over to you, he crouched in front of your chair and started to wipe your tears. Cupping your face in his hands, he pressed his forehead against you.
“I missed you Y/N. I missed you so much.”
You were still reeling from Jungkook’s presence.
“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed about this Kook. I feel like I’m dreaming.”
Jungkook pressed a short kiss on your lips.
“Well believe it, I’m here for real babe,” he said sentimentally as he peppered your face with kisses.
Picking your daughter out of your grasp, Jungkook lifted Gidae into his hold, lifting her slightly into the air first to make her giggle. Putting on his best stern dad voice, he began his lecture.
“And you little miss, what is this I hear about you causing trouble for your mom?” Questioned Jungkook.
You smiled through your tears as you watched Jungkook go into “dad mode”.
“Before I left you promised you’d be a good girl, but I think good girls don’t cry all through the night and they definitely don’t make a mess with their toys or throw up all over their mommy.”
As Jungkook raised an eyebrow, your daughter looked at him, slightly apologetic, eyes shifting down to the floor, as if she could understand a word of what he said.
“But most of all Gidae, I missed you a whole lot. Your daddy missed you a whole lot.”
You felt like your heart could burst at the way Jungkook looked at your daughter. Even though he might be miles away when he works, you know that he doesn’t love you or your daughter any less.
“I’ll let you put her back to bed, daddy. It is my day off after all, right?” You joked with a chuckle.
Picking up your hand and kissing your palm, Jungkook grinned in agreement.
“Of course my love, go wash up and I’ll see you in bed.”
After reading A Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Princess & the Pea, and Rainbow Fish, Gidae was beginning to yawn in Jungkook’s arms. It seemed that it wasn’t just Jungkook who was reluctant to let their father-daughter time come to an end, as Gidae was still fighting to keep her eyes open, and always kept one tiny fist clutched onto the middle of Jungkook’s shirt, as if she was worried he could disappear at any moment.
Wondering what was taking them so long, you peeked your head back in the doorway to watch Jungkook look at your daughter like she was the one who put the stars in the sky. Not wanting to interrupt, you stayed as silent as possible as you watched them together.
“Now I’m gonna say something very important Gidae, and you need to listen very very carefully to me.”
Bringing her up to eye level, Jungkook looked at your daughter sincerely as he continued.
“Sometimes daddy isn’t here and it’s just you and mommy, but I want you to know that daddy loves you and mommy so much, and you’re always gonna be daddy’s little girl, even if I’m not here with you. And I miss you always, so so much. Daddy loves you.”
You could see the tears start to stream down Jungkook’s face, and as much as you wanted to run to him and wipe his tears, just as he did hours earlier, you knew that this moment wasn’t for you. This was for Jungkook and Gidae, and you were sure that he was going to remember this forever.
“You know what would make me so happy Gidae? If you could say the word daddy. Come on - “da” “da”. You can do it!”
He started to bounce her on his lap, exaggerating his mouth movements so much that you were worried that he would accidentally pop his jaw out. His ministrations continued on fruitlessly, with Gidae still staring at him with big doe eyes (a trait she inherited from Jungkook, of course).
Unable to hide your presence any longer, you had to help Jungkook out. “You were only gone for 2 weeks, Kook. She’s still only 6 months old, it’s going to be a little while before she says any words.”
Jungkook shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that Gidae had finally succumbed to sleep in his arms, and he stared down at her again.
“Look at how big she is Y/N, she’s grown so much just in the little while I’ve been gone.”
He looked at you with tears shimmering in his doe eyes yet again.
“Seriously, next time I leave on a tour and come back she’s going to be walking and talking or something.” joked Jungkook as he lightly wiped his tears.
You hugged Jungkook from behind, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before resting your head on it.
“Wherever you are though babe, I’m gonna take photos and videos of all of it so you won’t miss a second of it.”
Jungkook stayed silent as he simply enjoyed having his small family together again.
“You were right earlier you know, on the phone.”
“Hmm?” You hummed in response, unsure of what he was getting at.
“This isn’t working - me leaving isn’t working. I’m not 15 years old anymore, when I could just drop everything and travel the world; I have the two most precious girls in the world with me now, and I need to take care of them.”
Putting his hand in yours, you sincerely looked him in the eye.
“We’re always going to be proud of you Koo, and you know I love watching you do what you love. This may be the hard part, once she gets a little older we could start travelling with you or you could fly back too. Whatever comes our way, we’ll handle it together.”
Jungkook kissed you passionately, hoping his lips could convey what he couldn’t seem to put into words. He repeated your words back to you.
“Whatever comes our way, we’ll handle it together.”
As if Mother Nature was on your side, the rain stopped, leaving the smell of new beginnings wafting in through your window.
If you liked what you read please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡ - Emily
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justasparkwritings · 2 months ago
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Master List: The Littlest Dumpling
Summary: Beloved young adult author Yoongi Min, known to the world as author of the Lil King Yoongi saga, has stepped away from the spotlight for the last five years. Coming out of retirement, he is ready to step into new territory: picture books. Armed with an idea centered on his tumultuous childhood, Yoongi is unprepared to confront the friends he lost, the challenges he overcame, and the adventures that shaped him into the man he is today. With a new publisher, whose smile often sends a deep blush over his pale cheeks, can Yoongi make it through the editing, illustrating and launch of his highly anticipated new project? Or will he, like the dragons and little king he wrote about, scorch the earth, unsure how to tend to the swirling emotions around him? Only time, and too many edits, will tell. 
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Slice of Life / Non Idol AU / Fluff / Maybe Smut
Rating: R - NC17
Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Maybe Smut,
Word Count: ~
Tag: #lilkingyoongi
Posting: Uhhh whenever I feel like it but probably Saturdays
The Littlest Dumpling {1}
The Littlest Dumpling {2}
The Littlest Dumpling {3}
The Littlest Dumpling {4}
The Littlest Dumpling {5}
The Littlest Dumpling {6}
The Littlest Dumpling {7}
The Littlest Dumpling {8}
The Littlest Dumpling {9}
The Littlest Dumpling {10}
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precededbychaos · 8 months ago
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• Merry & Bright 2021 • • 25 Days of Christmas/Holiday One-Shots • • Dec. 15 • MYG • Angst • Tumbler & AO3 8PM PST #merry&bright #merry&bright2021 #merryandbright #merryandbright2021 #justasparkwritings #btsoneshots #btsimagines #btsfic #ao3author #tumblrauthor #christmas #christmasfic #christmasimagine #yoongific #yoongiimagine #myg https://www.instagram.com/p/CXh98wvrkV5/?utm_medium=tumblr
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ficswithluv · a year ago
River: I Wanna Go by Just A Spark Writings (justasparkwritings). I wrote this. I am working on a few collections, and one is called River. It's about the ebb and flow of relationships, the heartaches, the triumphs, the growth and hurt that comes from loving someone. I Wanna Go is inspired by River by Leon Bridges, this idea that you can hurt who you love, and come together in absolution. (Yoongi - SFW)
Hi! Thank you for the rec, we’ll add it to our masterlist!
-Admin Bee
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vyduan · 3 months ago
A Comedy of Manners (in Brief)
Author: vyduan Pairing: Kim Seokjin | Reader  Genre: light angst, idiots in love, arranged marriage Word Count: ~2.1k Rating: teen Warnings: no use of pronouns for reader, reader is any gender, AFAB, swearing, miscarriage, infertility [AO3]
Notes: Welp. @justasparkwriting lowkey asked for more and who am I not to oblige her? 
A comedy of manners: a comedy that satirizes behavior in a particular social group, especially the upper classes (from the Oxford English Dictionary)
Summary: You have 730 days to provide an heir for your husband Kim Seokjin before your marriage will summarily be annulled. Seokjin thinks he can fight it; you are resigned to your fate. You bend your entire will to getting (and staying) pregnant. Here's what happens when you can't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kishōtenketsu Series Masterlist For more of my fics, here is my Masterlist.
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承 (chéng): handling, process, or hardships (from Wikipedia definition of Kishōtenketsu)
“Do you think if we tell our parents we’re pregnant, they’ll finally lay off the constant nagging?” you ask your husband.
“Well, I suppose that depends on if you prefer the known quantity of them sending you the best sex positions for a guaranteed conception or if you prefer them micromanaging your diet and hovering over your every move for the next forty weeks,” your said husband replies.
He may have cotton in between his ears instead of brains, but he’s a sweetheart — if not a bit dim for all his top marks in college. You wonder anew at how even after a lifetime of knowing Kim Seokjin, he still manages to surprise you at a stupefying rate.
No, truly.
It’s astonishing how quickly your lovable idiot can escalate a situation beyond repair in record time. You do not quite know why you love him. You only know that he cannot help being a himbo and while you regret many things in life, you do not regret going along with your collective parents’ plan for your two houses to merge.
Actually, you take it back. You often regret it when mid-coitus, Seokjin narrates in his best David Attenborough documentary voice, “And here we have live footage of two houses merging, combining assets and effluvia.”
When you inevitably complain, Seokjin counters with his favorite Attenborough quote: "You have to steer a course between not appalling people, but at the same time not misleading them."
Your stupid husband is constantly straddling that fine line (even as he is straddling you).
You are flustered when you find yourself neither appalled nor misled. You are instead, annoyingly enamored of the dolt.
Good thing, too, since now, you are going to be parents and can finally breathe a sigh of relief, well on your way to fulfilling the archaic and pedantic parameters of securing Seokjin’s place as the incumbent heir to Kim Industries.
Except in eight weeks, when you are twelve weeks one day pregnant and thus, theoretically out of danger, you regret sighing so early. You regret tempting fate and curse the gods that you were so close to having it all — only to have them unceremoniously rip it away.
You do not understand how Seokjin seems to carry on as if his world was not cleaved into a discrete before and after. You are not the same. You can never be the same.
You do not know how to live in a world where Seokjin is still the same when you are so irrevocably changed.
It has been three hundred eleven days since you and Seokjin got married, not that you are counting.
You both endeavor to try again as soon as possible, but your body takes its sweet time recovering. Your body forgets that it is not still pregnant and thus does not remember what is required of it, and hence does not recollect the motions of ovulating until one hundred forty-six more days pass.
Once you have your first menstrual cycle, you get pregnant again relatively quickly. This time, you take care to the extreme. You barely wanted to inform Seokjin but he has a right to know. After all, it is his future at stake, too.
Seokjin is as ecstatic as he was the first time. You want to scream at him. How dare he forget about your first pregnancy. How dare he erase that baby and superimpose his joy from that pregnancy onto this one.
When you lose this baby at ten weeks four days, it takes everything within you to not scream as Seokjin chooses to look at the silver lining and says you will both just try again.
“After all,” he says, “you get pregnant so easily, darling. Hwaiting!”
Surely, your dense cabbage of a husband could not be this obtuse? So lacking in nunchi?
It has been five hundred sixty-four days.
You are still not counting.
You get pregnant two more times in quick succession but keep miscarrying. You get pregnant so easily; it’s the staying pregnant that stymies you.
It’s difficult not to take it personally. In fact, you do take it personally.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Seokjin comforts on the rare occasions you confide in him. “Surely with your brains and my unparalleled bone structure and facial symmetry, we will figure a way out of this muddlesome casuistry!”
“I’m being serious, Seokjin. I really wish you would stop using made up words.”
“All words are made up, Y/N,” Seokjin states affably. “Would you prefer pettifoggery? Sophistry? Speciousness?”
“I would prefer that we solve the matter at hand, Seokjin!”
“What would you have me do, love?” asks Seokjin, his mien serious for once in his life. “The only control we have is in the getting pregnant part — and that control is spurious at best.” He pitches his voice gently, as if he anticipates your imminent refusal. “I worry for your physical health, love. All these back to back pregnancies and losses — maybe we should take a break.”
“Is this your way of casting me aside?” You do not do emotions and so thus, you are unprepared for the quaver in your accusation.
“This whole dynastic legacy is stupid anyway. I don’t need to be the heir — they can pass it onto my cousin Namjoon or even Taehyung.” Seokjin pauses a moment. “Well, maybe not Taehyung.”
“Taehyung is more than capable,” you automatically reply. You hate yourself for entertaining such impossibilities.
“Oh, no question of that,” Seokjin muses. “He’s my favorite.”
“You make no sense. Namjoon’s not your favorite and thus, you want him to be the new heir instead?”
“It’s more that I’d feel responsible for Taehyung’s soul dying incrementally until nothing is left of his beautiful, free spirit. Namjoon’s already dead inside — and plus, he’s so stuffy and boring.” Seokjin grins. “He’s made for this nonsense.”
“Is that what it’s like for you?” you seethe. “Am I killing you softly?”
“Of course not, darling. I’m an empty-headed lout. An idiot, as it were,” he soothes. “There is nothing deeper in me to kill.”
“I want to try again,” you state. “It’s my duty.”
Seokjin regards you sadly. “Duty is overrated, Y/N.”
You agree but it is too late to tell him so. You refuse to give him the satisfaction, however bittersweet. After seven hundred thirty days, you have neither produced an heir nor is an heir forthcoming.
If only your faithless body could have waited another four days.
Your marriage is summarily annulled and you endure it as you have endured all that has befallen you for the last thirty-two years. Seokjin is not of a similar mindset and the ruckus he kicks up is both gratifying and heartbreaking.
You tell him, “Well, Seokjinnie. We had a good run.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Seokjin is an unfairly pretty crier. His eyes shine with tears and your heart lurches at the sight. You are still so in love with him that you are certain he knows you are lying.
“Yes, that is all I have to say,” you say because, well, what choice do you have?
“You won’t even fight for us?” he begs.
“Seokjinnie, of what use is there in fighting? We did our duties to the best of our abilities and my best was not good enough,” you hiss. “Please stop making a scene. You are embarrassing me.”
“I don’t care about any of these trappings, Y/N. Run away with me,” he pleads again.
You stare at him pityingly. “As if you could operate in the world as a mere mortal, Kim Seokjin. You who are used to getting your way in the manner of chaebols since time out of mind.”
“I could do it, darling. I would do it.”
You glare at him, your tears betraying you. “Well, I couldn’t.”
You walk away from the love of your life. You walk away from your ex-husband, the man with cotton candy for brains, and tell yourself that you’re doing the right thing. That he will thank you for it one day.
It has been zero days since your marriage to Kim Seokjin was annulled. You refuse to count anymore.
It has been three days since your marriage to Kim Seokjin was annulled and he is on bended knee with a new ring nestled in a new velvet box.
“Here’s the thing,” Seokjin says. “The fine print doesn’t say I have to wait the full one hundred and eighty days before I remarry.”
“I know I have better taste in jewelry than you do, but are you seriously asking me for my opinion on the ring you’ve got planned for your new betrothed?”
You cannot be faulted for the tableaux of violence you envision but do not enact. You are a bastion of dignity and fortitude.
“Darling —”
“Don’t you darling me, Kim Seokjin. Get out.”
“I apologize for not thinking of this earlier,” he says, “but really, for the past five hundred twenty-five days, I’ve mostly been operating from a place of panic at the thought of losing you. I have not been operating at optimal capacity.”
“We were married seven hundred thirty days, Seokjin.” You cannot help it. You cannot let him set a precedent for bad mathing. Who knows when it would come back to bite you — perhaps in skimpy alimony payments.
“Five hundred twenty-five days since you told me about these ridiculous stipulations for our marriage,” he corrects, eyes soft and bemused.
“May I continue?”
You narrow your eyes. You recognize that smug tone. “What are you up to, Kim Seokjin?”
“Well, in addition to there being no provisos for waiting the full one hundred and eighty days before I remarry, there are also no provisos about who I can marry.” Seokjin’s eyes flash in triumph. “So, darling. Will you do me the supreme honor of becoming my wife? Again?”
“Very well,” you reply.
Seokjin breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Oh, thank fuck, baby. I made an appointment at the courthouse for an hour and thirty from now.”
He leans in and kisses you tenderly on the mouth and you slide into the warm haze of being secure in your ex-husband’s capable hands.
Later, after the ink is dried a second time, a thought suddenly strikes you.
“What happens if I don’t provide an heir this time around?”
Seokjin holds your hands and peers into your eyes. He is uncharacteristically serious. “The way I see it, if you still want me seven hundred thirty days from now, we can just get married again.”
“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes misting over.
“I plan to keep choosing you, darling. I hope you keep choosing me, too.”
When Seokjin tells his parents later, his father only rolls his eyes.
“It took you long enough, you daft moppet. Didn’t you ever wonder how your mother and I could still be together even though you were born in our fourth year of marriage?” He shakes his head. “Three whole days! Yeobo, how many days did I take?”
Your father-in-law doesn’t give your mother-in-law any time to respond.
“That’s right, yeobo. Not even half a day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, then?” Seokjin screeches. “I was exceedingly put out!”
Seokjin’s mother shoots him a look of such disdain and disappointment. “If you can’t peel shrimp at your age, you don’t deserve to eat the shrimp,” she says.
“That makes a surprising amount of sense,” Seokjin contemplates. “I respect your superior logic, eomma.”
Your mother-in-law just sniffs loudly and judgmentally. You decide summarily to ignore your husband’s entire family. They deserve each other — the whole lot of them. It is a shame you’re still bound to them and they to you.
Instead, you decide to cling to Seokjin’s words.
You cling to his words when each subsequent pregnancy does not go to term. You cling to his words when you both decide to stop trying. You cling to his words when the second set of seven hundred thirty days passes and he is once again, on his knees with a new ring nestled in a new velvet box.
“I choose you, love,” he whispers right after he repeats his vows for the third time. “I choose you,” he says again when he repeats them for the fourth and fifth times.
By the sixth time Seokjin says it, you have stopped counting the days and have started counting rings.
Translation notes:  - Nunchi (눈치) is the Korean concept of reading a room, the art of observing and gauging the moods of other people.
Kishōtenketsu Series Masterlist For more of my fics, here is my Masterlist.
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sunshinejunghoseokie · a year ago
Americano Kisses; myg.
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Pairing: Barista!Yoongi x Artist/Barista!Reader
Genre: Coffee Shop AU, Friends To Lovers, Angst, Fluff
Summary: The best part about working at Minju’s Perfect Cup had been the man with the gummy smile. When you come home after spending three years abroad, you find yourself wondering what could have been if only you had stayed.
Rating & Warnings: PG13. Pining. OC and Yoongi are both awkward and soft, Mentions of heartbreak, Yoongi jokingly says "americano kisses" when OC says he tastes like coffee. There's a pretty neat smooch scene. It's pretty mild stuff, folks.
Word Count: 4.2k
A/N: Finally! My FIRST stand alone fic! (The first of *many* to come!) Special Thanks: This story wouldn't have been possible without two of my favorite mutuals. @bangtanhome, Moon, thank you for loving (and reading) this story when it was still just skin and bones. @justasparkwritings, Louise - the best beta/editor and tumblr wife, thank you for helping take this story from just words to something with a life of it's own. (And for making the gorgeous story banner!) You are the reason that this story is what it is. I adore you both.
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You rub your hands together as you walk as fast as your legs can carry you down the sidewalk and towards the cafe. The layers you are wearing are doing little to fight off the cold February chill that seeps through and cools your skin, each gust of wind freezing you to the bone.
Even after what felt like a lifetime away, Minju’s Perfect Cup, nestled in the heart of Seoul amongst the skyscrapers and highrises, is exactly how you remembered it.
You had traveled halfway across the world and had never managed to find another place quite like this.
The smell of fresh coffee and pastries hits your nose the moment you pull open the door and step past the threshold. Conversations from other customers drift in and out of your ear’s reach, trailing off and drowned out by the sound of coffee grinders and steamers at work. The morning rush does little to slow the baristas down behind the counter. They move quickly, greeting customers and serving orders in record time. You smile to yourself as you wait in line, taking the chance to soak in your surroundings.
The string lights decorating the rafters bask the cafe in a soft warm and golden glow, never failing to make the space feel welcoming. The walls themselves are lined with various pieces of artwork in mix-matched frames. The painting of the cafe you had gifted to Minju after your first Christmas working for her, is still hung proudly in its original spot, off to the right of the counter. The seating is equally as eccentric as the rest of the decor, a variety of wingback chairs and stools surround the small wooden tables scattered about the cafe. The menu above the counter is a large chalkboard, all of the hand-lettered choices and drawings done by none other than Minju.
Sophomore year of college, you had gotten a part-time job at the cafe, picking up as many shifts as you could on weekends and after classes. It kept you busy and provided you a much-needed reprieve from textbooks and hours spent hunched over at your desk, reading and rereading the same passages on a loop. You found solace in the lingering smell of coffee and steamed milk stains littering your apron at the end of a long shift as you rode the bus back to your dorm, feet aching and eyelids heavy.
Minju’s was your home away from home. Always was and you wouldn’t hesitate to place bets that it always will be.
You would even go as far to say that some of your favorite memories are tied to the place. Hoseok and Jimin - your former roommates - used to surprise you with deliveries of your favorite foods on the days you hadn’t had time to seek out something to eat before your shift. After a couple of months under her employ, Minju started letting you stay after the store had closed for the night and the customers had long since gone to help her update the specials on the menu for the next day. The open mic nights she insisted on having at least once a month, poets and musicians taking to a little makeshift stage at the front of the store to share their crafts.
Better than anything, though, had been shifts working alongside Min Yoongi. It had taken the quiet man a while to warm up to you, but after a few weeks working behind the counter together, you found yourself falling into a rhythm and moving insync.
You had even found yourself seeking him out around campus as you grew more comfortable with each other, sitting with him at a table hidden in the stacks of the library or eating together in the dining hall when you both had free time between your courses. He was more than a coworker to you. He was more than an occasional study buddy or lunch date, Yoongi was a friend. A confidant and shoulder to cry on, need be.
He would tell you about his music - he called it a hobby, but he was too talented for it to be just that - and, on a few occasions, would even show you snippets of whatever track he was currently working on. He would grace you with gummy smiles and warm laughter. His dark eyes - the same color as melted chocolate, the sight of them leaving you as jittery as a cup of fresh coffee - were deeper than any valley or canyon you had ever seen and you often found yourself drowning in them. The deep timber of his voice easily became your favorite sound, the chime of his laughter your favorite song.
“Next customer, please!” The cashier calls out, your cue to step forward and place your order.
“Good morning!” You smile at the boy behind the counter. “Oh, Wooyoung! Hey!”
Wooyoung’s eyes squint for a moment as he takes you in before going wide, lips parting in shock. His dyed blonde hair is pushed back from his forehead, unruly strands sticking out at odd angles. His apron is slightly askew and you are all but certain he has bits of whipped cream on his left cheek, right under his bottom lashline. He has grown since you had last seen him, nearly a foot taller and a far cry from the little boy who used to sneak pastries from the case when his aunt wasn’t looking.
“Y/N?!” His features morph into a wide grin, flashing his perfectly white teeth. “Aunt Minju! Come out here! Y/N’s back!”
You follow his gaze to the door behind him, the one you know leads to the storage room and back office. At the mention of your name, the older woman pops her head out, eyes lighting up in delight when her gaze lands on you.
Minju is a sight for sore eyes. Her long gray hair is tied up in a bun at the top of her head, secured in place with a pair of wooden chopsticks. She’s wearing one of her trademark tunics, the brightly colored shirt falling past her mid thigh, and a pair of loose khaki pants that are rolled up past her ankle.
“My Y/N!”
She doesn’t miss a beat, rounding the counter and wrapping her arms around you, squeezing you into an impossibly tight hug. She still smells like cinnamon and coffee beans.
“Minju!” You happily return her embrace. “I missed you so much!”
When she pulls back she holds you at arm’s length, her fingers keep a gentle grip on your upper arm. She gives you a once over, eyes trailing from head to toe and back again. She lingers on the changes like the small tattoo on your forearm or your hair, cut to just above your shoulders with the fringe of your bangs falling across your forehead. The corners of her lips curve in a barely contained smirk at the paint stains on your jeans.
Even after years away, some things managed to stay the same.
“It hasn’t been the same around here without you. Are you just visiting?”
“I’m back for good, actually. Home for the long haul.” You step away from the register to allow the growing line to place their orders.
“Really?” She raises a single brow.
“What can I say? As amazing as New York was, it wasn’t Seoul.”
“What’s your plan now that you’re home?”
“I actually met Kim Taehyung while overseas. He had come to NYU to give a lecture to the interns working at the MET. We got to talking afterwards and he told me to reach out if I ever found myself back in Seoul and he would be glad to have me join his staff at the Vante Gallery. I reached out when I decided to come home to see if the offer still stood and since it did, there wasn’t really any reason to stay there. Not when I had so much back here waiting for me.”
“The Vante Gallery, huh? I always knew that you were going to do something great. I’m glad to see you proving me right. When do you start?”
“A couple of weeks. Taehyung wanted me to give me a chance to get settled into my apartment and used to being back in Seoul. That’s why I’m here actually. I’ve been home for a couple of days and I’m already going stir crazy. I almost forgot how much I hate unpacking. I figured I’d take a break from all the cardboard and bubble wrap and see if you needed any help around here until I start at the gallery. I could use the distraction.”
“I’d love to have you back here. I’ll have to ask my partner before anything is decided, but I don’t think there will be a problem with giving you a couple shifts. I’m sure a lot of the regulars will be thrilled to see you back behind the counter.”
The bell hanging from the top of the front door chimes, signaling the arrival of a new customer.
“Ah!” Minju peeks over your shoulder, grin spreading and overtaking her face. “We were just talking about you! You remember Y/N, don’t you?”
The last person you expect to find standing behind you is none other than Min Yoongi, plastic grocery bags in hand. His face is unreadable, void of any indication of what’s going on inside of his mind, or what’s going on inside of his heart.
The last time you had seen Yoongi, you had hugged him farewell outside of airport security, muffling into his shoulder as you sobbed into him. You had stained the collar of his jacket with your tears but he hadn’t said anything about it, instead focusing on his hands rubbing soothing circles across your back.
What was meant to be a year-long exchange in New York City amongst priceless artwork working alongside other hopeful artists had turned into a three year ordeal. You had tried to keep in contact but, over time, the difference in time zones and distance became too much. The calls and texts started becoming far and few between six months after you left until, eventually, they stopped all together.
You had spent three years missing Yoongi and now that he is in front of you, you don’t know what to say, what to think. There were so many things that were left unsaid between the two of you and you aren’t sure where to start. You want him to know that you missed him, that you always thought about him. You want him to know that for the past three years, your heart has stayed in Seoul with him.
“You said that already.” His voice is soft and the familiarity leaves your heart aching in your chest. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” You nod, a little dazed.
“Why don’t you two sit down and catch up?” Minju reaches forward to take the grocery bags out of Yoongi’s hands. “I’ll bring you some coffee. Is your go-to order still a hazelnut latte with whipped cream, Y/N?”
You nod again, words failing you.
“Coming right up.” She winks before disappearing back behind the counter.
You and Yoongi settle into the chairs at the table closest to you and stare at each other. You feel your cheeks heat up under the weight of his gaze. You decide to return the favor and take the chance to look at him, really look at him.
He doesn’t look like the Yoongi you had said goodbye to all of those years ago. The Yoongi you had held onto in your memory didn’t do justice to the man sitting across from you now.
His once mint green hair is now back to his natural color, the chestnut locks held back by a thick headband. He’s wearing a pale yellow jacket over a striped shirt, denim jeans ripped at the knees.
He’s beautiful, but then again, he always had been.
“I, uh...it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Dark eyes are fixed on you from across the small table, wide and uncertain. It’s almost like he’s afraid that if he looks away, if he so much as blinks, you will disappear. “How long have you been back?”
“Only a couple of days.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I’m home. For good. I was just telling Minju about how I took a job with Kim Taehyung at the Vante Gallery.”
“Wow. The Vante Gallery. That’s… Congratulations. That’s one hell of an opportunity.”
“Thank you.” You smile, tight lipped and a tad awkward. “So you’re Minju’s business partner now?”
“Yeah, sort of.” He reaches a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his. The tips of his ears are burning a bright red. “Last year the building changed landlords and the rent was raised quite a bit. A ridiculous amount, really. It looked like Minju might lose the place so I offered to pay the difference. She made me part owner after that and wouldn’t budge. You know how she is. She’s stubborn. Once she has her mind made up about something, there’s no changing it.”
“So much has changed.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “It has. Three years is a long time. A lot of things can change.”
You wince at the underlying bite in his tone, gaze falling to where your fingertips are tracing the edge of the table. Whether it was intentionally meant to hurt you or not, it still left your heart feeling as though it had been shot through with an arrow. You can feel his gaze weighing you down but you can’t bear to meet it, afraid of what you might find staring back at you.
The tension that settles over you is palpable. The silence is nearly suffocating if you allow yourself to think about it for too long, leaving your mind a muddled mess of tumultuous emotions and anxiety riddled worries. Paying it attention only seems to feed the ill feeling, the discomfort growing until it threatens to consume everything that happened to be in its path.
You silently pray that Minju would find her way back to where you had seated yourselves, but when she does, it’s only for a short moment. She sets your respective drinks down in front of you before scurrying off back behind the counter to help Wooyoung with the newest wave of patrons lined up at the counter, mumbling under her breath about a clogged steamer.
“She’s missed you, you know.”
For the first time since you had sat at the table, Yoongi lets his gaze drift away from you to follow Minju’s movements.
She’s always been at her element, at her utmost best, when working to create the perfect coffee for each and every customer. She never fails to treat every order as if it’s going to someone important because, to her, everyone who comes to Minju’s Perfect Cup is someone important.
You smile, hands wrapping around the to-go cup in front of you. It feels warm against your palms, the cardboard sleeve keeping your hands toasty rather than burnt. You take a small, slow sip before returning it to its original place on the table, thumbs running across the top of the sleeve, pads pressing into the scalloped ridges of the cardboard.
“I missed her, too. I missed a lot of things. Like the old woman who used to come in with her husband on Friday nights to split a slice of cheesecake. Or that little girl and her mom who would stop in after school for freshly baked snickerdoodles and hot chocolates with extra marshmallows.”
“What about that guy Namjoon who spent a lot of weekdays here studying, breaking more mugs than just about anyone else I’ve ever met. He actually still comes in sometimes.” The corners of Yoongi’s lips twitch, tugging upwards in a half smile. “He’s a grad student now and I swear he breaks more mugs than he had before.”
“How is that even possible?!”
“I have no clue!” Yoongi’s laughter leaves warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach, spreading until every last one of your nerve endings is alive and buzzing with energy. “I swear, it’s some kind of talent. Maybe he’s secretly a god of destruction who specializes in taking down the mug supplies of local coffee shops.”
“Yeah.” You snort out a laugh. “I’m sure that’s exactly it.”
This time when the corners of his lips tug upwards, a genuine laugh leaves his mouth, his russet eyes shining.
The sound is like music to your ears. Less like a lullaby and more like a symphony. You bask in the feeling of pride that washes over you at being the one to pull the reaction out of him.
It’s easy to fall back into a rhythm.
You spend the next week working back at Minju’s, your old name tag from all those years ago fastened to your apron, right above your heart. The smell of coffee and pastry dough following you home.
The days seem to pass by too fast, each one blurring into the next. The clock is ticking down, closer and closer to having to say farewell to the comfort and familiarity of it all once more.You wish that you could slow time down, to live in the moment a little more and enjoy being back in the company of those you had sorely missed most while you were abroad.
Minju and her infectious laugh and wild personality.
Namjoon and his ability to break even plastic mugs and spilling coffee down the front of his crisp white button-up shirts
Yoongi and his gummy smiles.
Yoongi and his light touches, hand brushing against the small of your back as he moved behind you to grab something.
Yoongi and his fingers brushing your own as you handed him to-go cups after taking orders.
Yoongi and his refusal to let you see yourself home after you had closed up the cafe for the night, even if the sun was still making its descent in the sky, leaving the moon and stars in their wake.
Maybe that’s the reason you found yourself here now, unpacking the boxes of your belongings that had been long forgotten and left to litter the expanse of your apartment and turn the space into a maze of cardboard and discarded packing paper. The couch and loveseat in your living room was still wrapped in plastic, your coffee table haphazardly assembled and leaning to the right more than it should.
“You really shouldn’t have put off unpacking, you know?”
Yoongi is rummaging through his second box of mugs, taking each one and unwrapping them from their bubble wrap confines before handing them to you to be tucked away in the cabinet over the counter.
“I know, but putting it off was all a part of my evil plan.” You tease, waiting for him to hand you another mug. “I knew that if I waited long enough, you’d take pity on me and help.”
“Whatever.” Yoongi lets out a scoff, half-heartedly tossing a balled up wad of bubble wrap in your direction before his eyes catch sight of the familiar mug in his hands. “Holy shit, Y/N. You still have this thing?”
You turn to face him, smile tugging the corners of your lips upwards when you catch sight of what he’s referring to.
The hand painted mug he had gifted you as a going away present wasn’t his best work, but when it came to art, his skills were like that of a toddler. He had tried his best, but the drawings lining the outside of the ceramic were legible at best. Neither you nor Yoongi would consider the man a skilled painter, but that’s what made the gift all the more special in your eyes. He had gone out of his way, taken a step outside of his comfort zone, to make something for you.
The stick figures wore wobbly smiles, their arms meeting in the middle to hold a faded heart. Your names scribbled below each of your respective doodled portraits. Yoongi had even gone as far to paint the South Korean flag on his side, the American on yours.
“Of course I do! You didn’t really expect me to get rid of it, did you?”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.” He admits. “It’s ugly. I’m not so proud that I can’t admit that.”
“Hey!” You snatch the mug from him, fingers brushing against his, before retreating back to your previous place against the counter. The glint of mischief in your gaze shining brightly. “Don’t be mean! I love this thing! Everyone in New York loved it! They said I was very lucky to have a younger sibling who loved me enough to send me away with something to remind me of home.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not the artist out of the two of us and we both know it. I still can’t believe you really kept it, though.” Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots.
“Why wouldn’t I? It reminded me of home. Of...of you.”
“Of me?” Yoongi takes a step towards you.
“Yeah, of you. It was hard, not having you around while I was there. I guess I had just gotten a little too used to your sarcastic remarks and stupid jokes. It was hard not to miss you.”
“You missed me?”
“I missed you.” You feel the heat creeping up your neck, spreading until your cheeks are painted a rosy pink. “More than you know. New York never quite felt like home. It took me a while to figure out that it never would. That my home was here. In Seoul. With you.”
He stares at you, unreadable as ever. The silence hangs over you, too heavy, too long. When he finally speaks up, his voice is so quiet that your ears have to strain to catch the words.
“I just, after spending all those years working with you, studying with you, just spending time together, I knew there was something about you. Something that I wanted. Something I needed. I wish it hadn’t taken you leaving for me to realize that it had just been you, all of you.”
His dark eyes are taking you in, hand reaching out to encase your own, fingers intertwining. Some people are artists, others are the art themselves. You can’t help but think that Yoongi looks like art at this moment. Vulnerable, beautiful. Something so breathtakingly fragile. Every dip and curve that makes up his features are brushstrokes that all add up to the masterpiece that is Min Yoongi.
“I was afraid that I would never see you again.” He confesses, voice as soft as velvet. “I was afraid that I’d never be able to tell you that I love you. That I’m in love with you. It’s always been you.”
“Please.” He takes a step forward, chest pressed flush against your own, your back pressing into the counter. He releases your hand to wrap both arms around your waist. “I’m not good at...I’m not good at knowing what to say or finding the right words, but I mean it. I love you. I want you, this, us. I let you walk away once without telling you how I felt and I’m not about to make that same mistake a second time. I can’t let you slip through my fingers. Not again.”
“Kiss me.”
“Yoongi.” You don’t dare to break eye contact with him, gaze fixed on his dark irises. “Kiss me.”
You lean up on the tips of your toes and raise your hands, fingers gripping at the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer until your noses brush.
The initial feeling of his lips against yours is gentle, not much more than a barely there brush of mouths against one another. When he pulls back, the distance between you is little more than an inch and is gone as quickly as it had come as he closes the gap and presses his lips against yours again, harder. More determined. It’s effortless, the way he moulds against you. It’s impossible to tell where you end and Yoongi begins.
You reach up and tangle your hands into the back of his hair, using your grip to push him closer. You don’t mind the way your teeth knock against one another or the way your noses bump harshly, not if it means that Yoongi keeps kissing you.
It may be a far cry from being graceful, and it would never live up to the standards set by romantic comedies of perfect first kisses, but it’s yours. Yours and Yoongi’s. So what if it is less than perfect? None of that matters to you. Not when it is becoming painfully clear that you have never truly been kissed before. Not until now, not until this. Not until him.
When he pulls back, you find yourself chasing after him with your lips, stretching up on your toes in hopes of picking up where you had left off.
“Why are you laughing?” Yoongi’s nose scrunches. “Am I that bad at kissing?”
“No, no!” You shake your head, stifling another giggle. “It’s not that at all!”
“Then what is it?”
“You taste like coffee.” The dam breaks, laughter escaping your throat as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, lips pressing against the skin there in a featherlight kiss.
“Shut up. You love my Americano kisses.”
“I do.”
To prove your point, you lean back in and capture his lips in another kiss.
338 notes · View notes
hesperantha · a year ago
illegitimi non carborundum
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➻ Pairing: Taehyung x reader (she/her) ➻ Rating: 18+ ➻ Genre: angst, fluff, smut. Established relationship, idol!au, slice of life.  Specifically fat reader inclusive. ➻ Words: 4.3k ➻ Warnings: existential idol angst, secret relationship, hair pulling, unprotected sex (make good choices) ➻ Summary: Everyone except you seems to be madly in love with your boyfriend’s new hairstyle. But really, just how many unspoken words can a few inches of hair hide in a relationship like yours? ➻ AN: for the lovely @justasparkwritings​ as part of the BTS Writers Club fic exchange. All the thanks to @chemicalpink and @hauntedlilies​ for being the most delightful beta readers!
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“Look, I’ll show you. It’s good.” He’s already pulling out his phone, opening Twitter (his personal account), and scrolling through the thousands of enthusiastic comments on his recent (official) selfie to justify it.
You take the phone from him and begin reading the ongoing posts about it. Apparently user ‘jiminsphatass’ thinks he looks “daddy af” and user ‘iamabug273’ thinks that his mullet is not only acceptable but incredibly hot, and, further, wishes to be stepped on. You can’t keep your face from drawing into a grimace.
“Taehyung, that’s gross.”
He glowers at you. “Don’t judge. People are into that shit.”
“No, that part’s fine. I mean, I’d prefer it if they weren’t saying it about you, but public life and all that. But it’s a gross mullet. It looks bad. I flat-out don’t like it.”
“Yeah, well… I don’t like your shirt.” He’s kind of pouty about it, clearly grasping at straws.
You look him dead in the eye and take your shirt off. “Better?” you challenge.
His eyes flit from your face to your tits. You know you’re wearing a nasty laundry day bra, but right now you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. 
“I — That’s not fair.”
“You said you didn’t like it. It’s my shirt, comfy as fuck, and not yours to have an opinion about, but you didn’t like it and I got rid of it.”
He jams his tongue into his cheek and you suddenly realize that you’ve made a huge mistake. “Right, I see what you’re trying to say. But it’s ridiculous. Why would you take your shirt off just because I said I didn’t like it?”
“To prove a point.”
“Yeah… thanks for proving mine.” 
Of course you know he’s right, but you dig your heels in, loathing the mere thought of admitting it.  
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And so, the mullet stays. Day after day, week after week he cultivates it. You catch him checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror, tipping his head back until the ends of his hair dip into the loose collar of his pajama top. His phone becomes home to a growing collection of selfies at angles that you’ve never seen before — angles designed to capture the full horror of it. 
Similarly, your shirt stays on. Your plan is to Lysistrata his ass. You wish you’d never said anything. Surely the thrill of a stupid haircut would have worn off by now if you’d just let it be. Instead, he’s stubbornly digging in, fluffing it out every change he gets, running his fingers through the ever-growing wavy strands.
You get hopeful one day when he comes over to your place wearing a hoodie and his bangs are just barely grazing his eyelashes. Your hopes are dashed, though, when he pushes it off and reveals that his new haircut was strictly a front-only ordeal. If anything, it’s worse now, like something straight out of a hillbilly nightmare.
“You look the way a banjo sounds,” you tell him.
“Banjos are amazing instruments with a rich history. Thank you very much.”
Before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes. “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“I know,” says Taehyung, yanking open the door of your fridge and gazing at its contents hopefully. “Do we have any cheese?”
“Middle shelf. Directly in front of you.”
He takes out a bag of mozzarella, sprinkles some into his mouth, then offers you a handful. You open your mouth to accept it, marveling at the way the contents of your fridge became something communal even though he has his own apartment and his own fridge and probably his own cheese. 
While you’re chewing, he toys with the back of his hair, twirling a lock around his fingers. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s kind of mesmerizing. The dark, glossy strands catch the light as they whip around the first knuckle of his index finger. He catches you staring.
“Admit it. It’s growing on you.”
“Technically, Taehyung, it’s growing on you.”
“You’re a little spicy today, Aein,” he says with a grin.
He might tease you, but you have a feeling that your occasionally hot temper is part of your appeal. He likes pushing your buttons. He likes the inevitable make-up sex even more — the kind where you take your anger out on him and maybe yell at him a bit. He asked you if he deserved to be slapped once after a particularly heated argument, and you’ve been meaning to circle back to that discussion. Now isn’t the time.
“I know what you’re up to,” you say.
He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes wide and innocent. “I would never! Although it’s been a while…”
“Aha,” you say blandly. “So you noticed.”
“Figured there was something bothering you. Didn’t want to pry.”
“Thanks for caring, I guess. Look. It’s the hair. Are they making you do that?”
“You can tell me if they are and I’ll forget all about it and never say another word.”
“Why would you think it isn’t my choice?”
You can’t believe you have to spell it out for him. “Because it never is, Taehyung. When was the last time you really had a say in your own life?”
“I have a say all the time!”
You roll your eyes, bracing for the argument he’s so fully internalized he doesn’t even realize it wasn’t his to begin with. “Do you really? Then where’s your fucking mixtape?”
You regret your words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. The mixtape is a step too far. It’s the sore spot that neither one of you has been willing to pick at. You’ve been dancing around it for months, afraid of revealing the wound underneath. 
A wound consisting of eight heart-wrenching love songs that can’t possibly be about generic ARMY but are most definitely about singular you. They’re unacceptably specific, detailing his utmost admiration for your adventurous spirit, the times he’s woken up smiling because of the mischievous glint in your dark eyes, and the way he lies awake at night wishing he were lost in the wonderland of your curves.
Well, seven are about you. Of course one is about Jimin because he would undoubtedly cry if it wasn’t. He’d cried anyway when he heard it.
“You know,” he spits out through gritted teeth. “You know full-well what happened to the fucking mixtape.”
This whole time you’ve been working on dinner, adding chopped ingredients to the big pot on the stove. You cover it, now, turn the heat down, turn to face him. 
His face is all hard the way it gets sometimes. Closed-off. He doesn’t mean to do it, but it’s ended more than one discussion, leaving things unfinished and raw when you took it to mean you weren’t welcome to continue and try to bind the edges.
The question you never want to ask crystallizes in the front of your mind, razor sharp and icy. You try to melt it, willing the edges to soften and blur into something less deadly. 
Them or me?
You’ve been his secret for almost a year. Well hidden, buried, all but forgotten. He kept you all to himself for four months until the dream of a work transfer to Seoul became a real possibility, and then a carefully outlined plan that was only confided in Yoongi because Taehyung desperately needed advice on how to make the logistics work. Two hours later the guilt of not telling Jimin ate through, so he knew too. 
He’d called you crying, terrified that the world would find out before the two of you even had a chance to start something remotely close to a life together. You had done your best to reassure him that it was safe; you’d be discrete, he’d learn to segregate the two halves of his life, and those who already knew would keep it to themselves. 
Soon after, Seokjin found out from Jimin, who then also called you, drunk and sobbing, blubbering apology after apology. You strongly suspect Jungkook at least has an inkling, although Taehyung has withdrawn from him so much that you can’t be sure. You live in constant fear of either Hoseok or Namjoon finding out about you, knowing that the consequences would be devastating if word got out and deeply doubting their ability to keep secrets. Your relationship with Taehyung has been the only one that’s lasted this long; the rest of them have had the occasional fling that fizzled out fast, posing no real threat of upsetting the delicate balance of fame and fraternal bonds.
And so it’s like this: you go about your own life. You work, you keep the house in tip-top condition, you call your mom every Sunday. You decline your co-workers’ offers to set you up on dates. You’ve declined so many times now that the offers have tapered off, much to your relief. 
Taehyung goes about his own life, or what passes for it. He works and works and works, because at the end of the day it’s all work in his life. And then, every now and then, there’s a precious moment of make-believe. He comes over to your place, disappears from the world for a week, and your love creeps incrementally forward. The rest of the time he still sends you late-night texts the way he did when you were first together, an ocean apart. They’re often silly, always sweet, sometimes more than a little heartbreaking. 
The last one that made you cry was: I saw a little girl who looked like ours.
What he doesn’t tell you is that you break his heart sometimes too. 
I’m so proud of you. (I worry about you.)
I miss you. (We don’t spend enough time together.)
I’m thinking of you tonight. (Why aren’t you here?)
You search his face for the answer to the question you don’t want to ask, afraid as always of what you’ll find. 
“It’s just hair,” he says. “It’s not about the hair at all, is it?”
“I really don’t know. I want it to be. It’s easier if it is, right? If it’s just hair? But what if it’s more than that?”
“You knew what you were signing up for,” he sighs defeatedly. 
“Did you, though? Do you? Is it what you want?”
“Don’t make me think. Don’t make me do this right now. I don’t want to waste time like this.”
Your kitchen is small, but the space between the two of you feels so vast that you don’t understand how he crosses it as quickly as he does, closing the distance and taking you in his arms. He buries his face in your shoulder. 
“It’s all yours,” he mumbles.
You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, letting the long strands slide through and catch the light from the small window over the sink.
“In that case I’ll keep it,” you answer, not meaning anything about his hair. 
He turns his head and mumbles something into your neck. You can’t make out his words but feel it with your whole body. It rumbles through you, warm and deep, and you lean into the sound. 
“Me too,” you say. “Forever.” You twirl a tendril around your index finger and pull it taught — both a promise and a question. 
I have you. Can I have you?
You turn to kiss his forehead, nosing aside his bangs and brushing your lips softly against his skin. 
Do I have you?
“You know I love all of you, right? Even the dumb parts. Even the foolish parts. The ones you hide away.”
He nods, still leaning against you. 
“Is it time?” you ask. “Do you need an out?”
There’s always been plan A: wait, enjoy the good parts, tolerate the rest, plan, prepare.
You offer plan B: a hasty, unpleasant shortcut. One in which the flames of fame will burn bright and ugly for a while, and then maybe extinguish for good.
Neither one of you wants plan B, but knowing that it’s there is almost reassuring. 
“Maybe after the next comeback. Or the next tour. Just one more tour — end with a bang. I don’t want it to end in a whimper.”
“It wasn’t a whimper. It was a weird year. The weirdest. But look how much you did in spite of it!”
“Ugh,” he sighs, knowing you have a point but clearly considering disagreeing anyway. “It was empty. An empty year. Hollow.”
“Intolerably hollow?”
“No. Depends on what fills it, I guess.”
His arms around you are stronger than they were when you first met him in person a year ago, evidence of more disciplined hours in the gym. His jaw is sharper too, and his eyes sadder. 
“Fill it with something beautiful for me,” you say. “Make it worthwhile.”
You press another kiss to his forehead and he looks up at you through his eyelashes.
“Aein. I’m sorry you don’t like the mullet, but I do.” The teasing lilt is back in his voice, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 
“I could get used to it.” You give his overly-long hair a hard, purposeful tug. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really. Maybe cuddle first?”
“Ha. Like you won’t try to start something.” As if any ‘cuddle’ suggestion of his has ever not resulted in more.
He shrugs against you, not denying it. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
You really do want to, and smile at him in spite of yourself, then plant a kiss on the spot on his nose, which he scrunches at you. 
“Are you okay?” you ask. “Like, really okay? I worry about you.”
He doesn’t always answer right away when you ask the hard questions. Sometimes he tumbles the words around for a while, smoothing the rough edges, polishing. 
“I wish you wouldn’t worry about me. I know there’s a lot to worry about, but yeah, I’m okay. Can I make you a promise?” He stands up straight, earnest eyes meeting yours. 
“What promise?”
“I promise you can trust me...” He pauses, planning how to finish the sentence. “To tell you if I’m not okay.”
He holds out his pinky and you take it. While your finger is held tight in his, he adds: “And I need you to promise me something too.”
You wait for it. 
“Try to enjoy it while it lasts.”
It breaks your heart, knowing how hard it’s going to be to keep that promise. You’ll do it anyway.
“The soup — I should go stir it.”
He tightens his grip on your pinky, determined not to let you weasel out of it that easily.
“Promise me,” he urges you. “Please.”
You sigh, resigned. “I promise to try, Taehyung.”
“I’m serious about this. Need you to trust me.”
It’s rare that you see him this serious outside of the occasional stress-related meltdown. It’s a different kind of seriousness now, calm and steady. 
“Let’s enjoy it together. I promise.”
A grin spreads across his face as he pulls you into his arms again. “That’s my girl. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
“Taehyung! Ew!” You shove him lightly as you extract yourself from his hug. “The mullet is one thing — I can’t have you referencing country songs in my home.”
“Illegitimi non carborundum...”
“Okay, fair point, but still.”
“And I’m standing by it.”
He can’t stop smiling now, proud beyond belief that he got to trot out his favorite fake-Latin phrase, and it’s perfect. The way the world shrinks to nothing but the two of you in your kitchen, anchored by the crinkled corners of his eyes and your hands planted firmly on your hips.
“I should go finish dinner,” you say. It’s a question.
“Can’t it wait?” he asks. It’s an answer.
“Yeah, it can.” It’s a promise. 
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No matter how many times he’s been in your bedroom, he always hesitates at the door. There’s something about entering such a private space that feels a little sacrilegious.
“I hereby formally invite you in, you weirdo vampire,” you say with a laugh. 
Taehyung smiles in return, tugging off his shirt and draping it over the chair by your vanity. Somehow that’s become part of the script: through the doorway, shirt off immediately. The pants he’s wearing are loose and rest low on his hips, accentuating the soft, lean lines of his belly in ways that never get old. You want to drink him in. 
You smooth out the duvet and sit on the edge of your bed. He has that look in his eye — the one that means he might rush at you and tickle you until you’re weak and hiccupping, or he might ask you to do something unconventional. Last time it was a cock ring; the time before, ice. 
“I was thinking…” he begins, “what if…”
“Tae, no. Not this time. Just you.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything crazy, Vanilla Bean.”
Vanilla Bean? Your eyebrows shoot up at the teasing nickname. 
“Just going to ask if you could...” he continues, crossing the room and sitting next to you, hands on his thighs.
“Has it been so long that we’re going to be all awkward now?” you ask. “Did we forget how it works?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what?”
He takes a breath, organizing his words. “I know you hate it. A lot. The hair, I mean. And you think I look stupid. But…” He kind of drifts off, waiting for you to finish the thought for him.
“But you liked it when I did this, right?” You reach up to slide your hand into the mess of wavy hair at the back of his head, grasping it between your fingers, twisting.
He bites his lip.
“And you want me to do it again, don’t you?”
He nods, then breathes in sharply as the movement of his head makes your grip on his hair even tighter. “Straight to my dick.”
“Is it the pain?”
“Kind of. Maybe.” Another sharp breath as you trace the planes of his chest with your free hand, skimming over a nipple. “But also feeling like you’re holding me in place. A tether.”
You reach down to the button of his pants, flip it open as he unconsciously and oh-so-subtly spreads his legs apart. Another tug and he’s inching toward your hand, hips lifting off the bed. You pull your hand away and swing your leg over, straddling him and effectively pinning him to the bed.
“Tae,” you croon close to his ear, “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”
“Only because I have you too, Aein. But I wish you’d gotten undressed before hopping on.”
“Maybe I just want to make you feel good,” you say with a smile. “Or maybe I’m still not over the whole malicious mullet-growing and my shirt’s going to stay on.”
“Pants too?” He sticks out his lower lip in a ridiculous pleading pout. 
“You look like an emoji,” you tell him, then lean forward to capture his bottom lip between your teeth. 
While he kisses you hungrily you’re conscious of his tiny thrusts, barely more than rocking, surely not enough friction in the tight space between your body and his. 
“Did you realize you’re doing that?”
His cheeks flush a little darker, and you return one hand to the back of his head and give his hair another tug. This time a whisper of a moan slips past his lips. 
You want to wind him up good. It’s been so long and you almost hate to make him wait a second longer than necessary, but he’s so sweet like this that you want to make it last. 
It takes a little effort, but you manage to work a hand in between the two of you and shimmy down his zipper so that you can reach in and wrap your hand around his length outside his boxers. 
“Fuck,” he says inelegantly, rutting against your cupped hand. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
You’re much more composed than he is, and there’s a laugh in your voice when you ask: “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Promise — fuck — pinky swear. Aegiya, why are you still dressed?”
“Should I stop and get undressed?”
“I — fuck.” He’s horror struck by the choice, both options delightful and both horrible. You offer a better option. 
“Lemme watch you while I do. Pants off.”
You hop off his lap as quickly as you can without falling over and watch him pull the rest of his clothing off with desperate urgency. His cock is red and angry-looking already and you’re halfway tempted to finish him off fast with your mouth and then make him take his time with you. 
“Go ahead,” you urge, knowing he won’t push himself too close. His eyes drift closed as his long, elegant fingers wrap around his cock, thumb swiping through the bead of pre-cum gathered at the tip and spreading it. He takes it slow, pushing up into his fist, rotating his hand, sliding down the shaft at a snail’s pace.
“Now you,” he reminds you, opening lust-blown eyes to look at you directly.
Other times you might feel self-conscious under his candid gaze, awkward as he watches you strip. Now, though, you’re willing to make a show of it, slow and tantalizing. His mouth falls slack when you unbutton your shirt, eyes lingering on the satin cups of your bra and the lines of ink above. This part of you is usually hidden, a secret shared between the two of you. He reaches out for you with the hand not currently wrapped tight around his dick.
“Not yet,” you say. You take your time letting your shirt drop from your arms, followed by your bra. As always, his eyes always go wide at the sight of your breasts before him. On impulse, you cup them in your own hands, squeezing gently, making a show of their delicious abundance. You pinch your nipples until they’re stiff and aching, and watch as he unconsciously licks his lips, longing for a taste.
“Fuck me,” he says. It’s a prayer.
“I will. Eventually.”
He groans and lets go, moves his hand down to cup his balls. “Please. Want you so bad.”
That’s all the prompting it takes for you to finish undressing and reclaim your seat, straddling his thighs. You bring a hand to his jaw and lean in for a kiss, eager to resume where you left off previously. While your kiss deepens, your tongue slipping between his lips to find his, he reaches between your legs and slides two fingers along the folds of your cunt, indirect and teasing.
“Do it again,” he begs you.
You don’t want to deny him anything. Winding his long hair around your fingers and pulling it tight in your fist, you lean against him as he finds the center of your pleasure, touching lightly at first, then pressing hard as you grind down. He lets you use him, taking what you need, giving you what you demand as you buck against his hand. His other hand is on your hip, holding tight as if he’ll float away if you’re not tethered together.
It’s been weeks too long. The building pleasure gets to be too much, devastating and desperate, bringing you close to the edge. You’d thought for a moment that you wanted him begging and wild, but now all you want is him.
“Tae-tae,” you say. “Lie back.”
His eyes are dark and blown when he does, leaning back against the pillows with his hands on your hips, guiding you.
When you lower yourself down on his cock, he closes his eyes again, overwhelmed. You can’t take all of it right away, so you brace yourself with your arms, hands planted by his shoulders, and let him fuck into you shallowly from below.
“Fuck,” he moans again, needier and less restrained than before. “Aegiya, you’re so wet for me... Feel so good. So fucking good. I just wanna live here forever…” 
You scramble to find his hands, holding tight, pinning them to the bed on either side of his head. It changes the angle, brings you face to face so you can kiss him as he pistons desperately into you, strokes quickly becoming fast and sloppy as he approaches his peak. You grind against him, his pelvis meeting your clit with every stroke, driving you to your own peak faster than you thought possible.
His name on your lips as waves of pleasure rip through you propels him to the edge and he comes, buried in you, with a final drawn-out groan as your walls clench and flutter around him.
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You slowly ease off of him and go to the bathroom to quickly pee and clean up. While you’re washing your hands, you hear the rustle of blankets and hope he hasn’t gotten up to go stand naked in your kitchen and eat soup directly out of the pot.
He hasn’t. He’s just straightened them out and is lying on the bed, arms spread in invitation.
“You know,” you say, lying back down (soup be damned) and rolling into his waiting arms, “it’s okay if sometimes they do get you down.”
“The bastards.”
“Ah. The general ‘they’. They don’t though.”
You hum contemplatively, pushing your own sweat-damp hair away from your face.
“I mean, it’s just for show. Temporary. Not like this.” He hugs you a little closer, indicating this means you.
“I can’t tell if you’re talking about your career or your mullet.”
“That’s okay with me.”
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➻ Q&A with some additional story tidbits
211 notes · View notes
casuallyimagining · 9 months ago
Exiled (Teaser)
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Min Yoongi x gender neutral reader
Summary: After three years of being on the run and the world’s shittiest luck, Yoongi comes across a familiar face. You. The only problem? Everything is trying to kill him including, he assumes, you.
Genre: Zombie AU, Magic AU, Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 647/6,385
Rating: M
Warnings (teaser): main character injury (non-life threatening)
Notes: Thanks to @justasparkwritings, @joheunsaram, @sugasbabiie​, and @unoriginal-username15432​ for beta reading.
Full fic posting 11/27/21
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“Shit,” Yoongi cursed, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he poured water over the cut on his hand. It was a deep gash, not deep enough that he could see the bones, but definitely deep enough that he should probably get stitches. But he was bad with pain and even worse at using his left hand for things, and there was no way in hell he had the balls to stitch himself up.
It wouldn’t turn out anyway, even if he could use his dominant hand and even if he was great with handling pain. His hands were shaking. Even now, as he twisted the cap back on the bottle of water, he could see the liquid sloshing around inside ever so slightly from the tremble he had developed.
Running for your life and a year of rationing meals would do that to a person, he suspected.
He had been stupid for packing light. He had left in a hurry, and he had assumed that a lighter pack would be better than a laden one. And maybe he was right. But right now, all he could think of was the jarred kimchi and the almost full box of rice he had left in his pantry.
Yoongi had tried searching the stores in the small towns he came across as he traveled north--he had searched three already this week, and it was only Tuesday--but all he had gotten was a single unopened bottle of water, a semi-clean t-shirt, and a cut on his hand. Oh, and possibly a mild concussion from when the Stalker had broken through the roof and landed on him.
He ripped the t-shirt into strips, stuffing the clean ones into his backpack and leaving the not-so-clean ones on the ground to leave behind. He would probably regret that later--he seemed to regret a lot for not even being 30 years old--but he just didn’t have the space or the desire to carry them.
Groaning, he wrapped two of the strips around his hand and secured them tightly. Honestly, it was probably too tight, but he had to get the bleeding to stop somehow. If only that Stalker hadn’t had a dagger. He could have set it on fire easily, or electrocuted it no problem. But it had surprised him by pulling that damn dagger out of nowhere and managed to get a pot-shot in on him. Now he would have the scar to remind him that he had possibly the worst luck on the planet.
He let himself fall backwards with a heavy sigh. The grass in this part of the town had grown up higher than his waist. There was no way they could find him here. Stalkers were dumb as hell, and the Scouts relied on tracking sound and movement to find their prey, so as long as he stayed perfectly still and quiet, he was safe for the moment.
Or, at least, as safe as he could be.
Yoongi allowed himself only a second of rest before standing up with a slight groan and dusting himself off before shouldering his pack. He would have to get going if he wanted to find somewhere safe to camp for the night. Otherwise, he’d have to spend the night in a tree. Again.
He had spotted a small hospital in a nice neighborhood when he came into town. Maybe if he could find it again, he could search the hospital for some decent medical supplies. Or, at least, something better than a bottle of water and the least dirty parts of an old shirt.
Getting back to that neighborhood took longer than anticipated. There was a group of Stalkers milling around a few of the main roads, and rather than getting into a fight he was woefully unprepared for, he decided to carefully skirt around them. He chose a house at random and hunkered down for the night.
Yoongi never thought he would be so happy to finally come across a town, even if it was mostly ruins. But after two weeks of slowly making his way along the broken highways, it was surprisingly comforting to be among buildings again. It was nice to be able to fall asleep with four walls protecting him from the elements.
The village he grew up in--right along the west coast of the country--was one of the lucky ones. When the Calamity struck a hundred years ago, they’d only had a few majji in town. The militia that had sprung up to defend the town had worked quickly, and there had only been minor destruction left in their wake.
Not every city had been so lucky.
Most cities, at least the ones Yoongi had experienced, looked as though the majji had razed them to the ground when they turned. In the decades following the Calamity, the Stalkers and Scouts had lost most of their magic. But back when it first happened, back when they were all just newly turned majji, they’d still had all their powers.
Yoongi had passed through so many towns burned beyond recognition. One, a city he’d stumbled upon shortly after he’d set out, was so far gone, he could barely tell it had been there at all.
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As always, your feedback is appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be on the taglist for when this full fic comes out.
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oftenderweapons · a year ago
Illicit Affairs | Jungkook
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Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)
Wordcount: 10k
Genre: Smut, fluff, angst; dating!AU, idol!JK
Rating: strictly 18+
Synopsis: Candy and Jungkook are getting to know each other, and though they have met only recently, their connection is already undoubtable and true. The comfort they find in each other is undeniable and soon every excuse to hang out is turned into a chance to bicker and blush together. What happens when he needs a new microwave and you suggest to buy instant ramen to test it out?
Trigger warnings: Candy and Jk are having sex together for the first time so they’re juggling with getting to know each other physically, emotionally and also dealing with their own mindpsace. Anxious switch!JK, switch!reader, Safe sex (condom), lots of making out, grinding, dry humping, hickeys and biting, lots of breast action, one single spank, masturbation (female receiving) overstimulation (female receiving), discussion of past relationship (stalking, blackmailing, general toxicity), premature ejaculation (?), oral sex (male receiving), hair grabbing, very light facefucking.
A/N: This took a long time haha! It’s a bit chaotic, and I’m not sure if it’ll sate all the JKxCandy requests in my inbox. I’ll still come around to fill those, as soon as I’m not dealing with ten thousand things at the same time hehe. Thank you for staying with me for so long. It is truly rewarding to receive asks about the characters and how they would behave in certain situations. I really like seeing how the readers interact with the characters! It’s so entertaining.
Special thanks to Louise from @justasparkwritings for betareading in such a heartwarming, detailed and invested way. Working with you was a delight 🥰
Anyway, lemme link my masterlist and remind you that PART ONE OF LAVENDER HONEY IS COMING ON THE 25TH!!!!!!!!! Check out the teaser here!
Also, a very mellow, tender music companion can be found here.
Enjoy 💜✨
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The day was rainy and foggy, the air was damp and polluted, still, it felt lovely to you — or at least comfortable.
Jeongguk walked at your side, his whole figure so domestic you could almost forget about the bodyguard following the two of you from a distance. Jeongguk looked very un-Jeonggukish — a plain white polo under a white hoodie, fitted trousers and a pair of very non-chunky black All-Stars at his feet.
You could only imagine the kind of swooning and crying that would happen if any of his fans could see him being perfect boyfriend material, carrying the box of a brand new microwave to substitute his old one. Thankfully, he was wearing a mask and a cap, so no screaming and running would happen, especially since he was doing everything he could to stay on the low.
His tattoos were also half hidden with sweater paws and a band aid.
You studied his profile, the thickness of his arms and the outline of his long legs as they appeared from the hem of the sweater.
He’s a wildly attractive man with a heart of gold, but unfortunately, in your experience such features have never granted great things coming — mostly a heartbreak and an inferiority complex on your behalf.
It’s not like you were in love with Jeon Jeongguk. You were attracted, yes. Fond. Endeared. All of that, across the board.
Now, about being in love — well, that’s a big concept. You can’t say that after a casual encounter and two dates. Sure, fate seemed to be especially interested in toying around with the two of you, making your paths cross over and over. You had worked with his brother — of course, without knowing or expecting any funny connection. You weren’t one of those desperate women ready to chase him and play dirty to get to know him. You had stumbled into him.
Actually he had stumbled into you. And since then it was like your shoelaces and his had been tied together.
Now here he was, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you underneath the face mask. “Are you tired?”
You shook your head and smiled yourself. You fixed your beanie atop your head, so self-conscious he smiled even harder.
Jeongguk was still learning about how you made him feel, but what he had learnt so far was that around you he felt shy, excited, enthusiastic, safe and adult.
Adult was the strangest of them all. His first relationship had been a tug-o-war with a woman (actually an overgrown girl) so juvenile he could barely understand what had made him so headstrong on making things work, even after she disrespected his job, put him in danger and blackmailed him about outing their relationship to the press once he told her things wouldn’t work anymore.
He was barely stressed when you were around, like you carried peace with you whenever you appeared. He liked feeling comfortable around you, but also feeling shy when your eyes became too inquisitive and mischievous. You made him giddy when you were happy, you made him tense when you were tired and he felt like he couldn’t find a way to help you, and you made him feel at ease when your eyes shone gently, your voice spoke softly and unrushedly. It was like your aura could permeate him and spread within him, like a water drop being mixed with colour.
That is the right way to put it, he thought. You coloured him.
“How was your day?” he asked, holding the box with one arm as his other hand searched for yours, subconsciously hiding his tattoos against your palm. You looked at him and smiled, covering his knuckles with your grasp. He looked relieved.
“It was okay. I’m glad we finished the project early.”
“You didn’t go out to celebrate with your colleagues?” he asked, surprised.
You shook your head gingerly. “I wanted to spend time with you. You’ll be very busy soon.”
He nodded and grinned. He wished he could show you how brightly you had made him smile. “Would you like to stop by my place, put the microwave down and go for dinner?” His request was warm and genuine. He wished he could spend the whole weekend with you — he needed you to make him feel good, to ease his mind and watch films with him and be his beta player on that new Super Mario game he bought specifically because it features a soft assistant that can be perfect for kids or beginners.
“Are you sure you want to go out?” You grimaced as you looked at the big windows, currently showing that the rain hadn’t yet stopped and it would be a very lame night, smog and dampness and crowded alleys feeling twice as bad as usual.
Plus the both of you preferred quieter environments: there was no use in going out when he could keep you safe next to him, get you snacks and talk until it was too late to keep you at his place without things turning too difficult for him.
It was your third date, so maybe…
He stopped himself. He couldn’t allow himself a hard on at that moment.
Microwave paid, you and him comfortably sat in the backseat, you laced your pinkie with his. “Shall we get some ramen? To test the microwave?” he asked, hoping the request didn’t sound too suggestive.
“Let’s stop at a minimarket then,” you replied, biting your lip as you tried to keep yourself grounded. It’s literal ramen. Very literal one.
Steadying yourself, you waited for the bodyguard-turned-driver to find a parking spot and let the two of you get out of the car.
“I should go by myself. You shouldn’t be seen in public —”
“I need snacks. And we could have Eunwo with us. A group of three, unsuspicious. I will pay for your snacks, hyung!” Jeongguk exclaimed, the other man laughing.
“See, let’s go.”
⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ | ⁂ 
Getting the microwave installed was ridiculously easy, and your wish to stay indoors had dramatically increased — just like the bad weather — by the time the two of you were done.
Jeongguk stared out of the window, watching the sky crash with a downpour. “Are you sure you want to stay in? I mean, I don’t want to send you home but I don’t want you to get bored here with me.”
You smiled and shook your head, pulling yourself up so you could sit on the counter. “I can’t see myself getting bored with you.”
Jeongguk smiled and blushed so violently you wanted to press your cold palms against his face. You found it endearing whenever he blushed and shivered afterwards, trying to send away the goosebumps you always caused him.
“Shall we eat ramen?”
Jeongguk’s eyes zoned out for a second. He stared at you. Blinked. Looked outside the window.
“Get the boxes, you fool!” You chuckled, shaking your head while he started functioning again. Flustered, he placed the bag on the counter, quickly getting some water.
“I mean… Unless…” You bit your lip nervously as you looked at him.
His ears were deep red, but he showed no apparent reaction. He continued with his task, apparently deep in thought before he placed the two cups in the microwave and checked timer and intensity.
For a second you asked yourself whether he had heard or not, the device buzzing quietly on the opposite side of the kitchen.
Jeongguk waited a step away from you, staring at the floor. Had you upset him? Maybe you had said something you shouldn’t have.
Once the microwave dinged, you batted your eyelashes quickly, awakened from your meditation.
Jeongguk took a step, with determination and braveness he couldn’t believe he had in himself.
“I need glasses,” he said, cupping the back of your head to protect it just as he stood almost between your legs, reaching for the cabinet behind you.
Your exhale was almost violent, your hand landing on his waist as you tried to steady yourself. Your head was spinning. “Guk...”
He looked down, his eyes meeting yours. “Say it again.”
“Guk,” you whispered.
“Unless?” he teased, caressing the crown of your head. His face was infinitely closer now, maybe because your fingers were pressed against his nape, subtly pulling him lower.
“Unless you want me?” You looked at his lips. You loved the mole on his chin. You had wanted to kiss it since your first date.
“I think I do.”
You nodded, your fingers sliding under the edge of his t-shirt.
“I’m going to kiss you, ____,” he warned you.
“Please do.”
He shivered and laid his lips against yours, simply pressing them there, pushing them gently against your own, before disclosing them slightly with a barely-there click. He moved back an inch to look at your face and check in on you.
Your eyes were closed, your cheeks soft and warm under his palms, your lips inviting and thicker now that blood was rushing to them. Just as he realised he wanted to stare at you some more, your eyelids lifted gently. Looking at his lips, you stretched forward, laying a peck on his mole before breathing out and sucking his lower lip into your mouth.
His growl was inhuman once he felt the warmth of your mouth on his tender skin. His hand went to the back of your head, pulling you closer while his other palm landed against the small of your back, your legs open so he could slot his hips between them, his pelvis meeting yours eagerly.
“Dammit. You’re candy,” he moaned, his mouth tracing your jaw.
You nodded and stretched your neck for him, offering him your throat. He bit instantly, not even giving you time to think about it, causing you to moan and press your crotch against anything that could dull the edge of pleasure.
He forced himself to think. He couldn’t.
He picked you up, “Bedroom?”
“Yes. Quick. I’m heavy.”
He shook his head. “I’ll work out more. Feels too good.” He strode to his room, hissing as his shins hit the frame of the bed, but too eager to care, placing you down on the edge of the it.
“Did that hurt?” you asked, ready to fuss over him.
He shook his head curtly. “Listen, I don’t care about how far we go, okay? We can stop—”
“Let’s play it by ear, mh?” you cooed, cupping his cheek as he kneeled in front of you.
He nuzzled his cheek against your palm. “Let’s do that. I— I really don’t know much about this.”
“We’ll learn as we go, babe,” both your hands found his as you invited him to join you in bed. “Would you like to lay down?”
Bobbing his head gingerly, he climbed on the mattress, his back against the sheets, waiting for you to make your move and claim your position.
You studied him before you decided to crawl and straddle his lap. “Do you like it like this?”
He grinned, his hands wrapping around your waist, trying to get you to lay on him. “Yeah.”
You smiled back and lowered your body, touching your lips with his. “I’m okay with anything, so if you’d like to shift around, just push me on my back or whatever, okay?”
Again he nodded, stretching his neck so he could reach for you. “Kiss me, please.”
You followed his request, teasing his lower lip with the tip of your tongue and making him frown as he tried to chase after you. “You’re like a kid chasing a candy, aren’t you?”
“Just kiss me, you tease!” He chuckled as he grabbed your face and pushed his open mouth against yours, his tongue making its way between your teeth, against your palate, caressing yours lewdly, slippery flesh against slippery flesh.
Your hips ground against his naturally, his palms lowering to grab your ass and lead you through the motion.
His own hips shyly pushing up from below caused your blood to boil, your skin getting flustered with the way your body temperature was increasing. “Keep moving on me,” he huffed out, his right hand leaving your hip to climb up, teasing the hem of your sweater. “Can I?” he asked, waiting at the threshold of the naked skin below.
“I can take it off if you’d like,” you whispered, kissing the side of his neck.
“God, yes.”
The sweater was gone in a second, leaving your chest bare except for a bra.
His focus went to your breasts immediately. “Oh.”
You smirked and laid your hand on his, leading it to your left mound, making his fingers grab onto it. “You can squeeze it.”
He nodded and closed his eyes, feeling the texture. You were glad your bra was a light lace number. You could feel him closer, harder, better.
He stared at your expression as he started massaging the flesh, gripping it energetically and making you frown and whimper. He stopped immediately. “Too hard?”
You shook your head and giggled. “Just perfect, Guk. It’s perfect when it hurts just a little— Just like that, uh...” Your eyes rolled back and your eyelids shut. “Just fine, Cookie. Damn perfect, baby.”
He grinned and shoved his hips harder against you. “You like it if it hurts?”
You hummed, too busy finding the perfect angle to meet his thrusts. “Kinda.”
Experimenting, he felt for your nipple pushing against the fabric before pinching it between thumb and forefinger, making you whimper and close your eyes, your jaw hanging open before you tumbled forward, your face hiding in the crook of his neck, a weak purr leaving your throat.
“Harder?” he asked, his free hand helping you grind against his thigh, gripping your asscheek, squeezing it. “Do you need it to hurt more? Better?”
You were far too gone to actually formulate sentences, no matter how small. The feel of his cock hardening, lengthening against your core was far too intense. You could feel it twitch and stretch, pressed against the zipper.
“Candy,” he called for your attention.
You gave a small moan that meant both pleasure and acquiescence.
Deliberately, attentively, he pushed the cup of your bra down, studying the tender, thin skin of your breast before he lolled his tongue out and managed to lick your nipple with the very tip of his tongue.
“Fuuuck, Guk, please, God… Just do me. I wanna cum. I— please. Make me feel good, Koo.”
He liked people begging him. That much he knew already. But listening to your pleas? Somehow it hit so much deeper. Maybe it was because you always looked so independent and self-sufficient that feeling needed by you turned him on so wildly and inexplicably.
“Come on, keep riding me, Candy. Show me how sweet you are.”
You wailed and huffed out, brows knit together, your hips picking up their pace as he guided them. “Keep going, babe. Do it for me.”
You hid into his neck before regaining the previous position, taking his wrist in your grasp and pushing his hand to your breast.
Jeongguk didn't make you beg for it, immediately giving you the tightest squeezes he could offer, your mouth offering a thousand stutters of his name before bliss seized you and dragged your mind far away from your body.
In a corner of your brain you could feel Jeongguk pressing kisses to your face, gentle pecks, soft stamps of adoration against your tender skin.
He was so amused by you. He couldn't stop looking especially as your arm reached the clasp of your bra and you undid it, removing the garment entirely.
“I want to take off your shirt,” you said, laying on his chest.
Jeongguk tensed. “I… ”
You startled and moved back, covering your chest with your arms. “Sorry. I went too fast! I'll—”
He pouted as you turned and started looking for the discarded item.
“I'm so, so sorry,” you went on, embarrassed head to toe. “It's… oh god. Uhm…”
Lust. That's what had happened, you told yourself. You hadn't had some quality time in a while and it had been ages since you last had sex with a man you were attracted to.
Behind you, Jeongguk only watched, trying to understand what was happening. Had he done something wrong? Had he scared you off? Why were you running? Did you regret what you had done? Already? “Candy? What's happening? Why…? No!” He exclaimed as he saw you trying to put your bra back on.
You turned at his objection, only spotting a puppy eyed, sad Jeongguk — the most adorable, undeniable one — sitting on the bed, shirt off, chest gloriously out.
“Why do you want to leave?” he mumbled.
You blinked in confusion. “I thought I had…  pushed a button. You tensed!”
He frowned and shook his head. “I… don't think so?”
“Yes you did! I asked you to take off your shirt and you tensed!” You repeated, trying to get through to him.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh? That was just because you flashed me your — uhm — breasts?”
You cackled nervously. “Because you saw my tits.”
He blushed. “Yes. That.”
“My tits made you tense,” you teased.
He clicked his tongue and sat on the edge of the bed. “No. They make me hard. Uncomfortably so.”
You could see it. You felt it earlier.
“You like my tits.” You kept using the word, loving how he became redder and redder each time.
“They're a great asset,” he conceded.
You dropped the bra, this time for real.
His gaze shifted down in a nanosecond. “I like your ass too, but your tits are better,” he spoke, hypnotised, slightly stuttering, mouth dry.
“Do you want me to help with your little situation over here?” you asked, kneeling so you were at the same eye level and your hand could rest delicately on his crotch.
“I'm not even insulted you called it little.”
“It's the power of the breasts.”
He nodded and grinned. “You used them to sedate me. How unfair.”
“Next step is feeding them to you as a pacifier.”
He looked back into your eyes, amused and grateful. “You mean I could suck them?”
“Precisely, baby.”
He hummed and threw his head back in victory. “Come here, please,” he asked you gently, gripping your hips and pulling you closer before nudging his nose against your belly. The bed was too low for the two of you to reach matching heights. You could either kneel or straddle him.
He chose for you, making you place your knees on each side of him, on the mattress. “Does that feel alright for you?” he asked, eyes glittering as he looked up at you.
“Yeah,” you replied, short of breath.
With both hands spread on your ass, he made your crotch adhere to his before nudging your left nipple with his lips, teasing it softly before sucking it into his mouth.
The moan you emitted made his hips jut upwards, a low grunt echoing in the room as he reckoned he needed to take his trousers off, still, having your warm torso against his was too much of a revelation for him to part from your hot skin.
Tentatively you let your hands land on his rounded pecs, your thumbs finding the small nipples and covering them with the pad of your fingers, drawing small circles until you felt his cock undoubtedly twitch below your core.
“Guk. Can I undress you?” You huffed out quickly, receiving a nod in reply.
“I need you to say it,” you told him. If he wanted you to do anything, he would have to ask.
He simply looked up at you, his eyes dark and wide as he stared, slowly, teasingly baring his teeth before sinking them on your skin, making you arch your spine and throw your head back, a gasp preceding a long hum you tried to suppress.
Jeongguk led your hands to his zipper, trying to activate your muscle memory and get you to absentmindedly, wordlessly free him.
You almost fell for it before gripping his wrists. “I said. I need you to say it.”
He released your breast, immediately noticing it was an angry purple.
He studied the colour before meeting your glance. He made you wait for it.
Then wait some more.
He disclosed his lips as he stretched to yours, just as you leaned back — no way you would reward him without proper obedience on his behalf.
“Candy,” he whispered, lacing his fingers with yours.
“Say it, Guk.”
You almost fell for it — for the pliant look on his face, the imploring gleam in his eyes.
Jeongguk was sure he was going to give you everything you wanted; however, he was sure that what you wanted was far from what you were asking.
In a nanosecond he pulled your hands over your head and flipped you with a twist of his hips, pinning you to the bed.
Your reaction was immediate, surprise and outrage colouring your face. “Jeongguk.”
“Quick. Undress me,” he murmured, diving for your neck, leaving a path of kisses all the way to your sternum. “You feel so good.” And as proof, he drove his crotch against yours, stealing a whine from your lips. “I don’t wanna lose time talking.”
You didn’t want to lose time either. You scratched his hips with your nails as you rushed to his waist, undoing his fly in record time, using your legs and knees and feet to push his trousers down once he pinned your wrists again, just after you were done with the zipper.
“Are we okay if I hold your hands down?” he mused, panting, his long hair falling on his face.
You nodded and finally made him cooperate, his own ankles unhooking the final inches of fabric from his calves.
You didn’t complain when he stood up, the sight of his white boxers more than appreciated: the cotton seemed to fit him like a second skin, already letting you imagine what was waiting for you underneath the fabric. Eagerly waiting. Impatiently.
You didn’t know what to look at: his thick, toned thighs, the way his boxers hung low, exposing the indentations at his hips, the faint outline of his abs, the way the veins of his forearms were swollen with blood pressure, the way his chest inflated and deflated regularly, shallowly and quickly. Or the way it blushed, matching the colour of his cheeks.
As Jeongguk stared at you, he panicked for a second. His instinct told him to unbutton your jeans and tug them off quickly, forcefully. His mind told him he was rushing, tumbling downhill at breakneck speed.
You were both looking at each other like deers caught in the headlights, as if you had suddenly been unpossessed by lascivious spirits.
“Guk,” you called, noticing his hesitation.
He blinked a few times, confused. “Are you alright?”
You giggled and nodded. “Are you?”
His eyes were empty as he mirrored your nod. “I was just thinking maybe I was too harsh?”
You kneeled on the bed, tall just enough for your forehead to land on his breastbone. You linked your hands with his. “You were perfect.” You kissed his stomach. “But we can slow down if you need to.”
“So it’s okay if I lose control a little?” he questioned, staring at your joined hands. You shook your head yes and kissed him some more.
“Absolutely, one hundred percent okay.” You chuckled. “I want to see the way you do it.”
He smiled. You were perfect. Every inch of you, head to toe perfect. “And it’s okay if it hurts a little?”
“Even more than a little, if that’s the way you like it.” Your eyes joined his and your smirks matched exactly. “I promise I’ll tell you if I’m not okay with anything.”
He didn’t even know where to start. There were so many things he wanted to try, so many things he hadn’t been yet allowed to do with his previous — and only — girl. He could ask for anything.
“Take off your jeans.”
You puckered your lips in a mischievous expression and laid back, belly up, arching your hips as you pushed your jeans down. You were grateful that your over-conscious self had decided to wear matching underwear, though there was no way for him to notice, your bra a distant memory in his brain.
You threw your jeans at him, and he readily caught them and folded them with his eyes still focused on you.
“On all fours, ass up,” he said before he started to collect the clothes scattered around the bed. “Quick.”
You smiled and followed his instruction.
But you did not resist temptation.
As you watched his body move around the room, the muscles of his back flashing and stretching and softening as he collected the garments on the floor, your treacherous hand slid between your breasts, against your stomach, reaching your core — actually, the drenched satin of your panties.
Jeongguk went about his chore mindlessly, completely unaware of your predicament, noticing it only when he decided he’d much rather fold your and his clothes while getting a good view of your ass.
His initial reaction was blushing. His whole face blushed, his ears too; he could feel his chest ignite with excitement. He was tempted to say something before he decided not to, completing his task and putting the pile of clothes on the drawer, hovering over you before letting his palm smack your ass. “Bad girl.”
A shiver emanated from your spine, reaching every part of your body.
He didn’t know how he could torture you: half of him wanted you to keep going, to watch you come undone in ways his ex never had. Another part of him wanted to screw the shyness and force you to watch him while he touched himself.
Was he ready to let you see him that vulnerable?
He decided that unfortunately no, he wasn’t. But maybe if this happened again… For a few months… Maybe then he would…
“Come on. Keep going,” he murmured, while your eyes met, your face turned to the side so you could see him.
Lazily, you crawled to the middle of the bed, getting rid of your panties.
He was mesmerised, so scared that anything would break the spell — maybe the spank had.
“Candy? We good?” He whispered, suddenly feeling insecure.
“I'm all good, baby. What do you want me to do? Still want me on all fours?”
His eyes darted all over the place as he nervously tried to realise what he wanted. “I don't know,” he blushed and chuckled.
You smiled, entirely smitten. “Come here,” you spoke gently.
Jeongguk kneeled on the bed and made his way to you, your arm stretched out so he could lay in your embrace. Once he settled in, you rolled on your side, throwing your leg over his hip, your fingertips toying with the tips of his hair.
He skimmed your lips with his, his hand tracing all the expanse of skin from your ass to your knee. “Did it hurt too much?”
You tutted as you caressed his back, staring at him. He looked so beautiful.
And the more you stared, the more he smiled, the pinker his cheeks got. Finally, he averted his gaze, making you chuckle.
“Are you shy, Cookie?” You teased with a smirk.
He hid his face in your neck.
Somehow he was, and he didn't know why or how. It was just… too hard to look at you. He just closed his eyes and inhaled your scent. His right hand, now free to roam all over your skin, found your breast, squeezing it, rubbing small circles on your nipple before letting it move down, across your stomach, lingering on your tummy before he kissed your neck, nibbling it.
“Please,” you whispered, feeling the pads of his fingers reach the tender, sensitive skin of your mound.
“So soft,” he cooed, nuzzling his face against your breasts. Absentmindedly, he cupped your vulva, pressing the palm tight against your labia, making your arousal grow gradually but intensely. “Sorry I bruised them.”
You shook your head. “Keep going.”
He moaned and used his free arm on your back to press your front tighter to him. He looked up at you as one finger found the center of your slit and started rubbing back and forth, the pad teasing your entrance while the ball of his finger touched your clit. His other digits pressed to your labia in a way that gathered arousal there too.
You couldn't resist emitting a soft cry as he tentatively tightened his jaw around your nipple, the half-intended bite making him study your face for confirmation, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper until your furrowed brow made him doubt your pleasure.
He was ready to part from you once he heard your whimper, but your hand on his nape stopped him, your head bobbing as you gave that silent command. 'Keep going'.
Just like that, he let his middle finger dip inside you, wetness oozing out and accompanying his digit inside, your inner muscles constricting him immediately.
He let the bite turn into a gentle sucking motion, skin slipping out of his mouth until all he was sucking on was your areola, swollen and flushed. He studied the flesh as it stretched, tugging it with his teeth before releasing it with a small bounce of your mound.
“So tight,” he murmured. “Does it feel good?”
You nodded. It felt too good. Absolutely damned and divine. “But I want you.” You bent closer to his ear, whispering out of nerves and insecurity. Maybe you were rushing but, “I want your dick inside me.”
Jeongguk breathed in slowly and deeply. “How do you want to do it?”
You frowned in confusion before losing focus entirely, his finger massaging your g-spot too perfectly. “Hold on— No, I mean— Yeah…”
He smiled as he realised your hold on was exclusively due to the fact he was making your thoughts too fuzzy to form sentences. “Like this?” He spoke sweetly, kissing your lip as your mouth opened with a gasp, your hips starting to swivel so forcefully that he had to use his other arm to hold you still enough not to lose the spot.
“Like that, Guk… Just like…” Silence and breathlessness stopped your words entirely, your brain jump-starting from the Big Bang of sensations he was putting you through.
He studied every single feeling flashing across your lineaments, the fingers inside you becoming two, and then three as he refused to let your pleasure fade.
You gripped his ass, too lost and confused to understand his intentions, your orgasm so complex and intense that it got too difficult to carry on. “Guk… I— Keep going.” Your body fought him, but you needed him to know you needed him not to stop. “Trust me, keep going,” you told him again, his eyes staring deep into yours as he gave you what you asked, no matter your nails leaving indentations on his glutes, your pained, rough expression, your body thrashing against him.
He trusted your words, making your spine arch, your breasts pressing beautifully against his face before he sucked a mouthful past his lips, sucking and then biting, releasing it to lap at the mark.
You were in heaven, far from mortal life, from the city, from the storm outside, from any sort of pleasure you had experienced before.
Jeongguk called your name, checking in on you.
You nodded, eyes closed, face searching for the crook of his neck. The dim light coming from the window still managed to hurt your eyes.
“Inside...” you begged, still breathless, making him chuckle.
“Uh uh. I need you back to planet earth,” he spoke so delicately, giggling at the way your body still trembled with the aftershocks of bliss. “Are you cold?”
You simply snuggled closer to him, trying to steal more of his body heat.
“Let’s get under the covers, baby,” he whispered, just as you shook your head.
“I want to see you,” you said with a pout, finally opening your eyes and connecting your gaze with his.
“But you’re freezing,” he objected, just as he removed his fingers from inside you, causing you to whimper and frown deeper. “Okay, I get it.” He blinked and grinned. “Could you please roll on your back?”
You did so, trying not to shiver too badly; not that you could notice, though — he also laid on his back, arching his hips up to untuck his boxers and slide them off, using them to clean his fingers before letting them land at his side of the bed.
You couldn’t not stare. He was gloriously, fully naked. Head to toe. Well, head to perfectly curved cock to toe. “I’m gonna suck you,” you announced, sitting up too quickly, your head spinning violently as you tried to sit on top of him, only for him to pin you back down.
“No,” he said curtly, pinning your hands above your head, taking advantage of your spread legs to settle right between them. “You said inside.” He kissed your lips innocently, so gingerly you couldn’t quite put that together with the way his body was dominating yours. “I’m gonna give you what you asked for.”
You tried to arch your hips up, thrashing your limbs, trying to get rid of his hold. “Please. I changed my mind.”
“Guk?” You tried to wear your sweetest look, calming down just enough to convince him to let you take control. “Come on…”
“I said no,” he replied calmly.
“I’ll blow you like no one has ever,” you promised him, giving him a playful pout. “Don’t you want to feel my mouth?”
He tutted.
You rolled your eyes and lost your feisty temper.
Jeongguk was confused. Did you really want to give him head? Did you want something in return? Why would you give him head? “Why do you… I mean. What do you… Are you really angry that I’m not letting you…?”
You cocked your head to the side. “Jeongguk.”
He sat up and let go of you, kneeling, rubbing a hand across his face.
Filled with worry, you sat up, right in front of him, kneeling, matching his position. “Guk. Baby?”
He shook his head and looked away. “I… I’m just… confused? I don’t— I don’t get it. I mean…” He looked adorable and endearing in his struggles, as he tried to wrap his head around something.
“Talk to me, baby,” you caught his hands, trying to show him that you were there for him. “You can talk to me, Jeongguk. Are we going too fast?”
“Why do you want to… to suck me?” He blurted out.
You startled. “Because,” you chuckled. “Because your cock is beautiful and I wanna see it from up close and I want to taste you?”
“I mean, what do you want in return?” He asked, a bit too bold.
“What do I want in return?” You laughed and tilted your head to the side. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except seeing you cum, maybe? Knowing that I drove you crazy just like you did to me?”
His eyes went wide. He didn’t blush this time; he seemed too focused or shocked for that.
He looked like a computer dealing with a heavy file, completely stuck somewhere in his brain.
You waited for him to come back to earth.
“You mean… You do that for your pleasure? You gain pleasure from that?”
You giggled and nodded. “Yes. I gain a lot of pleasure from it.”
“For real?”
You furrowed your brow and smiled a ten thousand watt smile. “Yes babe.”
His smile mirrored yours.
But you weren’t done digging just yet. “Why did you ask me what I wanted in return?”
He looked away, his thumbs fidgeting with yours. “I don’t really think we should talk about it.”
“What if I want to know?” You asked back, a bit worried.
He waited a few more seconds before saying what was going on in his mind. “My ex didn’t… She didn’t like doing it. Not really. And whenever she offered she… Yeah. She didn’t do it just because.”
“We can wait then, until you get used to the idea. We’ll wait,” you kissed his brow. “Until you trust me.”
He nodded. He wanted to make love to you, even if he didn’t love you. Yet. He wanted to say ‘I have deep, meaningful feelings for you, which are not love, because I don’t think I really know how that should feel like and this is a crush with loads of attraction and understanding and admiration in between, but I really respect you and I think you’re amazing and I really hope I’ll get to spend more time with you, with or without clothes, because you make me feel comfortable and understood and warm all the time’. Unfortunately, actually speaking the words was a tad too complex.
As a palliative, he decided to kiss you.
You didn’t really understand how you found yourself laying on top of him, kissing his neck, feeling his large palms roam over your body, keeping you warm and detached from reality.
You didn’t know how long it had been since you first entered the bedroom, all you knew was that the room was darker and the idea of slipping underneath the covers didn’t sound bad anymore.
“Guk,” you whispered in between kisses. You marvelled at the fact that after all this time he was still unbothered, the raging hard on pressing to your stomach — which must have been around for at least half an hour. He had probably been trained to self control and patience, especially considering the small detail you had learnt about his ex.
“Yes,” he replied, giving a gentle squeeze to your waist once you found an incredibly sensitive spot behind his ear.
“I’m cold… Can we still go under the covers?”
He was lightning fast in granting your wish, his movements so neat and quick that you couldn’t help but fall for him a little more. “There we go.” He cupped your face and made your lips connect with his. He loved making out naked with you. He could keep doing it for hours, but a part of his brain teased him: how would it be to make out with you while inside you? “Do you still want me inside?” He murmured, his breath skimming your lips.
You looked at him with longing and adoration. You nodded.
Jeongguk had never felt more of a man, with your eyes following his every motion, studying him, chasing him as he rolled on top of you.
His smile warmed his heart in ways that made him want to sing and laugh and write songs. It wasn’t difficult to understand how his hyungs felt.
So, is this love?
“We should keep safe,” you told him. “Until I get tested and I have an actual green light. I mean, it’s just a formality, but I want to keep you safe.”
He blinked and nodded. You were keeping him safe. He felt overwhelmed. He had never felt safe with his ex. Had she ever kept him safe? Not just in terms of health, but emotions too… probably no.
“Baby,” you whispered, bringing his focus back to you.
“Sorry. I was… I was thinking. Thank you,” he replied, those two little words trying to convey all the ways he felt about you.
“What were you thinking about?” You asked, combing his hair away from his face.
He shook his head. “This is a lot better than anything I’ve ever done with my ex.”
Once more happiness invested him as he saw you beam up at him. “Thank you for telling me. About this and… the other stuff before. It really means a lot to me,” you explained, still fondling his hair. He seemed to truly enjoy that.
“Lemme grab a condom,” he said, kissing your forehead before stretching to the bedside table, fishing one out not without difficulties. He was glad he had a couple left. He forced himself to calm down as he tore the wrap and pinched the tip, studying the band at the base to roll it down correctly. He was somehow amused he hadn’t forgotten how to do that. Trying to play off the small revelation, he laid on top of you, his left arm bulging up as he leaned on it, his other hand aligning his tip with your entrance.
“All good?” You asked, placing your hand on his nape.
“Yeah. Tell me when you’re ready.”
You nodded and pushed your hips towards him, studying his face as the tip of his cock breached your entrance for the first time. “Oh god. Jeongguk. I—” You needed a moment, the first few inches already causing a deep burn within you.
He grunted and tried to hold himself still, his nose scrunched at the effort. “Sorry,” he murmured as he gave the smallest shift. “I’m so sorry,” he spoke again, inhaling the sweet scent of you. He liked the smell of your skin, especially now that it was mingling with his fabric softener.
“Okay, you can move, but please sink in quickly,” you asked him, touching his face, his hand joining yours.
“Hold on tight,” he murmured, waiting for your fingers to lock with his before he gave a smooth stroke, sheathing himself all the way in. “Fuck, babe.”
You nodded, biting your lip as pleasure and pain mixed. He filled you perfectly, to the brim, not a millimeter more.
You really did feel complete, literally possessed by him. “Guk,” you breathed out.
“I either move or slide out. I’m so sorry, I—” He pulled back, his head falling forward as he felt your muscles constrict him on his way out.
“You can move,” you told him, eyes glittering with the obliterating need to please him.
He shook his head, sinking in again. “Grip my hips with your knees,” he ordered. “Not around them or I’ll hurt you. Just calves to my sides.”
You nodded and followed his directions.
“Arm around my neck, Candy,” he told you smoothly, grinning at you as you obeyed. “Perfect, honey. Keep holding tight,” he reminded you as he moved his weight to one side, bringing you on top of him. “Just like this,” he purred in appreciation. “You pick the pace, alright?” He was just hoping he could last more this way, that you riding him would keep him from jackhammering into you.
What he didn’t consider was the way your tits would start bouncing once you would start moving.
He was mesmerised, hypnotised with the strongest of spells as you began swirling your hips on him, giving a few tentative ups and downs as searched for leverage.
He closed his eyes — too soon, too soon!
He couldn’t resist.
His hands wrapped around your waist, suddenly holding you up while he started arching up from below. “I’m so sorry, Candy. I’ll make it up to you. I promise baby. Too tight. Too good.”
He was cumming?
You were suddenly upset at the room being in a slight penumbra, his face lightened by the city lights coming from the window. You studied him as he shut his eyes closed, trying to take the final few steps to heaven.
Once he reached the top of that emotional staircase, he dived, meeting bliss so pure he doubted he would survive it.
His sounds were divine: heavy pants, small gasps, deep growls and tiny whimpers. “Candy...” He cried out, his voice shaking as he still made you bounce on his lap, your body a mere means to his pleasure, and though your climax hadn’t even reached halfway, you found yourself satisfied with his pleasure alone. He moved his arms to your shoulders, pulling you to his chest and pushing you on your back as he rolled on top of you, stroking in like a beast, making you whimper at how deep and slow and heavy he was going, his mouth clamping around the crook of your shoulder, a visceral moan leaving him as soon as he was sure it wouldn’t echo too noisily around the room.
“Take it all, baby,” you murmured to him, holding him to your chest and moving your hips to meet his, scratching down his back and making him whimper as he called your name, his self restraint crumbling. “Please, oh fuck…”
He bit your breast, making your inside clamp down at the pain, which made him gasp in return as he started to slow down, refusing to leave the warmth of your cunt. “Sorry, I… I couldn’t control myself. I—” He looked up at you. “Are you okay?”
You grinned. “Never been better,” you said, fixing the locks sticking to his forehead with sweat.
You were so sweet, he thought, smiling and dipping his head to your neck, giving you small kisses. “Thank you.”
You kept combing his hair as his lips climbed your jaw and reached your face. “Are we still good with kissing?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” You asked back, still touching his face with all the affection you could muster. “Of course we are.”
“I don’t know, maybe you think we’re done and we should just keep things friendly?” He babbled nervously.
“You’re still inside me.” Duh.
“I don’t know, I was checking your boundaries!” He replied, ironically panicked.
You grabbed his face and touched your lips to his. “We’re still good with kisses. Don’t worry your cute brain over this.”
He pouted, eyes crinkling with joy. “You think my brain is cute?”
The smile you gave him was soft and warm. “Very.”
He looked away, accidentally focusing on where he was still sheathed inside you. He had to slide out. Not yet, his mind told him. He didn’t want to.
He could still get a few moments. A few minutes before the spell broke and he needed to put space between the two of you and once more start fighting doubts, insecurities, and all those questions that always tormented him whenever you weren’t there giving him answers he didn’t even think he needed.
He didn’t doubt his sensations — maybe even feelings — when he was around you. He had the undying certainty he was falling for you and that you liked him too. But whenever you left, he always started worrying he was falling for the idea of you, not who you actually were, but who he wanted you to be — needed you to be.
“I have to… uhm.”
You nodded. “It’s okay. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll still be here and naked when you come back.”
He nodded, feeling a bit giddy that you understood what was making him so reluctant. “I’ll be back in a second.”
You kissed his forehead. “Make it quick, I’m gonna cuddle the hell out of you.”
He grinned even wider. “Call me Flash ‘cause I’ll be fast like lightning.”
“If you’re as quick as I made you cum, I’ll be a happy camper,” you jabbed him, grinning to let him know you were doing it specifically to piss him off.
He tongued at his cheek. “What did you say?”
You bit your lip as you kept your teasing grin up.
He clicked his tongue and nodded, grabbing the base of the condom as he exited you.
“Come on, Cookie?” You called as he left the room silently. “I was joking, baby...”
He came back about a minute later, tucking himself under the covers with his back to you.
“Are you upset, Cookie?”
He gave the smallest nod.
“Aw...” You scooted closer. “I found it so hot, baby.” You kissed his nape, wrapping an arm around his chest. “It was so good you couldn’t control yourself. That’s a compliment to me.”
He turned his head slightly. “Really?” He said, with the widest puppy eyes you had ever seen on him.
“You like being inside me. You made me cum with your fingers— and while grinding on you! I’m happy I made you cum. And you’d been hard for so long. I didn’t expect forty minutes of jackhammering. I’m happy you liked it so much you couldn’t handle it.”
He turned around and hid into the shape of you. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, bunny.” Though his body was warm against yours and you wanted nothing but to lay next to him, you had to head to the bathroom. “I should go to the toilet.”
He moved his head in a nod. “Door right in front,” he mumbled, watching you groan and stand up, dashing to the door and right across the corridor.
He felt slightly flustered as he watched you once you came back, his arm lifting the covers for you while you disappeared underneath, hugging him to regain some warmth. Once your eyes met his, lazy smile in tow, he felt his heart freeze and restart with a new pace. His eyes were glittering with relief as he looked into your gaze. He hadn’t looked up to anyone like that in so long. He was happily confused.
And he was hard again. “Candy?” Maybe because he was looking at your mouth and he wanted to try how it felt to be inside it. How it felt to get a blowjob that was genuinely liked by both parties.
“Yes?” You felt your chest tremble at the sweetness in his voice.
“Can we… I mean, would you still…” He pressed his hips against your belly, hoping you would understand. He would be absolutely fine if you let him inside your pussy too, but to feel your mouth on him was especially attractive to him at that precise moment.
You tried to understand what he was asking. It was pretty clear he wanted more, but of what, exactly? “I need you to tell me, baby. Do you want some more?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry I feel so shy… It’s— It’s not your fault, I promise, I just…”
“Just tell me what you want, sweetie. I can’t guess,” you skimmed the hard ridge of his spine with the pad of your forefinger, making him shiver. He snuggled his face between your breasts. “Want your mouth,” he whispered against your skin, your body tensing at the thought. Maybe you had misheard.
“My mouth?”
He nodded.
“Then I need you to lay down on your back, Guk.”
He nodded and parted from you, your lips immediately pressing a peck to the mole below his lower lip. “Thank you for telling me, baby.”
He liked that you called him baby. In the past, it had made him feel vulnerable, as if it were an attempt to undermine his confidence and masculinity, but now… Well, he loved it. He embraced that vulnerable side of him that made him step into the halo of light that seemed to envelope you. He basked in that mixture of delicate and gentle that helped him garner your affection.
He convinced himself to lay belly up, his lap a bit too exposed for his comfort.
“Hold on,” you said, grabbing a pillow and fluffing it up for him, forcing him to sit up as you fluffed the other one and piled the two together behind his back. “There you go.”
He smiled shyly and made himself comfortable.
“All good?” You checked in on him.
He nodded, still speechless.
“I wanna switch on the bedside lamp. I’ll move it to the floor so the light won’t be too strong, but I need to see you.”
His brow furrowed, but he managed to speak. “Okay.”
“We don’t have to do this, Cookie.” You straddled his hips and kissed his forehead. “Only if you really want to, sweetheart.”
He hugged you to his chest. “I really want to. I want it a lot, if you do too.”
You wanted to reassure every single inch of his mind. “I do. I need to put a condom on you, though. Just for extra safety until I am one thousand percent sure we’re safe to go.”
He nodded. “Thank you so much, ____. I—”
“I’ve got you.” You held his face. “You’re safe, baby.”
He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He felt perfect. Safe. Reassured. When he was in your arms, nothing wrong could ever happen. No one would ever hurt him.
“When you’re ready,” you whispered.
“Yes, please.”
You gave him one final kiss and started for the bedside table, attentively moving his lamp on the floor, switching it on once it was tucked under the lapels of the sheets. Through the room spread a deep grey gloom.
Jeongguk felt comfortable in it. He felt at ease when your eyes met his, a brief nod telling you he was okay with the gentle shades lighting up his body very delicately, in a way that made the moment feel poetic, romantic, far from the cold business-like approach of the past.
He felt beautiful, like he was meant for your eyes to see. If he had been timid before, now he was still shy, but brave.
It was you. You were the one drinking him in, enjoying the way his muscles twitched in anticipation.
You sat between his slightly spread legs, ripping the condom foil open. “Are you cold? You keep shivering.”
His laugh was slightly nervous. “Just excited.”
You placed down the small square, spreading your palms over his quads. “That’s a good thing.” You rubbed at his muscles slowly, trying to relax him. “It’s very sweet. Very attractive.”
His eyes closed as his muscles unflexed. “I didn’t think women liked insecure boys.”
“I like you, Jeongguk,” you told him plainly. “You amuse me. I want to see all your emotions. All your feelings. I want to make you happy because it makes me happy.”
He blinked twice. He was like glass in your hands, so fragile, so cherished.
“I like you too.”
You looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He could feel it in his skin.
You took the condom and pinched the tip, tugging it slightly before very carefully sliding three fingers between his shaft and his lower abdomen, lifting his sex just enough that you could comfortably roll the latex over him.
It was almost painful on his behalf — exclusively because your hands were so delicate and the touch felt too light, too perfect for the start, but also too light to get him started.
“Okay,” he huffed out.
“If you need me to stop, just say ‘red’, okay? You say ‘red’ and we’re done and I’ll hold you and you can get all the cuddles, yes?”
Jeongguk confirmed.
“What do you say to stop?”
“I say ‘red’,” he replied, serious. He perfectly understood what you were doing.
“Good boy. Let’s give this a try,” you said wrapping your hand around his base. He wasn’t extremely thick. He was long though, which could be a bit of a challenge. Gathering some spit in your mouth, you sobbed at the thought of not getting to taste him, but relished the idea that soon you would get tested and get rid of all barriers. You knew you would blow his mind once he would feel you bare.
But for now, his shape through the latex was all you would get.
You let your drool dribble out of your mouth and draw a thick line on his shaft, immediately gathering it with your palm and beginning to stroke him.
“Yes,” he hissed out as he felt your hand starting to squeeze him harder, tugging him up a little. “Oh, yes. Like that.”
Tentatively, you lowered your head and got his tip into your mouth, his hand immediately landing on his face as he tried to control himself.
Seeing the positive reaction, you took all you could, bobbing your head a couple times and taking care of the rest of his shaft with your hand. It seemed his unravelling was already commencing, his lips parting in a moan. It was glorious. It was so arousing you naturally brought a hand between your thighs, feeling the wetness still coating your folds as you released him from your throat, still keeping the tip in your mouth and sucking it as you focused on your hands — both of them.
The vacuum effect you did with your cheeks especially seemed to tempt him. He was slowly slipping in bliss, his hips beginning to jut up slightly by the third time you took him deep, his tattooed arm coming up to cover his eyes.
He could face the sight of you, eyes up to his face, mouth wrapped around him, eyes glazed over, tears down your cheeks at the effort of fighting your gag reflex.
And you looked so happy.
He was going to cum.
He fought himself, his hand stroking your chest, making your excitement peak as pleasure finally crested for you, dragging you down like a wave, diving deep into your fourth climax as you tried to give him his own taste of ecstasy. Now fully focused on his pleasure, no more obstacles distracting you, you managed to take all of him in your mouth, with the exclusion of two, maybe three inches, still covered by your fist as you clenched it around him.
His whines were desperate. He had tried to tone them down, but it made him even closer to his edge, so he decided he would swear off control and focus on pleasure, letting it out a bit at a time before it overwhelmed him.
Once you picked up your pace, his technique didn’t work anymore. He wanted to—
You squeezed his balls with your hand, making him growl, the sound becoming a long grunt once your nails scratched all the way from his lower abdomen to his upper chest, sliding into his mouth.
Three fingers pressed his tongue down, his mouth closing around them, eyes rolling shut, finally relieved you would muffle his noises. He loved it.
He loved knowing that his pleasure had caused you to cream your fingers, he loved knowing that while you blew him, you were so turned on you had to finger yourself.
There were so many things he loved.
The one he loved the most was the trick you were doing with your cheeks, pumping his cock with the soft skin, your tongue joining the team effort.
He was far too gone.
With one forceful thrust of his hips, his climb to pleasure culminated, the peak there, lasting a brief second before he started tumbling down.
You studied every detail. His sweaty chest, his rosy nipples. His tattoos coming to life as his bicep flexed. His jaw going slack and opening as he moaned your name around your fingers. His quads flexing at your sides, heels digging into the mattress as he tried to flex his legs to avoid thrusting into your throat.
The feeling of the latex was uncomfortable, but you reminded yourself you were doing it for his own good, so you kept quiet.
You kept quiet even when his hand dove into your hair, pulling you off a little as he worried about you, right before he pushed you back down again at the sucking of your cheeks.
“Candy. Candy baby, off,” he called, helping your head up and away. “Red, baby. You were perfect, I’m okay, you’re perfect. You’re the best,” he kept saying as he lifted your head. “Come here, let me hold you,” he murmured, grabbing you by your armpits and pulling you to his chest. “Talk to me, Candy.”
“Did you like that? Was it good?” You asked, still a bit dizzy.
“Yes, absolutely, baby. Did I hurt you? Are you feeling okay? Would you like some water?”
You shook your head. “Chill, Cookie. I would simply like to be cuddled and held now, that’s all there is.”
He nodded. He felt like he owed you way more than that, but he laid back and let himself relax.
Absentmindedly, you traced the outline of a tattoo on his upper arm. “Did this one hurt?”
He blinked quickly at your change in topic. “No. Not too much.”
You poked at another design on the muscle of his shoulder. “This one?”
“Slightly more. There’s the muscle underneath.”
You nodded.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, kissing the top of your head.
“I’m doing fine. We should wash up and bring some snacks to bed.” You pressed your lips to the center of his chest. You hoped he wouldn’t oppose spending some time with you as fatigue and sensitivity started to undermine your spirit.
“You don’t mind staying over? I think I’m still a bit raw from it all...” He was confused. And he needed you close to understand how exactly he was feeling.
“I don’t mind one bit.”
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