#kpopsociety

[magicshopaholic]

Honey (Jungkook x OC)

Summary: A normal night in the kitchen turns into something more when you discover your boyfriend has an interesting kink.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

Genre: Established relationship; smut, fluff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 6.5 K

Warnings: making out, palming, cupping, nipple play, food play, pain play, blowjobs, unprotected sex (she's on the pill), fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, mild dirty talk

A/N: After a long, long time, my beloved Jungkook and Lia are back! I honestly didn't think I'd write for these two again because their series ended short and sweet, but the more I thought about it, the more they just made sense as part of my headcanon universe.

As such, this fic is set a couple of months after The Sixth, once Jungkook and Lia are officially together. However, this can also be read standalone.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ggukkieland @bangtannoonalvg @pb-n-juju @juciu @jeoncookie-bts @kflixnet @k-radio (italics cannot be tagged)

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment or ask :)

Listen to: “in the waiting line” by zero 7

jungkook masterlist | main masterlist

This wasn't what Lia had in mind when she'd proposed cooking together. 

She was a reasonably okay cook, as was Jungkook, and together she expected they might be able to conjure up a decent dinner on their first night together since his trip to London and hers to Tokyo. Maybe there would be some bickering over seasoning, maybe a filmy food fight, possibly ending with some playful making out while they kept one eye on the stove.

Sitting before her mostly-naked boyfriend later that night with a jar of warm honey in her hand? Unexpected.

"Are you sure?"

Jungkook nods, eyes trained up at the ceiling. She can't tell if he's shy or doubtful, but if there's one thing she wants to be about this, it's sure.

A few hours earlier, when they'd been simultaneously trying to follow two recipes and keep her small kitchen tidy, all she cared about was ensuring that nothing spilled. But somehow, when it came to them, even that was expecting too much.

"Jungkook, hand me the spring onions."

"Wait - where's the chilli powder? The sauce is already thickening."

"It's in that cupboard over there, I think," she said hurriedly, pointing vaguely in the direction of the cabinets. "Under the cornflower. Can you hand me the spring -"

"Oh, fuck, that's spicy!" Jungkook hissed, screwing his eyes shut as he exhaled heavily through his mouth.

"Well, you aren't supposed to taste it, just smell it," she said, rolling her eyes but reaching over to take the powder from him anyway. "And can you - okay, you know what? I'll get the spring onions myself."

"I think my mouth is on fire."

"Can you put the cut onions in the other pot, babe? They won't cook otherwise."

"Okay, where is -"

"Other side of the stove," she began, but Jungkook  found it by then. Maneuvering around her and reaching for the cutting board, he dropped the onions into the pot, a loud hiss and stinging vapour emanating instantly.

"Lower the heat, Kook!"

"I - oh, God, the sauce!" In a rather chaotic sequence of events, Jungkook lunged for the abandoned chilli powder while the sauce bubbled away on the stove, the same time that Lia suddenly remembered that she'd forgotten the noodles altogether.

As they slammed into each other, Lia turned suddenly to close a cabinet door just as Jungkook appeared behind her, and the edge of the door scraped his shoulder with an audible sound.

"Shit, Kook, I'm so sorry!" All thoughts of spring onions forgotten, she looked around frantically for any empty space on the counter to place them and free her hands, before turning to Jungkook. "Are you okay?"

He nodded wordlessly, head lowered as he clutched his right shoulder with his left hand, his knuckles white as he pressed down. She turned off the stove and reached for him, gently coaxing his hand away.

"Lia, it's okay -" He tried to say, shaking his head but she ignored him, guilt bubbling small and deep inside of her. 

"Take off your shirt," she instructed, tugging at the bottom of it. He looked for a moment like he was going to argue but slipped his long-sleeved black t-shirt over his head, his thick hair tousled as he emerged.

"Show me," she said softly, turning him around so she could get a look at it. Taking a step back, she cleared a small space on the edge of the kitchen counter and hopped up onto it, now at eye level with his shoulder.

It was a gash; while the skin remained unbroken, it puckered, a clear red where the edge of the cabinet had run clean along the muscle. Lia touched it lightly before pausing, waiting for his reaction.

"Does it hurt?" she asked anxiously, running her finger over the four inch mark and immediately stopping when he hissed.

"Not really," he said tightly - but she could see his head still lowered and his fists clenched, and she sighed. Jungkook's need to pretend like he didn't feel pain was as unnecessary as it was predictable, but she wasn't fooled.

In an unusual moment of tenderness, she reached over slightly and kissed it. She heard him gasp and paused again, lips still against his skin.

"It's really okay, Lia." His voice was level and controlled, a little too deliberately. "I'm fine." 

A bit confused, she backed away slowly, touching the injury once more. Jungkook inhaled again, his breathing ragged, and her heart tugged as she wondered guiltily how much her lack of organisation in the kitchen had hurt him.

"Okay…" she murmured, dropping her hands from his shoulders, frowning when he immediately reached for his t-shirt and slipped it on. "Do you want to finish cooking?" she asked, hopping off.

"No, you go ahead," he answered quickly, still not looking fully at her. "I'll - I'll eat later."

Lia's heart dropped. Was he really that angry with her? Jungkook wasn't one to have a very short temper, apart from the occasional tantrum here and there where he usually caught himself in time.

He was almost out of the kitchen when she suddenly hopped over and grabbed his arm. "Kook, wait."

"Lia, I just need -"

But she cut him off, tugging at his arm to get him to face her, moving right in front of him so he wouldn't have a choice. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it would get so messy but -" She paused abruptly, wondering if that could possibly be what she thought it was. 

Next to her, Jungkook froze, his eyes shut tightly. Lia bit her lip, staying in the same spot but moving her body slightly closer… just to confirm.

"Jungkook," she began lightly, "is that your phone in your pocket?"

"Um…" The arm she was holding flexed, and she could feel his sinewy forearm tremble. "... yes?" He twitched again, and this time the movement was unmistakable through his joggers.

"Really?" Lia asked in a hushed voice, hearing the wonder in it.

By the way he didn't answer right away, it was clear that he knew she wasn't asking about the proverbial phone in his pocket. Finally opening his eyes but still not looking at her, he nodded. "M-hm."

"I…" She didn't quite know how to respond - but the expression on his face combined with what she was feeling against her hip made her stomach flutter. "Since when?"

"A while."

When he didn't elaborate, she slid her hand lower to his tattooed one and linked her fingers with his. Her gaze flickering to the dent in his joggers, she raised a hand to feel it but paused, hovering less than an inch away from it.

"Just scratches?" she asked calmly, her voice just a murmur.

"N-no." Jungkook swallowed. "I mean… sometimes. Scratches, pressure… heat." Down below, his erection twitched, rising into her palm.

Lia's toes curled against the bare floor of her kitchen. She palmed him gently, raising her gaze to see him looking right back at her, this time with less embarrassment. "What else?" she asked quietly.

Now, she knows what else.

Jungkook lies on her bed, fully naked but for black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His hair, uncut now for weeks, is long and slightly wavy on her white pillowcase. Lia sits beside him in a tank top and her underwear, a jar of warm honey she's just heated, a wooden ice cream spoon resting on the top of the jar.

"Are you sure?" she asks again, hearing the doubt in her own voice.

"Yeah," he mutters, gaze meeting hers. He seems… nervous, but in an excited sort of way, from what she can tell. It's like he's about to go bungee jumping or something - except she doesn't have a lot of second hand reviews of the experience in this case.

She can't help but press on. "You promise you'll ask me to stop the moment you're uncomfortable?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Okay." She doesn't move. From the bed, Jungkook raises his eyebrows.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Me? Yeah, of course." She shifts her hips on her heels from where she's kneeling next to him. Placing a hand on his muscular thigh in a mostly comforting manner, she squeezes it slightly.

"Do you remember the safeword?"

Jungkook nods obediently. "Mango."

Lia lets go of his thigh, satisfied. "Okay, then." She takes a deep breath, dipping the tip of her finger into the honey and wincing slightly at the heat before sucking at it. “Here we go.”

His eyes flutter shut and for a moment, Lia simply watches him. He’s absolutely gorgeous, like always. But he’s also ambitious, like always, which includes being so in bed. She has no reason not to trust him; it’s not inconceivable that he may have discovered kinks in his twenty-seven years of life that may be new to her, but his determination to see things through is enough to make her momentarily cautious. The image of a basketball flying through the air flashes through her mind and she shudders, trying to concentrate.

She dips the small wooden spoon into the honey and watches the thick, golden substance cling onto it and drip. Leaning forward, she dips the spoon again and this time takes it out of the jar over his body, watching the warm liquid drip onto the centre of his chest.

Jungkook gasps, but his eyes stay closed. The honey flows, slow and thick between his pectorals, the colour looking incandescent against his tan skin. Bending down and keeping her gaze firmly planted on his face, Lia reaches to lick the honey in one long stroke. It’s sweet, naturally, but not overtly so, and less hot on her tongue than when she’d felt it with her finger.

“Oh, fuck…” His whisper is low and throaty, and it almost sounds like he’s spoken without realising it. Slightly more confident, she swings one leg over his hips to straddle him, feeling his semi against her crotch. Noting the pleasurable squirm in her core at the feel of it, she dips the spoon into the jar again, this time gently dropping a dollop of honey on his sternum, taking care to let it trickle as much as it can, until it stops just above his belly button.

She places the jar next to him on the bed and, taking care to grind against him, leans forward to lick it off. Next to her, Jungkook’s fists clench again, this time with the sheets in his hands. Looking up at his face, Lia can’t resist any longer. Kissing his torso along the sternum and up his chest, sucking at the slightly sticky skin, she reaches up to his jaw.

“God, you’re so hot,” she murmurs, feeling him twitch against her again, big and hard this time. She brushes her lips against his jaw and down his neck, stopping right next to his bobbing Adam’s apple, her breath warm against it. Sliding one hand up his chest, she covers his right pectoral lightly, her fingernails scraping the muscle.

Jungkook whimpers, his neck arching back on the pillow. “Lia…”

Lia’s stomach flutters and she rolls her hips into his a bit more, biting her lip to stop herself from making a sound. “Yeah,” she whispers against his skin, bringing her fingertips lower so they brush against his areola. Underneath her, his cock gives the biggest twitch yet.

He swallows. “Honey…” He seems incapable of saying any more.

She pauses, wondering if she’s understood him right. Backing up slightly, she looks at his face again, at his closed eyes, the slight frown, the lip ring glinting in the dim light. Reaching silently for the honey, she dips the spoon in again, this time hesitating over his right pectoral. Evidently able to feel the heat, Jungkook nods, screwing his eyes shut even tighter.

Alright, then. Tilting the spoon, she watches the golden liquid drip onto his tan chest, down the curve, trickling down to his nipple. The sight makes her clit throb unexpectedly.

Jungkook gasps but doesn’t open his eyes, while his cock now strains against his underwear. Lia reaches over him again, slower this time and taking care to press her body to his, feeling the contours of his abdominal muscles against her own. She feels his hands touch her thighs, holding them gingerly as she touches her tongue to his skin, licking the honey off again, pressing her tongue to it and swirling it around his nipple. His hands react immediately, squeezing her flesh, while his pulsates against her clit.

“Oh, God,” he whimpers again, and Lia has to bite her lip from making a similar sound. “Lee-lee…”

She holds his biceps for support, feeling her fingernails dig into the muscle. “Yeah, baby?” she murmurs back, her teeth grazing lightly over his nipple.

“I…” Jungkook seems incapable of answering, but his hands slide up her thighs and to her arse, the tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of her underwear. His hands feel like he’s just about controlling himself, though, his palms touching her skin but resisting the urge to use the strength he normally does. Resisting… or waiting.

Running her tongue over his nipple again and noting how he shudders slightly, Lia reaches for his other nipple and twists it without warning. 

“Fuck!” 

As anticipated, he grabs her arse instantly, inadvertently rolling her hips into his, making her grind against him. “Fuck, Kook,” she whispers, but she’s sure he hasn’t even heard her. She licks his skin again, tasting the remnants of the honey before sucking softly at his nipple, moaning softly at the feel of his large cock against her clothed clit as he continues pulling her against him.

Jungkook groans again, and Lia feels herself getting wetter with every sound he makes, loving how good she’s making him feel. She presses wet, open-mouthed kisses against his skin, moving lower down his chest and to his sternum, all the way down his beautiful torso. It arouses her to no end the kind of pride he takes in his body, in toning it and growing it. Even his intense dieting seems to have reduced from what it used to be, according to his friends at least, and Lia can’t help but worship every inch of his gorgeous body when she gets the chance.

She can still taste the slight, sticky sweetness on his torso from the honey she’d poured on it earlier. Sliding down his lap, she continues down his abdomen until she reaches his happy trail, feeling his cock brush her breasts over her tank top. Lia wraps her hand gently around his clothed erection, her heart flipping at his sharp intake of breath. 

"Do you want me to suck you?" she breathes, touching the tip and feeling the wet spot from the pre cum that's surely leaked out. In all the time that she's known him, he's never declined such an offer. This time is no different. His fingers tighten in her hair and he moans a soft yes. 

Biting her lip and trying not to move too fast out of excitement, she pulls the elastic of his underwear, tugging it down his hips when he raises them off the bed. His erection springs free and Jungkook lets out a throaty sigh. Determined to tease him through everything tonight, Lia grasps him at the base, softly stroking him with her thumb. With her other hand, she gently cups his balls, anticipating his groan this time.

Jungkook’s hand appears from the side, almost as though he’s unaware of it, and covers her fingers around his cock. “Please…” is all he can say apparently before his hand falls back onto the bed. Swallowing, Lia silently acquiesces and moves her hand up his shaft, bringing her lips to it and pressing a soft kiss to the underside.

His hips buckle automatically but he tightens his fingers in her hair again. “No,” he mutters tightly.

Lia halts immediately before backing away. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. When she raises her head slightly to meet his gaze, he swallows. “Can you…?”

“Are you sure?” She bites her lip when he nods, his cock hard as rock in her hand. “Okay.” Letting go of him, she reaches for the jar of honey again, a bit more nervous this time. “It’s still hot, Kook,” she warns him softly, squeezing his thigh. “It could hurt.”

Jungkook meets her eyes again and he half-chuckles. “That’s kind of the point.” It’s clear that even he isn’t fully sure what to expect, but the sight of his erection, the tip wet and the girth solid, convinces her somewhat. Hesitating momentarily, Lia reaches up and kisses his cheek. 

“Okay, then,” she whispers against his skin, pressing a lighter kiss to his jaw before pulling away. Sitting back on her heels, she spoons out a dollop of golden honey and, taking care to avoid the angry pink tip, she slowly lets the honey drip down his cock, swirling it a bit. 

“Oh, fuck!” Jungkook whimpers loudly, making her jump, and he clutches at the sheets with his free hand. His face has that same expression again, the one that she can’t help but stop and stare at every time he’s close to finishing, with the sexy frown and his pink lips open. 

Lia moves forward silently, just in time to catch a golden drop on her tongue before it drips onto her white sheets. She sucks on the sweetness, working her way up his balls, cupping them with her other hand as she cleans up every last bit of honey on him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he whines as his hips buckle again. One of his hands finds its way into her hair again, his fingers tangling in her dark locks. She runs her tongue up his cock, continuing to palm his balls gently, feeling her stomach flip every time he lets out a throaty grunt. She laps up every bit of honey until she reaches his tip and finally takes him in her mouth, the saltiness mixing with the sweetness on her tongue. 

“Yes… fuck, yes.” Jungkook’s breath comes out in ragged bursts now, and only intensifies as Lia sucks him off, taking him in as far into her mouth as she can, vaguely tasting the last remnants of the honey on him. His fingers clutch at her hair, voice increasing in pitch, and she lets him go with a soft pop, immediately replacing her mouth with her hand, stroking him rapidly.

She wants to watch him. Jungkook is beyond handsome, enough that she catches herself staring at him doing the most mundane things far too often, but watching him come undone, especially when she’s the one doing it to him, is a sight she feels privileged to behold. His hand slides down from her hair down all the way to her hips, and she straddles his thighs to give both of them a better angle.

His torso glistens, partly due to the lighting and partly due to a light layer of sweat. She doesn’t know if she’s imagining the golden sheen because of the honey on her mind. Gazing at him, she increases the speed at which she’s stroking him, watching him with both fascination and arousal as she pushes him further and further.

She realises a moment too late what the expressions on his face mean, though. Without warning, she feels his hips buck under her again, coupled with a long and guttural groan, and suddenly feels something warm on her hand.

“Shit.” Jungkook sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m so -”

“For what?” Lia asks gently, leaning over him for the tissue box on the bedside table. She pulls out a couple for herself and hands him one as well.

“I - I should’ve warned you,” he mutters, shaking his head as he cleans himself up and chucks the tissue in the corner of the room. “I wanted to cum in -” He breaks off, his ears turning red even as he pants in the aftermath of his orgasm.

She bites her lip, trying not to smile. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, throwing her soiled tissue to the side like him and straddling him fully. His hands come up to grasp her hips and he sighs when she trails her kisses down his jaw. “I loved doing that to you,” she murmurs.

“It was amazing,” he admits, running his hands up her waist and closing his eyes as her lips against his skin, her long hair brushing his chest. His voice is still slightly shaky and she feels his heart beat rapidly under her palms. “I want to make you feel good, too,” he adds softly after a moment.

Lia freezes, her lips on his sternum. Jungkook evidently feels it, for he squeezes her hips and, against all odds, his cock twitches against her arse. Down below, her clit throbs as though it’s just remembered what was happening a minute ago. Looking up at him, she bites her lip.

“You don’t have to,” she says after a moment. “If you’re feeling guilty or something.”

“I’m not.” He looks down, meeting her gaze. “I really, really want to… make you feel good,” he finishes. He’s still catching his breath from his own orgasm, his eyes dark and glassy. 

She swallows, her heart beating faster in anticipation. “How are you planning on doing that?” she asks, crawling up his chest and straightening up slightly. As she slips off her tank top, she hears his sharp intake of breath. Just as she’s been unable to reconcile herself to how stunning he looks on a day to day basis, often stopping mid-task just to watch him, it’s evident that he’s been just as unsuccessful every time she takes off her clothes, especially a top.

“Shit, come here,” he mutters, tugging at her hips. Pulling her close, they kiss for the first time since they started, all the pent up energy exploding the moment their mouths meet. 

Lia moans into his mouth, his hands burning into her skin and his chest feeling hard and steady against hers. She rolls her hips into his, the friction feeling delicious against her soaking core. He moves his hands to grab her arse, his fingers sliding the elastic down to feel her skin, firm and round in his grasp. She can’t help but moan again, when Jungkook suddenly flips them over.

Hovering over her, his wavy hair in his face and his lips twisted into a playful smirk, Lia’s heart has no chance. It’s the hardest thing in the world to try and stop kissing him, and when he begins making his way down her torso, burying his face in her cleavage, she thinks she might just be falling in love with him.

“Take this off,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around her and lifting her off the bed by a couple of inches so she can reach behind her and unhook her bra. He groans the moment her breasts are freed, immediately reaching up for them and kneading them. His eyes flutter shut, almost as though he’s moving simply through his sense of touch, lightly nipping the flesh until his lips reach her nipples.

“Oh, that feels good,” she sighs, her back arching slightly when he licks her right nipple, his other hand twisting her left one between two fingers. She runs her fingers through his hair, feeling it damp as he begins sucking on her nipple, almost hypnotised. She moves her hips upwards against pelvis, trying to get more friction and whining in impatience when he shifts. “Kook…”

It takes Jungkook a few seconds to part from her breasts, pressing kisses to the underside and down to her ribs until he travels all the way to the bottom of her torso. “You’re so sexy,” he murmurs, sucking softly at the flesh just above the hem of her underwear. With his mouth so close to her clit, she can feel herself soaking further through her underwear, barely able to hold on anymore. 

“God, Kook, put your tongue in me,” she whispers, gently yanking at his hair. He gasps, immediately moving lower and pulling her underwear down. His breathless chuckle tells her he can see just how wet she is.

“You really thought I didn’t have to take care of you?” he asks, gently pushing her legs up so her knees bend. Even through the haze of arousal, she can hear how earnest he sounds. “Even when you’re like this?”

“I…” She looks down and meets his lustful gaze, her heart flipping when she notices how his tongue is poking into his cheek. “I want you now. I really… really want you to take care of me right now.” She drops her head back down onto the pillow and the next second, she feels his mouth press a kiss right next to her lips. “Oh, God…”

Thankfully, he doesn’t tease her anymore, simply moving to kiss her outer lips before his tongue finds her clit, swollen and ready for him. He presses his tongue against the nub, his strong hands holding her thighs up as he laps up her juices, his lips soft yet firm against her cunt. 

“Yes, Jungkook…” Lia clutches at his hair, her core burning in a way that tells her she’s close, so close. “Suck on it… fuck, Kook, I want -” Her words are cut off when she whimpers, feeling him suck on her clit, first gently, then harder. His tongue moves in long, steady strokes, pulling her thighs to his face. “Yes, oh, god, yes…” 

She moves a hand up to her chest, pinching her nipple while her other hand stays in his hair and she spreads her legs as much as she can. She can feel him groaning into her, and the sound is just about pushing her over the edge. “God, Kook, don’t stop, don’t -” She twists her nipple harder, her back arching even more. She can feel a clamminess on her neck but she doesn’t bother for she’s so close…

“Fuck, Jungkook!” 

Her orgasm crashes over her, all the way from her cunt to her chest, and all the way down to her extremities. She sees nothing but spots for a moment, only vaguely feeling him crawl up her body. He kisses the top of her rib cage, the tops of her breasts, lip ghosting over her neck, her jaw, her earlobe. 

“You are so fucking hot, Lee-lee,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek before capturing her lips in his. She wraps her arms around his neck, wanting to feel nothing but him against her for the rest of the night, possibly the rest of her life. There’s only one thing that gets her eyes to snap open; she frowns in confusion as he sucks softly at her collarbone.

“Are you still hard, baby?”

Jungkook pauses, and she knows she’s right. Stiff and poking into her pelvis, Jungkook’s cock twitches tellingly the moment she utters the words.

“Yes,” he whines hoarsely into her neck, burying his nose further into the crevice as he tightens his arms around her. “But you’re sore and I -”

“Says who?” Lia waits as he falls silent, and she can practically hear his brain working out a response. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in what she can only describe as endeared exasperation, she presses a kiss to his shoulder, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat off his skin. Truth be told, she doesn’t know if she’s sore yet. Her clit will surely be sensitive, but the thought of him hard and aroused is something she can’t bring herself to ignore.

Jungkook straightens up slightly so he can look at her. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes wide. Against her hip, she can feel him twitch again. “Because I can -”

She kisses him, sighing into his mouth when he kisses her back, lips firm and passionate against hers. “I would really like for you to fuck me, Jungkook,” she murmurs against his lips, running a hand through his hair again. Pressing her chest up to his, she nips at his lower lip. “I want you to get me wet -” she moves her lips to his jaw “- and enter me -” she kisses the spot under his ear “- and stretch me out -” she bites softly at his earlobe as he hisses “- and since it’s a weekend, I want you try and make sure I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Jungkook pulls away slowly, biting his lip, and before she can gaze at his handsome face again, he straightens up and flips her over onto her stomach. The movement makes her swollen clit brush against the sheets and she lets out an involuntary moan.

“You’re really sure, baby?” he asks, his fingers already brushing between her thighs. When she nods, not trusting herself to speak, she feels his fingers travel up her arse and to the small of her back, running over where she knows is her stupid tramp stamp, the worst drunk decision she’s ever made, and what Jungkook insists is his favourite tattoo of hers ever since she told him she hated it.

“Can I try something?” 

Lia frowns, expecting to feel his fingers inside of her by now. She props herself up on her elbows to look back at him, her messy hair partially obscuring her view. “What?” When she sees his eyes dart to the jar of honey on the bedside table, she bites her lip. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, only - only if you’re okay with it,” he adds quickly, moving his hand up to stroke her back. “I just - I wanted to try.” His cheeks start reddening and he looks away, his doubtful expression extremely incongruous to his large and muscular body, tall and naked like a Greek statue.

After considering it for a moment, she shrugs. “Okay. Just… make sure it doesn’t get on the sheets.”

His eyes widen. “Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised, even as his cock pulses against her hip. He swallows when she nods, his free hand absently finding her arse cheek and squeezing it. He leans over to retrive the jar as she turns back around, sweeping her long hair off her back. “It’s not even that hot anymore,” he promises, adjusting himself between her spread legs. “Ready?”

Lia nods into the pillow, tensing only slightly. “Yeah.” A moment later, she gasps softly when she feels a hot liquid on the middle of her back, trickling thick and warm down her spine.

“Is that okay?” Jungkook’s voice is tentative, but there’s a hint of longing there and it only makes her wish she could see the look on his face.

“Yeah.” She nods again, for after a few seconds, the initial shock of the heat wears off. The closest comparison she has to it is wax, except it isn’t as scalding - and is far less punishing, especially when the strip is replaced with Jungkook’s mouth, wet and slow, slowly making its way up her back. She sighs into the pillow, feeling his strong frame cover her completely as he presses open-mouthed kisses all the way up to her neck.

“Was it okay?” he murmurs, kissing the spot on her shoulder where another tattoo lies - this one actually her favourite. She answers in a soft, content moan, feeling his erect cock settle in between her arse cheeks while his torso presses comfortably against her back. “Are you okay with more?”

“Just a bit,” she answers, not wholly comfortable with the stickiness she’s sure will remain. Jungkook acquiesces, dribbling a smaller amount, this time straight on her lower back where the sting of the heat feels slightly sharper. His mouth is on her skin instantly, his hands kneading at her arse before one brushes in between her legs and lightly feels for her cunt.

“Step one, done,” he confirms against her skin, and she can hear the smirk in his voice as he feels her wetness returning. Clearly aware of how sensitive she might be already, he continues with soft, gentle strokes against her clit.

Lia moans louder this time, clutching at her pillow as she savours the feel of his fingers, long and firm against her. His thumb ghosts over her pussy, but he doesn’t put his finger in and she’s grateful for the short respite, especially if he’s intending on following through with her requests.

“Kook,” she gasps after a minute, feeling the familiar heat in her abdomen once again. Behind her, Jungkook pauses where his mouth is on her shoulder blade and two of his fingers are inside her slit, rubbing her nub deliciously. “Kook, I’m gonna cum if you keep going, baby,” she admits, fighting the urge to squeeze her thighs together.

He brushes her hair off her shoulder and kisses her neck. “I can move on to step two?”

“God, yes…” She squeezes her eyes shut when his fingers disappear, unable to keep from groaning in their absence. Her heart begins thudding, though, when he straightens up behind her and holds her hips, lifting them up slightly before entering her. “Fuck, Kook…”

Behind her, Jungkook groans in pleasure as he stretches her out, giving her everything she’d asked for. He pulls out halfway again before bottoming out, her wet cunt making the movement smooth yet tight. Lia muffles her moans into the pillow as he establishes a rhythm, feeling his balls brush againsther clit with every thrust. 

“God, Kook…” She swallows, trying to find her voice. “Are you sure you can give me enough of a reason not to walk tomorrow?”

Jungkook responds with a grunt, thrusting hard into her. “I know I can,” he mutters, and, just as she’d hoped, he slams into her with renewed force, increasing his speed. Her whimpers grow louder and his groans increase in pitch as well. “Fuck, your cunt is so perfect, Lee-lee…”

His words send a wave of pleasure through her and she pushes her hips towards him, willing him to fuck her harder. “Yes - god, yes, Jungkook… fuck, just like that -”

Just as she says it, he pulls out and flips her over. The sight of him once again makes her heart race and she pulls him to her, kissing him frantically. Pulling away with a wondrous chuckle, Jungkook brushes a damp strand of hair off her neck. “You really think I can’t fuck you that hard?” he asks, his tone playful and sexy all at once, as though she’s challenged him at FIFA.

Despite how breathless she is and how much her cunt is aching for him, she scoffs. “Prove it, Jeon,” she says, panting slightly.

He bites his lip and grins, sweaty hair falling into his eyes, and holds her gaze as he enters her this time. It doesn’t last long, for he lowers his head to kiss her neck and her eyes flutter shut as she takes him in, feeling so full and so connected to him that she whimpers his name.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, pushing into her and resuming his pace. Lia wraps her legs around his waist, feeling his sweaty body against hers as he thrusts into her with all the strength his body looks like it would have. 

“Harder, Jungkook…”

He obliges, his hips snapping against hers, the sound echoing against the walls of her room. She's vaguely glad that Dal isn't in the house; the sound of him slamming into her, coupled with their moans and whimpers and grunts could wake residents more than one floor up.

"Lia, I'm close…" Jungkook gasps, his torso shining above her as he picks up his pace. She nods, biting down on her lip hard, chasing the orgasm she knows is building, about to overwhelm her at any point.

The last few punishing thrusts send her over the edge and her vision swims as she comes undone, somehow making out Jungkook's throaty groan as well as he finishes inside her. She can feel his warmth coat her walls vaguely as she clenches weakly around him, wanting him to stay there forever. He lowers his head to kiss her, seeming just as dazed as she feels. 

“Fuck, that was incredible,” she whispers, left with no energy for more. Jungkook nods and kisses her again, his mouth curving into a gorgeous, tired smile. Groaning softly, he pulls away and reaches for the tissue box. He pulls out of her slowly, and Lia doesn’t even care that she audibly whines as he does, suddenly feeling cool and empty. He cleans himself up and wipes the insides of her thighs in a few quick strokes before sinking onto the bed beside her.

Automatically curling into his chest the same moment he holds out his arm, both of them catch their breath in relative silence.

“So?” Jungkook asks after about a minute, and she looks up to see him running a hand through his damp, wavy strands. “Did I do it?”

It takes Lia a moment to understand what he’s referring to. Cuddling further into him, she shrugs. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

He chuckles but doesn’t say anything, simply tightening his arm around her. “By the way,” he says after a few seconds, “how was the… I mean, were you okay with…” He raises his eyebrows and motions with the other hand, as though holding a spoon.

“Oh.” Lia considers this. “It was sweet,” she decides, smiling when Jungkook grins and turns towards her to kiss her. His lips are so soft and comforting, and he pulls her close with both arms, enveloping her. “But I don’t think it’s really my thing,” she adds when they pull apart. 

He nods. “That’s fair. Maybe you can stay the chef and I’ll be your snack,” he suggests.

She laughs. “That’ll be one hell of a snack, Jeon.” When Jungkook simply shrugs and winks at her, she feels the same fluttering in her chest as she did before, the one where she’s sure her heart won’t stand a chance when it comes to him. It’s a big deal, a big step to confess what she thinks she’s feeling and the last thing she wants to do is push this relationship into anything before they’re ready.

Still, when he presses his lips to her forehead and hugs her closer, she rests her cheek against his chest and wonders if it might just be the right time, or if he feels the same at all. He seems to adore her; he’s young and ambitious, but the look on his face every time he looks at her is the main reason she's been excited to wake up every morning the last three months.

Her heart starts racing again, this time in anticipation. “Kook,” she says softly, feeling him turn his head to look at her. She doesn’t return his gaze, however, suddenly too self-conscious. “I, um…” She clears her throat. “I want to…” Shit. 

“Yeah?” he prompts when she doesn’t speak for another few seconds. 

Lia sighs. “I need to take a shower.”

Maybe now really isn’t the right time.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses. “Okay. Mind if I join you?”

“Yeah, alright.” Despite the failed confession, she finds her stomach flip pleasantly at the thought. “But I have to warn you,” she says, sitting up with a wince, “I don’t think I have round three in me.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

#jungkook x oc #btswritingcafe #ficscafe #kpopsociety #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #btsgoldnet #bangtanbathhouse #btsdreamcourt #bangtaninn #bangtanwritershq #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #ksmutclub #52hertz #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts jungkook #btshoneyhive

[seokmins]

HOT — DOKYEOM

#ezralia-gfxs #ezralia-creates #dk gfx #svt gfx #gifs #seventeen #svt #dk #dokyeom #seokmin #lee seokmin #svtsource #svtdaily #1k ⭐ #ultkpop #wkcnet #kpopsociety #kvanity #thesvttown #seventeenweeklyphotography #kpopccc #tw:flashing #so ugly sorry skdjfskd

[minshift]

𖦹Ꜥꜥ ꧇ THINGS TO ADD TO UR SCRIPT ៸៸ ( 🍥 ،゛

♡ beauty edition

it it scientifically proven i have the most mesmerizing features.

the face proportions i have are described in old texts as out of this world, an inhuman being to bring light to the dark world

old paintings of gods resemble my face

whenever someone looks at me they fall into a state of admiration

i have been voted #1 for most beautiful person on this earth

i have the face that sailed 1,000 ships

i am the (beauty) standard

i always look good

i have everyones dream body and face

i am everyones type

i have a young, beautiful, calming aura

i fit beauty and body standards

#꒰ 01 minshifts ˙ #꒰ 01 scripting ˙ #scripting #void state #manifesation #shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #reality shifting #shifting community #reality shift #kpop #kpop shifting #kpop layouts #kpopsociety

[woosluv]

studio — hongjoong

!MINORS DNI!

— pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader

— rating / genre: 18+ / smut, fluff, established relationship

— warnings: penetrative sex (vanilla), pet names (hj calls reader pretty and baby), grinding, teasing, hickeys, not a warning but this is the softest sex ever? 😭

— word count: 1.3k

— summary: you find yourself craving hongjoong when you wake up, desire pent up after he's been locked away in his studio for so long.

— note: this is my first smut so uh yeah lol. i've never really written smut before (and you can tell, i'm so awkward with my words here😭) so this might be a bit bad

[ start ]

You had awoken from your slumber and turned over in bed, groaning when you felt the cold mattress beside you. Hongjoong still hadn’t come to bed yet and it was – you lift your head to check the time – 2:45 am. You sigh deeply as you throw the comforter back and swing your legs over the mattress to step onto the cold floor.

You can see the blue light from his computer shining under the door, further confirming your thoughts that your boyfriend was still working in his studio. You opened the door and watched with a pout as Hongjoong bobbed his head a bit to the beat he had been working on since earlier that day. 

You’re still groggy with sleep when you make your way towards him and wrap your arms around his chest from behind. Your presence causes him to move his headphones off his head and look up at you with soft eyes. “Hi baby. What are you doing up?” You can’t help the pout that falls on your lips as you look down at him. “It’s late, you should come to bed.” Hongjoong nods as his fingers go back to moving things around on the track. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to finish this before I forget what I wanted to do.” You sigh as you hear your boyfriend’s words. That had meant he actually wasn’t going to bed any time soon and he’d only crawl into bed when the sun was finally coming up and it was time for you to get up. 

Getting more and more sleepy by the minute but not wanting to leave, you decide to just crawl into Hongjoong’s lap and make yourself comfortable there. As you climb onto his lap you feel Hongjoong wrap a protective arm around your waist to make sure you don’t fall. After finally settling down with your head on his shoulder, Hongjoong gets back to work, listening to the demo before going back and changing things. He did this over and over again and it was starting to get on your nerves causing you to shift a bit in his lap.

You felt Hongjoong’s arm tighten around your waist. “Don’t do that.” You only huff, not even fully awake at this point, and nuzzle your face further into his neck. A couple minutes later you’re adjusting yourself again, and this time you’re very aware of the thick print of his half hard dick rubbing against your clothed core. “Baby, I said stop.” But he does nothing more to really stop you as you begin leaving little kisses on his neck as you trail your hands down his chest and stick them under the band of his sweatpants. “Baby, what did I just say?” 

You could only let out whines. “Mm, it’ll be fast Joongie.” But Hongjoong doesn’t like quick sex. He loves to take his time and enjoy every moment with you. So he took off his headphones and sat back to let you pull his sweats down. Your pulse quickens at the sight and at the thought that he wasn’t wearing underwear, almost like he was waiting for you to some and stick your hands in his pants.

“Joongie.” You let out the prettiest whine as Hongjoong grabs your hips and guides your clothed core back and forth over his dick. You could feel the wetness growing and soaking through the panties you were wearing as Hongjoong grinds your hips down onto his own. Hongjoong was kissing down your neck and breathing in your scent, peach from your shampoo mixed with a little bit of sweat, admiring how you felt on top of him with only his shirt and a pair of panties on.

“So pretty baby.” He couldn't help but murmur the praise in your ear, voice gravelly with lust as he moved his hips a bit to rub against you more. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him now. So you reached down to hold Hongjoong’s cock and guide it towards the soaked patch of your panties. He groaned in your ear at the feeling of both your hand around his length and the arousal seeping through your panties. “And so needy. What’s got my baby so needy tonight?”

You’re not in control of your actions or what you say anymore. You’re really too far gone, dazed from just waking up and the way he’s making you feel. “Just miss you.” You pout a little more before leaning your forehead forward to meet Hongjoong’s. But Hongjoong loves the way you’re whining for him and how you look, so dazed and fucked out and he hasn’t even touched you. So he reached down and pulled your panties aside, far too lazy and way too impatient to actually remove them, and ran a light finger up your slit, feeling how wet you were just from grinding on him. You hummed at the feeling, pushing down to try to get more from him, but to no avail.

But you’re more than pleasantly surprised when Hongjoong lifts your hips and rubs his dick against you to slick himself up a bit. “I can tell.” His voice is almost teasing as he slips his tip in, holding your hips so you can’t completely sink down onto him. You whine and nudge his nose with yours. The feeling of him being in you but not completely was frustrating, leaving more to be desired. Especially since you knew just how well he filled you up. “Please Joongie. Need you.” 

He reached up to peck your nose so softly. “Since you asked so nicely.” And he slowly pulls your hips down. He feels so nice and big stretching your warm walls. The pace is achingly slow as he controls your hips. A sigh leaves your lips as you take the last of him in. Hongjoong is still holding your hips down, teasingly rolling you against him. He can’t help it. Not when you look so pretty sitting on him, breaths shaky and eyes clenched close with the desire to bounce on him.

You lean forward to catch Hongjoong’s lips in a desperate kiss, whines vibrating in your throat as you went to lift your hips from his own. Much to your satisfaction, he guided your hips to bounce on his length. “Mm, Joong.” You let soft moans out at the feeling of Hongjoong reaching so deep and hitting you perfectly in your spot every time. 

The feeling of Hongjoong’s hands moving up your waist and moving to trace up your spine left goosebumps all over your body, sensation growing with the feeling of his cool breath hitting your neck as he thrusted up into you every time he brought you back down onto him. Hongjoong groaned low into your neck as you clenched around him. He could feel that you were getting close to your high at the feeling of your thighs quivering and the way you leaned forward into him to dig your face into his shoulder.

“Joongie, s-so close.” He moved his head to suck pretty little bruises on your jaw and under your ear as he coaxed you into your orgasm. “Wait for me, pretty. I’m close too.” Hongjoong grunted as he pulled you down into his thrusts, sloppy the closer both of you got to finishing. You whined out as Hongjoong repeatedly hit your sensitive spot. “It’s okay baby. You can cum now.” As he pulled your hips down onto his one last time, you both finish. Hongjoong tightened his arms around your waist as he felt your hole clenching around him, forehead resting on your chest where he could hear your heart beating. 

All that could be heard were both of your pants, breaths heavy from the orgasm you shared. You were both calming your breaths, feeling each other's heartbeats as sweat glistened on your bodies underneath the soft lights that glowed behind the monitors. “Let’s go to sleep, yeah?” Hongjoong’s soft breaths tickled your neck as he spoke. You hummed in response as you tightened your arms around his neck. “Please, I’m sleepy.” Hongjoong could only chuckle lovingly at the tone of your voice, already knowing you had the cutest pout on your lips.

[ end ]

taglist: @wooyoung-a @dogsongy

#underworldnet #kpopsociety #koffeenet #[🦁] hongjoong content #🍄 my writing #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez #ateez fics

[btsmosphere]

hello :DD i saw your drabble game was up and i just couldn’t resist!!

may i ask for jungkook x reader ( she / her prns or gender neutral!), mafia/gang au, e2l, treating an injury and “what happened to you?” “where did you get that?”

thank you so much! i love your work and can’t wait to see what you do with this if you choose to work on it! <33

~summary: Close enough to touch, far enough never to dare. But Jungkook knows you well enough to know something isn’t right. And that locket the new player is wearing? Isn’t his. Will this be what it takes to break the distance you keep with Jungkook? ~pairing: jungkook x reader ~angst, fluff, comfort, enemies to lovers, mafia!au ~word count: 3k ~rating: pg13 ~warnings: violence, alcohol, blood, injury

~a/n: thank you!! you’re so sweet🥰 I’m sorry this has taken more than a week since the last request I posted but as you can see, it’s also longer than a drabble! srsly, the moment I saw this one in my inbox, I was thrilled. it’s like this prompt was made for me haha. the biggest problem I had was not making it too much like Flame on Water, but I’m pleased with what I came up with! I hope you enjoy it too!💜

Jungkook’s eyes flitted in your direction the moment you walked in.

The bar was dark, filled with people, but it was like he could sense you in spite of the hum of chatter and low music fighting for his attention in this atmosphere. Fingers circling the rim of his glass, he eyed you as you crossed the threshold.

Your little acquaintance with Jungkook began some time ago. But there had been no friendly introductions; you had had a knife to the throat of one of his members and the next thing you knew, you were being pressed against the ground with Jungkook at your back.

Over time, you had proved to be quite a match for each other. Just as your gangs skirted around each other, testing boundaries, winning and losing skirmishes for territory, the two of you were seemingly in orbit of the other. One way or another, you would always end up toe to toe, a constant challenge – or, perhaps, annoyance – to the other.

Tonight may be no different. Your eyes locked as you passed his table. Always close enough to touch, but too wise to move until the time was right.

In your line of work, you had to settle for a cool distance with the enemy. After all, you knew that while you were capable of taking him down, the opposite was also true. And either action would invite more conflict that your gangs’ tentative hostility could bear.

You approached and Jungkook sat back, anticipating your arrival. Neither of you would dare make a move in here, you knew that. But it was always fun to flirt with danger.

His smirk grew, a brow cocked as he waited for you to bite first. A simple ‘what are you looking at, Jeon?’ was enough for a spark.

Instead, your expression darkened.

“Not tonight, Jeon.”

Without even staying to hear a response, you kept your head down and moved past.

Jungkook frowned, leaning forwards to catch a glimpse of you, melting into the hubbub of this bar. Something was off.

For the brief moment he could, he scanned your form. He could be imagining it, but were you limping? If you were, you hid it well. In any case, you were gone too soon for him to be sure.

Still, his eyes lingered. He swallowed down a growing unease. This wasn’t like you – but then, why should that mean anything to him? Better still, he should revel in this. To have you in such a sour mood, something must have happened in favour of his gang. And at the expense of you.

He pretended that made him feel better.

But Jungkook had no time to spare thinking of you. Why he would ever want to was a concern in itself.

He was here for a reason. And that reason was crossing to the bar right now.

The man was alone, but Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough to rule out the possibility of anyone keeping an eye from the crowd. This was a new player in town, Ilwoon, but wasn’t someone Namjoon was keen to put in the ground straight away. He was clearly smart, having gained connections before trying to emerge as a powerful figure.

Jungkook had been given instructions for a hassle-free discussion and deal, but he took that with a pinch of salt. They didn’t know much about this guy, and it was Jungkook’s job to show him they weren’t going to be pushed around easily.

Still, he approached with a decidedly cool exterior, letting nothing slip in his expression.

“Two Manhattans.” The order confirmed to Jungkook that this was in fact the right man. His voice was rough, a contrast to the fine trimmed haircut he sported.

Allowing a cordial smile onto his face, Jungkook seated himself beside the newcomer while the bartender busied herself.

“Nice evening,” Jungkook muttered off-hand, “busy.”

Ilwoon bristled, clearly not sure what to make of the smalltalk. But a moment later, a smile bloomed on his face. Jungkook didn’t like it at all, but made sure not to flinch.

“Good place to end a long day,” the man said.

Their drinks slid across the counter, Jungkook watching the other take a sip first, taking note of the way his dark eyes crawled over the occupants of the bar. Like he owned the lot.

Taking a sip too, Jungkook could pass the disgusted curl of his lips off as a response to the burn of alcohol. About to resign himself to a tense but necessary conversation, he turned his eyes back to his drinking partner.

Jungkook’s hand tightened around his glass, not lowering it to the tabletop. Frozen, he stared.

Ilwoon lowered his arm, revealing a charming red pendant which was just visible around his shirt buttons. Finishing his own drink, the man noticed Jungkook’s staring and frowned, shifting in his seat. A small flash of red bounced from the jewel at the movement.

It was beautiful. Jungkook had always thought so. But that was just the problem.

“That isn’t yours.”

Raising his eyes fractionally, Jungkook finally met the man’s gaze with steel in his own.

Quirking a brow, that same repulsive smile flitted onto Ilwoon’s face.

“Told you I’d been having fun in this town,” the man shrugged, “now, shall we talk?”

Fast as a whip, Jungkook had sent his chair clattering to the floor as he sprung at the man, grabbing him roughly by his collar and sending him colliding with the bar.

Any previous noise dissipated, silence shooting through crowd place like a wave.

Jungkook didn’t even break the man’s gaze. One of the glasses slowly rolled off the table, smashed loudly on the floor.

No one moved.

Holding his stance, Jungkook’s only move was to tighten his grip, drawing closer to the man.

“For someone in your position, I would think you’d want to play nice,” he hissed.

Despite the way his feet scrabbled for purchase on the floor and his breath grew shallower, the other man narrowed his eyes, spitting back with vitriol.

“No honour among thieves, I thought. This shouldn’t be your concern.”

“You’re going to tell me who is and isn’t my concern?” Jungkook all but yelled, shaking him.

“I never touched one of yours!”

“They don’t belong to you either,” Jungkook growled. His spare hand reached up, just below the one holding his foe, to grab the locket.

It was true that it was nothing to do with bangtan. That his actions now would spark rumours of some weakness, some compromise. That he need not be interested in the fate of anyone other than the boys he called family.

But Jungkook didn’t recall seeing this around your neck earlier.

He tore it off. Releasing the man and leaving him panting, leaning against the counter, he stalked away without looking back.

The thin metal chain felt heavy in Jungkook’s fist.

Falling fast and heavy, his shoes clattered up the stairs. If Ilwoon had any sense, he would be long gone already, but he was a long way down Jungkook’s list right now.

The bouncer nodded him through instantly, Jungkook not even sparing time to look at her.

While this bar was supposed to be a neutral place for gangs (something he would certainly have to explain if the owner got wind of his little stunt downstairs), many of them frequented the place. With the absence of violence came somewhere for meetings, perhaps the only spot this side of bangtan’s territory where Jungkook could brush shoulders with enemies without trading blows.

At the moment, he was rather closer to shoving them as he carved a path through the crowd. The top floor was solely for those in his… profession. He had no doubt you had been heading here when he saw you earlier.

Emerging from the dense group by the bar, he quickly scanned the tables, ruling each one out.

Chewing his cheek, he exhaled harshly through his nose, turning his head erratically. You were nowhere in sight.

There was only one place left.

Walking purposefully past the tables, he pushed through another door. The bathrooms were here, four gender neutral ones lining the corridor.

Toeing open the nearest, he peered inside. It was empty, as was the lockable cubicle inside. Crossing the hall in one stride, he tried the next with the same results. The third, however-

You eyes snapped up, meeting his in the mirror just before you whirled around with a gasp, straightening your top.

Jungkook’s brow creased, gaze lingering even though you were now totally covered by your turtleneck. Once again, it had been too quick to be sure, but-

“What happened to you?”

Jungkook’s intense gaze met yours as he stepped inside, the door falling closed behind him. He didn’t miss your guarded stance, the way your eyes flickered to the exit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jeon,” you replied tersely.

Turning back to the mirror, you leaned over the sink to make a show of inspecting your hair. As if you couldn’t care less about his invasion.

But much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook may know you more than most people. Despite your… situation, it was hard to keep secrets and emotions at bay when your lives revolved around pushing the other, whether it be in a physical fight or in tactical play. Even those in your own circle were kept at a further distance. Trust wasn’t exactly an abundant resource in your world.

You just hoped the amount of times Jungkook had seen you hurt, sometimes from his own doing, wouldn’t pay off now. You knew he was still watching you.

He ground his teeth, then looked down at something.

“What’s this then?”

Turning back to him in irritation, you opened your mouth, only to freeze like that when you saw the pendant dangling from his fingers. Your father had given you that, a symbol of your belonging to his empire just before he died. While many of his members believed you weren’t fit to be with them, it reminded you they wrong.

You always wore it.

Until…

“Where did you get that?”

“What happened to you?”

Jungkook repeated his question rapidly in response to your own. All it prompted was more silence. But he had watched your unbothered air crack in front of him the moment he showed you the locket – something was wrong.

“Listen, Jungkook,” you spoke low, trying not to betray your shaking voice, “I’ve had quite enough for today. If you want to add to that, go ahead. Just tell the cleaners on your way out.”

Your words jarred Jungkook. Reminded him of all the reasons you would expect him to be here, and with good reason. A startling realisation of how far his feelings seemed to have strayed from the familiarity of your rivalry.

He took a breath, horrified. Expecting you to laugh any second, or even kick him in the face.

But you just waited.

“What did he do to you?” he pressed, taking a step.

He jolted to a stop the next second when you actually stepped away from him, backing against the sink.

“You know Ilwoon?”

“I hate the bastard, but yes,” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth, “care to tell me why he had this?”

You rolled your eyes.

“What do you think?”

“Is it the reason there’s blood in the sink?”

“Well done, Sherlock,” you bit, “don’t you think you could save your gloating for later?”

“He hurt you.”

You smirked drily.

“Are you just bitter because you never managed?”

He stared in disbelief. How were joking about this?

You still stared defiantly up at him, arms folded over your chest.

His next words came as little more than a breath.

“Let me see.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly hesitant to meet your eyes.

“Let- let me see. I can help.”

You were silent for so long that Jungkook looked back up at you, finding you still staring at him like he was crazy.

Perhaps he was.

But eventually, you dropped your arms and stepped to one side with a soft huff.

Stepping forward, Jungkook laid the necklace quietly on the counter before reaching out. Just before his fingers touched the hem of the fabric, he looked back up for confirmation.

You took a breath. Somehow, this didn’t feel as strange as it should.

A small nod from you, and he gently lifted the material, a crease emerging between his brows.

Chewing your lip, you looked away. Still, you couldn’t help eyeing the damage in the mirror beside you. The wound wasn’t of too much concern, but the blood was certainly a sight to behold. Your cleaning had done nothing to improve it.

A slash ran across your side. He had poor aim, the knife striking your ribs which had deflected it, extending the cut around your side where it was hard for you to reach without having to contort and receive a warning blast of pain from the injured spot.

You couldn’t help the hiss that left you when Jungkook’s fingers brushed against it. Withdrawing instantly, he looked back to you.

“Sorry, go ahead,” you muttered, averting your eyes again.

Still, when he turned on the tap to wet his hand, it returned cautiously, barely touching if he could help it. For the odd time he aggravated the wound, you simply bit your tongue.

Turning your eyes towards yourself in the mirror, you watched blankly. What should have been the most bizarre scene felt all too easy. Jungkook’s gaze remained focussed, fixed on his hands as they were painted red with your blood before it swirled away down the drain.

His hands left you then, prompting you to whip around in panic. Where was he going?

All you were met with was a low chuckle, a lopsided smile falling onto Jungkook’s lips. He stayed where he was, shrugging off his jacket.

“What are you-?”

Your question died on your lips as he bunched it up, bending slightly to tend to your wound again. Lost for words, you simply raised your arm slightly to give him better access as he pressed the fabric against your side.

Part of you felt bad for what was clearly an expensive jacket – the material wasn’t scratchy at all, barely irritating your injury.

“It should be treated properly,” he said.

“I’ll live.”

“I don’t doubt it. But… you’ll have someone look at it, right?”

You quirked a brow at him.

“So you can give me another one next week?”

“Of course not!”

His exclamation took you by surprise. Apparently, it did the same to him, both of you blinking at each other in the following quiet.

He sighed roughly, looking down to his shifting feet for a moment.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Why would I do that?”

Your protest was weak and you knew it. Your voice came out tired. The care Jungkook had just showed you left you caving to the very thing you had always tried to resist. But after today’s events, you just wanted to let your guard down and tell someone.

He didn’t even have to say anything else. You sighed, leaned back against the counter.

“The new guy wanted to meet up, talk business with our gang. I didn’t turn up expecting anything, but the moment he saw they sent me, he seemed to take that as a sign of weakness. Not a word of business, just him being a creep until he attacked me when I wasn’t having it.”

Kicking the tiled floor as you spoke, a bitter scowl took over your face. You were more than capable of taking on/quick enough to take on this stupid newbie, but the knife had really taken you by surprise.

“I shouldn’t have even given him the chance,” you cursed, “but when this happened, it threw me enough for him to grab me. He seemed to enjoy it. Like that necklace was a bleeding trophy.”

Jungkook’s expression of hatred mirrored your own.

When your eyes fell on the jewellery sitting on the side, his followed. Saying nothing, he reached for it, stepped behind you.

Instinctively, you turned, meeting his eyes as he came behind you in the mirror. The necklace glinted innocently in the light as he raised it above your head, fastening it out of sight at the nape of your neck.

His fingers only grazed your skin as he pulled away. And if he saw the bruises on your neck, he said nothing about them. He knew all too well how humiliating it could be to come out this side of what should have been an easy fight.

“He wanted discussions with bangtan as well,” Jungkook said, as if it was the most innocent thing in the world.

But his smirk in the mirror ignited hope in you again.

Spinning around to face him, you pretended not to notice just how close this brought you to Jungkook. You were no stranger to being a breath away from him, but it was a different experience now you weren’t trying to attack each other.

“You mean he’s been in contact with both of us?”

“Would have thought he’d be smart enough to know not to get between enemies. When our bosses find out he wants to play us like this I don’t think they’ll be too happy, do you?”

Like falling into your magnetic pull, Jungkook shifted closer still. A smirk was growing over your features, eyes glinting in the light.

Your gaze dropped slightly, a finger coming to rest on his chest. Looking up at him, you tilted your head playfully. This confidence fit you much better, more familiar than the weakness Ilwoon had inflicted on you.

“And what about how we found out?”

“I don’t think that should be of concern when he’s running for his life.”

And you fell together at last, all that time you had spent fighting fading in the work of an instant. The tongue that loved to cut you down now tasted so sweet as you indulged in his lips at last. How you had ever been able to resist, you didn’t know.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know your thoughts💜

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[ugh-yoongi]

keep driving | jjk

(the one where you and jeongguk go on a road trip to nowhere and finally say all the things you usually hold back, and then you just keep driving.)

pairing: jungkook x f.reader

genre: best friends to lovers | fluff, comedy

rating: mature

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual situations (nothing explicit/no smut), alcohol consumption, drug use (weed/edibles), my brand of violent affection, jk drives a very stupid car, one hint of social commentary on the exploitation of chinese laborers during the creation of the us railroad system, i make fun of the way taehyung dresses one (1) time, small cameos by joshua & jun from svt in order to set up a joke, this is just pretty soft idk what to say, happy almost summer y’all.

wordcount: 6.8k

listen to: “keep driving” by harry styles

a/n: i have had the most horrendous writer’s block since i posted love.fm, then i got possessed and wrote all of this in 24hrs. crazy how that works. as stated above, this is entirely inspired by “keep driving” by harry styles and probably makes the most sense if you listen to the song. thank you to my loves lauren (@effortandmore) and jess (@the-boy-meets-evil​) for beta’ing this for me. ❤

FRIDAY, 7:01am—There’s a very light, fluttering feeling against your skin that you can’t place. Warm, soft, tingling. A brush, something ghosting along your skin, heat left in its wake.

“Hey.” You hear the words, vaguely; they take a long time to register, like they’re coming from some far away, unreachable place. “Wake up, idiot.”

Ah, you know that voice. Makes sense it’d take something nice and turn it awful; infiltrate the nice dream you were having and turn it into a nightmare. “Get out of my apartment before I call the cops,” you say, not bothering to crack open your eyes. You know what you’ll see: Jeongguk staring down at you with those too-large eyes, crooked front teeth showing from his wide, beaming smile. It’ll still be dark out, Jeongguk will probably be covered in a light sheen of sweat, fresh from the gym at some ungodly hour, and you’ll feel fond and wish you didn’t.

Better to keep your eyes closed.

“You gave me a key, stupid.”

You try (and fail) to roll your eyes behind your eyelids. “So I’m revoking it. Give it back, since you clearly can’t be trusted with it.”

“No,” he says simply. “Get up or I’ll turn the light on and steal your comforter.”

Subconsciously, you fist the duvet tighter. “You do that and the first thing I’m doing when I get up is swinging on you.”

Jeongguk cackles wildly, flopping ungraciously onto your bed. Half of his body winds up on top of yours and it’s a familiar weight. Everything about Jeongguk is a familiar comfort. “I’m not scared of you. You can’t even fight.”

“I’ll learn, just so I can beat your ass the next time you show up at my apartment at—what time is it?”

“A little after seven.”

You groan. “Okay, so I’ll learn how to fight just so I can beat your ass the next time you show up at my apartment a little after seven.”

Jeongguk laughs again, but it’s softer this time, muffled by the way he’s nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It comes out in little puffs of breath that give you goosebumps. “Still not scared of you.”

You huff. “Well, you should be! You’ve been blowing me off for weeks. I’m mad at you and I’m not gonna hold back.” Jeongguk moves to say something foul, so you reach around wildly until you find his mouth and clamp your hand over it. “Shut up. I don’t wanna hear whatever gross shit is about to come out of your mouth. I already know you were blowing me off to get slapped around in bed because you like it.”

There’s a garbled reply. You remove your hand. “Jesus. I said I wasn’t, it was finals week.”

“Yeah, finals week, as in one singular week. You’ve been ignoring my texts for three.”

See, the thing about Jeongguk is that he’s hopelessly endearing. Even when you’ve got a legitimate reason, it’s damn near impossible to be mad at him, and he’s a bastard so he knows this. The two of you have been friends long enough that he knows every one of your exploitable weak points, so all he has to do is press in closer to you, drape an arm over your waist, and hook his head over your shoulder. “Baby,” he says with an exaggerated pout, “I’m sorry. Forgive me and come back to bed.”

You shriek, throwing his arm off of you. “You are so fucking weird, Jeongguk, I swear to god—”

“Baby,” he sing-songs again, “don’t be mad at me. Baby, baby, baby—”

You’re in hell, you’re certain of it, because hell is Jeongguk only being like this with you but never clarifying what that means. Around everyone else he’s shy, hesitant to reach out and touch, always looking like he’s ten steps behind. Turns red when anyone showers him in praise and attention. You still remember freshman year, the party you’d dragged him to so he could meet some of your friends and maybe make them his, too—you remember the way a girl from your astronomy elective had latched onto him. Made sure to keep a drink in his hand and invite him to dance, and you remember how he always tried to find you in the crowd, how badly he looked like he was going to throw up just because a hot girl was grinding her ass against his dick.

You know he’s had hookups since then. Loads of them, judging from the shit Taehyung says when he gets too stoned and starts crying because Jeongguk is his roommate and Taehyung misses him when he’s off getting laid and they can’t play Overwatch together. But in all the time you’ve known him, Jeongguk has never committed to anything except being your best friend and Taehyung’s roommate and his Overwatch character.

So, yeah. Hell is knowing all of that and still having to wonder.

“Wait,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow, “are you actually mad at me? Like, for real?”

“No,” you grumble, even though you mean kind of.

Jeongguk sighs. “That doesn’t sound very convincing. Like, you said no but it sounded like you meant yes, so if you mean yes you should just say that so I can apologize and tell you why I’m dragging you out of bed at seven-thirty.”

Finally, you roll over to face him, and heave out a sigh. “Fine. I am actually a little mad at you.”

“Okay.” He smiles. “I’m sorry I neglected you and our friendship and made you feel bad. That was shitty of me and I won’t do it again—or, if I do, I will make sure to check in and let you know what’s going on.”

Hell is the way your chest grows tight. Hell is how warm your cheeks become under his gaze, all serious and pointed so you know he actually means it. Hell is how you try so hard to hold on to your glare, keep it cemented on your face, but the corners of your mouth twitch almost immediately. Hell is how you can’t help but smile, snorting as you laugh. “Fine,” you concede, “you’re forgiven.”

“Thank god. What would I do if you stayed mad at me forever?”

You pretend to mull it over. “Taehyung would replace me as your best friend, obviously. The two of you would never leave your apartment and just play Overwatch forever. You’d probably get married just for the tax write-offs—”

“Overwatch themed wedding, of course,” Jeongguk adds.

You nod. “Of course. Overwatch themed wedding. You’ll be a famous film director and they’ll ask you to do some low-budget video game movie that flops—”

“Hey!”

“—and twenty years from now, when it flops and almost ends your career, you’ll sit on your disgusting couch with Taehyung, your husband, and say, ‘Damn, I really shouldn’t have ignored her and made you my best friend instead. Worst mistake of my life.’ And Taehyung will get really mad, because sometimes you say really insensitive shit without meaning to, and Taehyung’s, like, tissue-paper-soft, and then he’ll divorce you—”

Jeongguk nuzzles back into your neck. “This is really fucked up,” he whines. “Why are you ruining my life like this?”

“For fun.”

“It’s not very fun for me.” He sits up, then, and a crooked little smirk makes its way onto his face. “Now get up. We have very important stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

12:46pm—Of all the harebrained schemes Jeongguk has thought up over the last five years, and there’s been countless, he’s really outdone himself this time.

“Are you insane?” you ask, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes so he can’t see how severe your scowl is. “I told you after what happened last time that I am never stepping foot in this piece of shit again.”

“Oh, come on,” he argues, “it wasn’t even that bad.”

You don’t respond, just plant your feet more firmly into the asphalt. “I said no.”

Scoffing, he mimes getting stabbed in the heart. “Et tu, Brutus?”

“Brute.”

“Brut-ever. Will you get in the car now?”

You eye the monstrosity that is Jeongguk’s car. Two years ago it’d been a typical piece of shit college kid’s car: held together by a hope and a prayer, more rust than functioning automobile, and the best Jeongguk could afford after working under the table for shit pay all through high school. All of that had been fine. Sure, you didn’t necessarily feel safe in it since there was never a non-zero chance of some necessary part falling off after Jeongguk took a turn too fast, but you hadn’t reached the point of embarrassed refusal until The Bet.

The long and short of it is this: Jeongguk, after watching Deadpool for the nth time, decided to name his scrap heap after Bea Arthur, to which Taehyung had replied, stoned out of his mind, that Bea Arthur was a Golden Girl and Jeongguk did not have a Golden Girls-worthy car. That part was factual. Jeongguk did not have a Golden Girls-worthy car; he had a piece of shit Jeep Wrangler that was only one year younger than him. Taehyung, because he was still stoned out of his mind, then proceeded to explain to Jeongguk, in great detail, that the only way his car would ever be worthy of her name would be to paint her pink. He bet him two trips to Taco Bell and one uninterrupted hour on the PS4 to do it.

So Jeongguk did. Went out the next day and bought all the cans of Barbie pink spray paint from the hardware store near campus and painted his car in the resident lot outside their shared apartment.

It looked—and still looks—absolutely terrible. Especially after Taehyung bought him those trashy car eyelashes as a gag gift.

“No.”

Jeongguk stomps his feet. “You’re so rude. Apologize to her.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. The left eyelash falls off a little more. “Look at it,” you say, pointing to the disgusting decoration, “it’s hanging on for dear life.”

The next thing you know, Jeongguk is wrenching your duffel bag out of your hands and tossing it in the backseat. He’s got the doors taken off the Jeep so it just stares back at you, taunting, and you have half a mind to grab it back and stomp your way back up to your apartment because he’s looking at you like you’re next, like you’re the next thing he’s going to toss over his shoulder and forcefully put into the car. “If you touch me I’ll scream.”

His eyes narrow. “Go ahead. Graduation was a week ago. Everyone’s already gone.”

You look across the empty parking lot. Point taken. Still: “You don’t know that,” you argue. “You’re discounting people who don’t drive. We live in a very walkable city with great public transportation.”

“Please get in the car,” he grumbles, clearly very over this conversation. “It’s fucking hot and I have an itinerary to stick to.”

You cock a disbelieving eyebrow. “There’s no way you made an itinerary.”

“I will actually murder you if you don’t get in the fucking car right now.”

“Did you physically feel the feminism leaving your body as you said that to me?” you snark, finally folding yourself in the passenger’s seat.

Jeongguk gets in beside you, lets out an extremely loud groan, and sticks the key in the ignition. “Please shut the entire fuck up. I’m begging.”

4:19pm—Jeongguk gets a speeding ticket roughly one hour into your little trip, which puts him in a sour mood for the rest of the drive.

You’d been able to coax out of him that the first stop on your itinerary is a house party. Taehyung had invited him. A friend of a friend of a friend from his hometown, all the way down the line until you’d stopped listening. Whoever it is has a pool, a very large and very heated one according to Jeongguk, so that was good enough for you. As it was, you didn’t turn down a good house party very often, but you’re a little surprised Jeongguk would drive nearly four hours out of his way for one.

Not that it matters. You meet Taehyung at his parents’ house, the picture of suburban monotony, and he hugs the two of you like he hasn’t seen you in years even though it’s been five days.

“My parents left this morning,” he explains, hiking your bag over his shoulder as he gives you a half-assed tour of the house. There’s a living room and a dining room and a kitchen that doesn’t look like it’s been updated since 2004. “Went on some bougie vacation to celebrate my college graduation.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one going on a trip to celebrate?”

Taehyung gestures for you and Jeongguk to climb the stairs ahead of him. “Nope,” he says. “They said they’re celebrating their quote-unquote financial independence since I have finally graduated college and am officially cut off from the family credit card. Ah, hook a right, the guest room is the last door on the left. I figured you two wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“That’s fine,” you say at the same time Jeongguk says, “I would literally rather eat a live tarantula.”

Taehyung plops your bag on the bed and nods sagely, like he was expecting this. “Lover’s spat, huh? I feel for you, bro. It’s hard out here for people like us.”

“What does that mean?” you ask. “Who are people like you?”

“Extremely good-looking,” Taehyung answers.

“Very desirable,” Jeongguk tacks on.

“People who have a fantastic sense of fashion.”

“Now I know you’re lying because he’s in a crop top and a pair of sweatpants he cut into shorts himself that still have a cum stain—”

Jeongguk’s jaw drops. “It’s pizza grease!” he argues.

“—and it’s ninety-three degrees outside and you’re in a three-piece suit. Who do you think you are, Andrew fucking Carnegie? You’re dressed like you’re about to monopolize the railroads. What are you going to this party to do, exploit some labor?”

10:37pm—Taehyung throws you in the pool for insulting his suit.

Jeongguk’s yelling at him when you surface. Something about a woman who got pushed in a pool and got paralyzed and it’s not fucking funny, Tae, what if she got hurt, you fucking dickhead, and you’re laughing. Taehyung snaps a picture of you with the film camera hanging around his neck, your smile so, so big even though there’s chlorine in your eyes and your outfit’s ruined and your sunglasses are at the bottom of the deep end.

“See?” Taehyung says. “She’s fine.”

Jeongguk punches him in the shoulder anyway.

He says something you can’t hear over the noise of the party, so he kneels down by the coping and leans in close. You could count every individual eyelash if you wanted, and the warmth of his breath is a dizzying contrast from your wet skin. You wonder what he thinks about when the two of you are this close. You wonder if it’s instinctual, like the unspoken, natural conclusion is the two of you always being drawn this close together. You wonder if he thinks about kissing you. You wonder if he thinks about you like that at all, the way you sometimes think about him.

“Are you really okay?” he asks again, voice so much softer than the one he’d used with Taehyung. You nod. “Are you cold?”

“A little.”

He offers his hand to you, pulls you out of the pool like you’re weightless. Doesn’t take it back once you’re on solid ground again, just threads your fingers together. “Okay. Let’s get you into some warm clothes.”

“You want to go back to Tae’s?”

Jeongguk leads you through the house until he finds an empty bedroom. “Here,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head. “It should be big enough to cover you.” All you can do is stare. “Lock the door behind me, okay? Just so no one barges in on you while you’re changing. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna see if I can find you a towel.”

Why do you feel like you’ve been hit by a train?

You nod again, mumbling a quiet thank you under your breath. You do as Jeongguk says and lock the door behind him, pull off your wet clothes, wince as the air conditioning bites at your skin. Still in your bra and underwear, because there’s no point in putting on Jeongguk’s dry shirt while you’re still wearing them, so you just hold it in your hands. Let the residual body heat warm your fingers. You know it smells like him; you’d watched him spritz on cologne before you left.

There’s a knock on the door. “It’s me. I got a towel.”

You’re pulling it open before you have time to think about how undressed you are. Not like Jeongguk’s never seen you in this state before—you’d started sleeping in shorts and tank tops at the very least after the third time he dropped by unannounced—just like you’ve seen him shirtless countless times. And it’s not necessarily that it feels different now, but it does, a little. He gasps when he takes you in, so quiet you’d miss it if the two of you weren’t so far away from the rest of the party, and it’s so hot outside and there’s so many fucking people around that there’s already a light sheen of sweat along his chest, down the arm that’s covered in tattoos, all the lines you’ve traced over a million times.

He swallows. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “What, um. D’you want me to see if I can put your clothes in the dryer?”

It’s so hard to pull your gaze away from him. “Nah,” you answer, “it’s okay. I’ll just find a bag or something and dry them once we get back to Tae’s.”

“What about your, uh. Your—you know.”

“My what? My underwear?”

A mortified whimper escapes him that even he looks surprised by. “Y-yeah.”

You laugh as you towel off your hair. “Well, I’ll probably ditch the bra. It’s not like most of these perverts have never seen hard nipples before, but I’m not giving them anymore of a free show, so I’ll have to deal with the wet underwear.”

“Do you want mine?”

That shuts you up. “Jeongguk, I know we’re, like, best friends or whatever, but most best friends don’t share underwear. Worn underwear, especially.”

He looks even more mortified now. Turns red from his cheeks all the way to his bellybutton. “Oh. Right, um. Dumb question.”

You snort. “Turn around,” you say, tone teasing. You wonder if he’s just as glad as you to have something else to look at.

The shirt feels just like being in Jeongguk’s arms, warm and familiar. Barely covers your entire ass, but most of the girls outside are wearing less, so you’ll be okay. And you’ll never admit it, but it feels nice to wear it, to feel a little possessive for once. Everyone back at school who knows you knows Jeongguk, just like everyone who knows Jeongguk knows you, but these people don’t know either of you, so you like that there’s not many conclusions they can draw from seeing Jeongguk shirtless, from seeing you wear it.

You’ll never, ever admit it.

“All good?” he asks. Mhmm, you answer. “I ran into Tae in the kitchen. He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry before he gets too drunk and forgets, but he gave me a joint as an olive branch if you wanna share it.”

You don’t want to leave this bedroom. Don’t want to pop this weird little bubble you’ve found yourself in. But Jeongguk’s got that green tint to his skin again, looks like he’s ready to come out of it any second, so you slide your feet back into your sandals and nod. “Yeah, sounds good.”

11:16pm—Jeongguk has never been a very good smoker. Never really got the hang of it, still coughs like an eighty-year-old man every time he takes a hit. It’d been endearing the first few times you and Taehyung had tried to teach him, but now it’s just really sad.

“Fu-fuck,” he chokes, “I missed it.”

You take the joint from his outstretched fingers. Inhale. Don’t cough. “Missed what?” Blow it out.

“Eleven-eleven,” he answers. “I was gonna make a wish.”

You take another hit. “What were you gonna wish for?”

Jeongguk lays back in the grass. Stares up at the sky and all the stars. “I dunno. A million dollars. A car you’re not embarrassed to be seen in. A PS5. An apartment I could afford without a roommate. One of those, like, really expensive Iron Man figurines from Japan.”

“You’re so full of shit. You know damn well if you bought any of those Japanese figurines it’d be one of those anime ones with the tits all out.”

You try to pass the joint back, but Jeongguk waves you away. “Finish it. And I am not full of shit. I want that Iron Man one real bad. They’re like three-hundred dollars on eBay.”

You’re not looking at him when you say, “Wow, you’ve really got a lot to wish for, huh?”

But he’s looking right at you when he answers, “You have no idea.”

SATURDAY, 1:27am—The kid whose house you’re at is named Joshua.

You meet him by accident in the living room, where he nearly spills three cups of beer down your front and still manages to rope you into a game of pong. He’s known Taehyung forever, he says. Tells you they have the same birthday, same year and everything, so Taehyung thinks they’re platonic soulmates or whatever.

(Joshua’s cheeks were pink when he said, “I didn’t have the heart to explain the birthday paradox to him.”

Your eyes widened. “So you just… put up with him? Like, voluntarily? For twenty years?”)

Even with Jeongguk as your teammate, the two of you lose the first game horrifically. You knew it was a bad idea to partner with him. Not only can he not smoke, he can’t really function after he does, either. Someone knocks into him, a stray elbow in his ribs, and he sends his next throw so off-center it hits Joshua’s partner square in the forehead. Doesn’t fall into the cup on the way down, either.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “You need to get your shit together, dude, I’ve already taken all of your drinks because you’re a lightweight and you start crying if you get too drunk and I’m about two more cups from puking in a bush outside, and you just hit…” You pause, looking at Joshua’s pong partner. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

The poor kid looks like a deer caught in headlights. Well, a deer with a very red, very circular mark on its forehead. “Um—”

“Shit, sorry, this is Jun,” Joshua cuts in. “He’s doing a study abroad year. He’s from China.”

Your jaw drops a little, drunken panic settling into your veins. “Oh my god. Holy shit. Tell him to stay away from Taehyung, he’s trying to monopolize the railroads and exploit labor—”

3:39am—You’ve shared beds with Jeongguk before.

Loads of times, actually, especially during those early days of college. Jeongguk had shown up at your dorm countless times back then, eyes rimmed red and limbs trembling, homesick. There wasn’t much you could do except tuck him into your twin bed and run your fingers through his hair. He’d spent so many nights like that, eyes closed, breath steadying as he told you all about his family, his friends, the town he’d grown up in. And it’d just… stayed like that. Became a thing. No matter the size of your bed, half of it always belonged to Jeongguk.

Now, though.

Now is an entirely different story.

“Why are people afraid of mummies?”

You drag your attention away from the ceiling to stare at him, the corners of your mouth turning upwards involuntarily. “What?”

“Why are people afraid of mummies,” Jeongguk repeats, tugging the thick duvet up to his chin. “Like, I watched that Brendan Fraser movie the other day and I don’t get it.”

You sigh. You’re in for a long night if The Mummy (1999) is what Jeongguk is going to wax philosophical about, but you indulge him. You always do. “Hm. Imhotep was never really mummified, though. Like, just because you’re buried alive with flesh-eating beetles and put in a sarcophagus doesn’t make you a legitimate mummy, you know?”

Jeongguk snaps his fingers in agreement. You can’t see his face too well in the dark, but you imagine the way his eyes light up. “See, that’s what I said! He’s not even a real mummy. They gotta wrap you with the stuff to be a real mummy. He’s a fraud.”

You laugh. “A fraud mummy?”

“Yeah, a frummy. I Googled it and there’s a whole process. He cheated.”

“A process, huh?” you ask, closing the space between you. He’s so warm. Still smells a little like smoke and sweat and the way he always does, and you wonder if it’ll stick to the pillow. If you’ll wake up in the morning half on his pillow and breathe in and think, yeah, that’s Jeongguk. “Tell me all about it.”

Jeongguk’s hand finds yours again. You expect him to lace your fingers together, again, but he doesn’t: he digs his thumb into your palm, draws lines into the muscle there. Just barely, you can see the ink on his knuckles, remember when he got it done. “I don’t remember,” he says, voice like spun sugar.

“This is why you should stop smoking. You’re terrible at it.”

He laughs through his nose. A snort of breath that rustles your hair. A snort of breath that wouldn’t have if you weren’t so close, but why wouldn’t you be. Why would you ever want to be far away from Jeongguk when you can be like this instead? “That’s not why.” An aborted sigh. “I mean, it is, but—I don’t know. It’s not why.”

There’s something about the early morning, the gray light that creeps in around the edges of the curtains, the stillness and the quiet. It makes you brave—maybe a little stupid, too, if you’re being honest. A little vulnerable. But this is how it’s always been between you and Jeongguk. Things you’re too scared to say in the daytime come out in the dark, where they’re safe. So you sit up. Prop yourself up on one elbow and stare down at him, his face still obscured by the comforter, large eyes just visible over the hem. “What are you not saying?” you ask, reaching out to brush his hair away from his face.

There’s a beat of silence. An unsteady inhale. And then he says, “A lot,” and doesn’t open his eyes again.

“You can tell me,” you say. His hair is so soft. “You know that. You can tell me anything.”

He looks pained. “I want to. I want to so bad, but it’s just, like—it’s so hard. Why is it so hard?”

“Hm. Why don’t I tell you something hard first, and we can trade?”

That gets him to crack an eye open. “No, I don’t trust you. You’re gonna say something stupid like diamonds are the hardest known material on earth to trick me. Fuck no.”

“I’m not gonna trick you,” you say around your laughter, “but it’s actually graphene. Two guys from the University of Manchester won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 2010 for it and everything.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Why do you even know that? You were a linguistics major.”

“Yeah, a linguistics major that graduated with honors. That means I’m, like, really smart.” You cross your eyes and make a funny face. His smile feels like the sun. “So? You wanna shake on it?”

“This feels like a crossroads deal.”

You scoff, still smiling. “You’re impossible. How ‘bout this: I’m just gonna say what I was planning on saying the whole time, and you can do whatever you want, no crossroads deals required.”

A raised eyebrow. “Then what’s the catch? There’s always a ca—”

“I wanted to kiss you so bad at that party.”

A whimper, and then there’s silence. It stretches on so long you wonder if the darkness has made you too brave. If you’ve said something you shouldn’t have and gave life to something that should’ve stayed hidden. Now it exists. Now it’s something that’s tangible and real; something Jeongguk can reach out and touch. Something he can take hold of gently and keep close to him, or something that singes his skin when he gets too close.

Something to shy away from.

And then—”Only at the party?”

He’s looking right at you. Maybe the darkness makes Jeongguk brave, too.

“All the time.”

Jeongguk rolls his lips. You can’t look away. “Right now, too?” You nod. “Fuck. Fuck, me too.”

“I’m still a little drunk,” you admit. “Not an excuse, I just—what if you never wanna kiss me again and this is the only time and I don’t remember it?”

He smiles. Leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “There’s no rush. We can kiss in the morning, when we’re both stupidly hungover. Like a reward.”

“After we brush our teeth, though,” you tack on, starting to feel the exhaustion creep in. “We’ll wake up, brush our teeth, and then we’ll kiss.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, pulling you down so your head’s on his chest. Presses another kiss to the top of your head. His heartbeat is so loud, so erratic. You’re so tired. “We’re gonna kiss so much.”

“So much. It’s gonna be gross, how much we’re gonna kiss.”

11:54am—The inside of your mouth tastes like something drowned in battery acid and died.

By the grace of all things holy, you’ve somehow escaped the worst of it. Your head’s mostly intact; you’re able to crack your eyes open and not immediately want to throw up at all the light in the room. Your stomach’s a little queasy but nothing a disgusting, greasy breakfast won’t cure.

All things considered, you’ve definitely had worse hangovers.

But you wake up alone. The half of Jeongguk’s pillow you’ve claimed does smell like him, you learn, and you smile to yourself in the privacy of the room. The shower is running in the en suite. Jeongguk’s quietly singing some pop song. Taehyung’s snoring so loudly down the hall you’re surprised the paint’s still on the walls. You want to wake up like this forever.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, appearing in the doorway just in a towel. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you grumble. “How long have you been up?”

Jeongguk shrugs. Moves to his bag by the closet. “A few hours.”

“How?”

He very purposely turns away from you, then. Stumbles over his words as he says, “I couldn’t sleep. Too excited, I guess.” You can still see the way his neck turns red, anyway, and it’s not the flush from his shower.

“You got so excited to kiss me you couldn’t sleep?”

“Stooooop,” he whines. “Don’t tease me. I’m already fragile.”

You fling yourself back against the mattress, cackling wildly. “Should I go brush my teeth? Make your sleep deprivation worth it?”

“What, are you making a kiss schedule?” he chides, turning to you with a hand on his hip. “Don’t plan it, that’s weird.”

“You’re weird. If I leave it up to you I’ll be waiting until 2047.”

He clicks his tongue. “And what’s wrong with that? Fifty’s a great age for that kind of thing.” When all he gets in return is a loud groan, he throws his damp towel at you. “Get ready. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Those butterflies you get when you finally brush your teeth don’t mean anything. Probably.

1:05pm—Every bad thing in life can be fixed with diner breakfast.

Except Jeongguk’s hangover, apparently.

“That shower deceived me,” he whines, head clunking onto the table. When he lifts it to pout at you, the paper placemat sticks to his forehead. “I felt fine,” he says, peeling it off his skin, “and now I feel bad. How does that work?”

You coo at him, ruffling his still-damp hair. It’s gotten longer, usually piled atop his head now or tied in a knot at the nape of his neck. Suits him, you think. “The food will help,” you assure him. “I can order for you if you need to go puke, just tell me what you want.”

“I want to die,” he moans. Faceplants back onto the table. You order two coffees when the waitress comes around to get your drink order.

You wave him off. It’s horribly endearing, the way he drags his feet to the bathroom. The way he reaches the door and turns back to look at you with the most pitiful look he can muster, just so you feel bad for him and order extra food because he can eat more than anyone you know and he knows it’ll work. And it does: you order two plates of the same thing, an extra side of hashbrowns for Jeongguk because they’re his favorite.

“I love you,” he says once he’s back at the table, staring down at the food in front of him. Pancakes and eggs, over medium. Two hashbrowns. Fresh coffee. “Like, for real.”

You roll your eyes. “Eat something before you throw up again and ruin the sanctity of this diner.”

He turns serious, then. “No, I—I mean I love you. The big one. Big-L. In love with you kind of love. And I didn’t throw up, I just gagged a little.”

You blink. Once then ten more times. “And you’re admitting that now?” you nearly shriek. “When you’re hungover and look like shit and you’re all sticky because you just tipped over your cup of syrup and aren’t paying attention?”

Jeongguk jerks, bangs his knee hard on the underside of the table. Curses. Tries to sop up the small pool of maple syrup that’s seeping its way across the tabletop. “Fuck! Fuck, give me your napkins!”

“No.”

“Hurry up!” he screeches. “It’s near the edge of the table! It’s gonna fucking—it’s dripping on my fucking pants, what the fuck, I won’t be able to get the smell out for months—”

God, you love him, too. Despite the scene before you, you really, really do.

1:52pm—Jeongguk kisses you in the parking lot.

It’s so humid you can barely breathe and there’s a pair of yellow sunglasses sitting on your head that Jeongguk may or may not have stole from next to the register, but he makes it three steps across the parking lot before he pivots, cradles your face in his sticky hands, and kisses the hell out of you.

Soft. His lips are impossibly soft and he tastes a little like coffee and a lot like the only person you want to kiss for the rest of your life.

1:58pm—”Where do you want to go?” Jeongguk asks. Sticks the key in the ignition and tries to turn the engine over but all he gets in return is a horrible cranking sound.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to sound like that.”

He rolls his eyes. Kind of stares at you like you’re an idiot. “No shit?”

You just lean over the center console and kiss him again, until the crease is gone from between his brows. Until the tension is gone and his lips are fluid against yours. “Let’s go wherever you want.”

3:14pm—Jeongguk drives you to the beach.

A pop song plays on the radio. The sun warms you from the inside out. The doors are off the Jeep so the wind blows through your hair and Jeongguk loves you and you love him and you haven’t got a care in the entire world. 

He parks near the sand but doesn’t move to get out. There’s just you and him and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. There are the seagulls and the kids laughing as they splash one another, parents yelling at them to not go out too far. The lifeguard’s whistle. The poor guy pushing the cooler up and down the beach, trying to sell popsicles.

And it’s… a lot. A lot to take in on top of everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours, all the ways your lives have changed. You feel a bit frayed, raw around the edges. Jeongguk loves you. Jeongguk knows you and sees you and loves you more for it, and you think it should feel like a lot of pressure, like too much to live up to, being a person worthy of being loved by him, but you know him too. Too much, sometimes, and that’s a thought that causes you to laugh so loud it nearly startles Jeongguk out of his skin.

“Wha—”

Tears prick at your eyes. It takes all the willpower you’ve got to say, “Oh my god, I can’t be-believe—fuck, am I gonna have to slap you around in bed, too?”

Jeongguk bypasses red entirely and flushes purple. “What? No, oh my god, shut up—what the fuck, why would you say that—”

“Do you like to be choked?”

Jeongguk swallows a moan. Whether it’s horny or embarrassed, you’re not sure. “Don’t do this right now. Look,” he says, pointing out towards the water, “we’re having a beautiful day at the beach. Don’t ruin it. Don’t tarnish it.”

This just makes you shriek louder. “You do!” you accuse, finger dipping into the dimple in his cheek. “Aw, Kookie, don’t get all shy, I’ll choke you if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” he grumbles, but he looks far less put out than he did ten seconds ago.

“Hey,” you say, cupping his cheek. “I do love you, you know? The big one. Big-L. In love with you kind of love, too. Always will, no matter what.”

Jeongguk sighs. Closes his eyes and basks in your touch, your words. “I’m terrified I’m gonna fuck it up,” he admits. Something that’s hard to say. “I just—what would I even do if I did?”

“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too, but I know you. I know when you’re careless with something you try your hardest to fix it.”

“This is different,” he insists. “I can’t be careless with you.”

You shrug. Press your lips against his temple. “Then don’t be.”

He still doesn’t look like he believes you, but he’s smiling nonetheless. “That simple, huh?”

“That simple.”

7:44pm—Back during your freshman year, one of those times Jeongguk had buried himself in your bed, wrung out from anxiety, you’d asked him what his favorite memory was.

He’d told you a story about going to the beach with his mom. Just the two of them, because his brother was off doing something with his dad that Jeongguk hadn’t wanted to do, so he’d begged his mom to take him to the beach. He wanted to go to the pier, wanted to eat junk food and get lost in the lights and the noise of all the rides, wanted to take off his sandals and scream when the cold water reached his toes. He was little, he’d said, around four or five. It was the last summer before he started school, so his tiny mind had made it into this massive, important event.

His mom had taken him. Let him eat junk food and go on a few rides and dip his toes in the sand, but they had to be home in time for dinner. Jeongguk had wanted to watch the sunset, but it was still his favorite memory.

As you stare out into the horizon, the sun just starting to dip below and turn the sky orange and pink, you wonder if this is close. If it means more. If this is the sunset Jeongguk had wanted to watch all those years ago when everything was horribly important and full of meaning. Your toes aren’t at the edge of the water, but they’re dug into the sand, cold just like Jeongguk’s had been, and the edible you two had split a few hours ago is finally starting to wear off.

It’ll be time to go soon, even though you wish it wasn’t.

He pulls you further back against him, lets you settle against his chest. His skin’s still warm from the sun and he shares that little bit of heat, makes it yours, too. There’s not much left to say, but he presses a kiss to your neck all the same. A little I love you, unspoken but still meaning just as much.

“Where to now?” you ask, because all the parents and their kids have long since packed up and left. Most everyone is gone. There’s just you and Jeongguk and the waves crashing against the shore.

“Dunno,” he answers. “Should we just keep driving?”

You nod.

He stands. Offers you his hand.

You take it.

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#btswritingcafe #btsgoldnet #kpopsociety #btshoneyhive #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jk x reader

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 02 (m) || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 02 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 5.4k (a bit on the lighter side) summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: oral sex (f.receiving), brief smut scene (very brief, sorry LOL)  a/n: !! here it is !! sorry it took so long... i couldn’t figure out which route i wanted to go hahaha,, hope you all enjoy!

There’s a brief silence that swells between the two of you. 

“Well?”

Inhaling deeply, Yubin drops her head down. Guilt is gnawing on her insides, wishing she acted differently when you were around Namjoon. But in all fairness, if she had done just that, she would’ve found herself lying to you to the point of no return. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?”

You raise a brow in curiosity. An apology wasn’t really what you were looking for—what you wanted was an explanation as to why she never felt the need to come to your defense when her brother came onto you. It was like a constant battle when it came to Namjoon, and when Yubin sat in the sidelines as if nothing was happening, it came off that she neglected your feelings.

“I just,” she leans back in exasperation, acting as if you’re asking for a load of shit from her. All you wanted was a friend at that moment and she couldn’t give you that. “It’s hard, alright? I actually kind of agree with Joonie. But… you’re right, I shouldn’t—” her lips curl into a frown. “—I shouldn’t just let him probe you like that. I should’ve respected your decisions. I should’ve been a better friend.”

And you soften.

You melt like an ice cream cone on a hot day when it comes to Yubin. Just like the way the vanilla goodness streams down the waffle cone and onto your arm, this situation between the two of you is sticky. She’s your best friend, and it continues to be difficult to push her away when she has always been the person you leaned on at times you needed her the most—even if this wasn’t one of those times. And if you were being honest and in her shoes, picking between a brother you’re close with and your best friend wasn’t really something easily dealt with. 

With deflated shoulders, you reach over for your fork. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”

However, the expression on Yubin’s face isn’t pleased with your response. Chewing on her bottom lip, she sighs once more. “No, no. That’s a passive response. I have something that’ll actually show how bad I feel. And it’ll really get you to forgive me.”

You scoff with your arms crossed over your chest. “And what’s that?”

Opening her purse, she pulls out two slips of paper. Flimsy, it’s a bit difficult to read what’s printed on the tickets, but once the words become eligible, your jaw drops to the floor.

“You’re joking.”

“I am not.”

Snatching the tickets from her hands, you gasp. “It’s—oh my god, you’re lying!”

With a proud smile, she nods. “Yup. I got you those impossible tickets to that boy band you’ve been dying to go see. I felt bad about what happened, and I knew that… well, no offense, but you always forgive me so easily. It didn’t sit right. So… I went out of my way to get those.”

Narrowing your eyes at your best friend, you purse your lips. “No way. There’s two tickets. Does that mean you’re going with? I thought you didn’t like them!”

“Of course,” she responds with a smile. It’s warm and comforting; her presence and friendship is a reminder as to why you continue to deal with her brother because at the end of the day, Yubin was someone you couldn’t imagine your life without. Through thick and thin, you’d use to say, and even through this thickness, she still remains. “I wanted to show you how sorry I was. If it meant going to that stupid band’s concert that you like, then so be it.”

His hands are rough against your skin albeit his touch is delicate. Breath ghosting over your exposed neck, you let out another gasp when he leans in to kiss that spot behind your ear once more that causes goosebumps to run up your spine.

“How’s it feel, baby?”

Seungcheol nudges his nose against yours, sweat drenching the ends of his hair, sticking to his skin. There’s something about the way he gazes into your eyes that makes you turn into putty, willing to mold to anything he wants. But all he wants is you, just as you are.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex, but you’re too lost in him to even bother. Buried deep in you, he reaches in all the spots your other past late night escapes couldn’t—he prioritizes your release over his own because he likes watching you convulse underneath his touches.

You don’t respond to his question, instead, the moans he calls so pretty spills from your lips. 

“Words, baby,” he clarifies, watching as your mouth falls agape, tits bouncing with each of his thrusts. “Do I make you feel good?”

“So good,” you manage to let out, but he quirks a brow as if that answer wasn’t what he was looking for.

“Mmm,” he hums, palming your jaw for your eyes to lock with his. “Do I fuck better than Kim Namjoon?”

“No,” you’re gripping onto his bicep and questioning what you did in your past life to deserve this. Did you save an entire village? Because shit can Seungcheol fuck, and he looks good doing it. You’ve never even slept with Namjoon, but you knew what he wanted to hear.

Content with your answer, he can’t help himself. You’re such a good girl, and the fact you answer so sweetly, stroking his ego (and his dick) means you deserve to be rewarded. Lifting up your legs, he pushes them close to your chest, as far as he possibly could with your flexibility before slamming his hips into yours. The squelching of your wet pussy, the slapping sounds of your sweaty skin, and the attention he was giving your clit was becoming overwhelming. That knot in your stomach tightens, your head throws back, and with a moan you—

Fuck. 

Startled awake, you shuffle in your bedsheets. Did you just scare yourself awake and deprive yourself from a fucking orgasm?

And worst of all—you dreamt it was with Seungcheol. 

Puffing your cheeks in exasperation, you wipe the trickling sweat that streams the side of your face. Hot and bothered, horny and angry—maybe you need to take care of business yourself. Surely enough, you weren’t going to call Seungcheol for a late night booty call, even as tempting as it sounds to put that night on repeat. 

Pulling the sheets off your lower frame, you grumble to yourself. Slipping out of your pants, you carelessly toss it to another part of your room. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten yourself off, but it’s mostly because you’d been too busy to even care about it. Seungcheol was probably the last time you saw those stars, and you weren’t about to throw away your pride to make him be the reason for it again.

But, he might have to be.

Eyes fluttering shut, all you could do was think about the events of that night again. That sheen of sweat on his body, glistening underneath the streetlights that comes from the window—in a dark room, he still shines. His body is chiseled like the men in those catalogue magazines and you’re surprised he hasn’t been recruited to be in one yet. His eyes are filled with lust, all focus on you and his arms are propped on either side of your head with a smirk dressed upon his lips like he’s about to wreck you.

And he does—in your mind (and that night), he pistons into your hips so hard that the bed frame banged against the wall consecutively. Normally, you’d be embarrassed but you were grateful for the random need to rearrange the furniture in your room because the bed isn’t propped against the wall you share with your neighbor. 

You could hear your slick in your panties, the sticky substance in between your fingers as you rub yourself in circles. Yeah, you think to yourself, because you don’t need a man to get yourself off. Even if you were thinking about a particular one. Hips rising from the bed, the memory of his dick pops in your mind again. Thick and heavy in your palm, veins protruding and the head of his cock red and angry with a head of precum seeping the top. It was tempting to either lick it or smear it with your thumb. 

Did you mention how thick he was?

You recalled the moment you slid down his cock; his furrowed brows, fixated stare at the sight of your juices soaking him before his head falls back into the pillow when you fall to the hilt. He made you feel so full, walls stretching just to fit him in. When your friends used to say size does matter, you agreed to an extent because you’ve had your fair share of dicks but geez. 

Your movements grow faster. Him. The way his hips thrust into your, the grunts that he tries to hold back but fails, and that adoring smile like he’d dote on you forever. 

Just when you’re about to see white, there’s a knock on the door.

Who the fuck could that be? Interrupting someone when they’re trying to get off—gah, you wanted to pummel yourself out the window for dreaming about Seungcheol, trying to get off on the thought of him then failing miserably. 

Muttering all the curse words in the dictionary under your breath, you snatch up your sweatpants and slip them on while making your way to the front door. Whomever it was, they better had a good reason for it because you just lost the chance of two goddamn orgasms.

Swinging it open, that’s when your heart stops.

“Hey, baby. How—wait, why do you look so—” Seungcheol takes a moment to observe your expression before snapping back into reality. “You’re frustratedly horny.”

You roll your eyes, ready to slam the door on him before he places a hand on it. “No, no, you’re like raging horny. I know that look. I’m the one that cured it.”

“We’re not doing this.”

He chuckles, finding amusement in your current state of torture. “I came by to ask if you wanted dinner or even grab dessert. But it seems like you want something sweeter. Want me to help?”

Tempting. You clench your jaw for a second to prevent yourself from answering with an impulsive response. “We’re not gonna fuck, if that’s what you were insinuating.”

“We don’t gotta fuck—I could just help you. Eat you out maybe, or even stick a finger or fist in there.”

Your nose twitches at his response and he lets out a laugh. “No.”

“Come on,” he smiles, inviting himself into your home with another step toward you. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Absolutely not, Choi Seungcheol. Go take your ass home.”

Fuck. Not your home.

That head in between your legs, noisily sucking on your clit isn’t what you expected out of this night. He asks politely for you to hold your panties to the side, just enough so that he could attach his lips to yours. Tongue flat against your slit, he traces your swollen folds as you let out a soft gasp. He moves so languidly, like this isn’t a race, and he wants to bask in all of you while he can. It’s not everyday that you let him in your house, let alone your bedroom… let alone in your sheets, mouth to your pussy like he’s been starving for days.

He makes you feel overwhelmed—whether it be just him as a person or the skills he possesses with his tongue, he’s the reason your chest is bursting. It’s blooming even, whatever it is inside of you, and your torso rises from the bed at the pleasure.

Legs threatening to close, Seungcheol pushes them apart in response. “Keep them open. I said I was gonna take care of you, right?”

Head thrown back, your cheeks heat up in both embarrassment when his tongue does wonders to your clit. You’re tense from the fact that you’ve succumbed to your temptations, opting for Seungcheol in between your thighs instead of your hand, but that glimmer in his eyes when he sneaks a glance at you makes your heart clench. Why does he look so in love when he’s got his spit all over your pussy? Almost like it’s an honor for him to have his mouth on you like this.

The thickness of his arms loop underneath your thighs, tugging you closer. It’s a reminiscence of that night in combination of your wet dreams; your fingers raking through his wavy black locks, the lust in his eyes mixing in with those walnut irises, and the sound of his hums against you because you tug just a little too hard, but he secretly likes it. He’s not a fan of the hair pulling, but the action means he’s got you locked, and although you’re not his, at least you’re in his arms like this.

“Fuck, Cheol—” you rasp, body barely containing yourself as you convulse around his finger, clandestinely wishing it was his dick instead. Stomach tightening, your mouth opens. No audible sounds release for the first moment before it spills; the prettiest moan follows as your mouth drops in awe with hooded lids and uneven breathing. 

When you finally regain yourself, post-nut clarity hits.

You fucking let Choi Seungcheol in your house and eat you out.

He doesn’t seem to mind, but of course he doesn’t. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks more than content with himself and the position he was in for the past ten minutes. Why does an asshole like him have to be good at prolonging an orgasm?

You scowl. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Seungcheol smirks playfully. “Because. You look sexy when you cum on my tongue.”

Grimacing, you shove him off, quickly shuffling to find your panties. When the fuck did those come off? “I shouldn’t have let you in.”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he says, leaning on his arm as he drops into your sheets. He’s more than proud of himself for getting you off—he’s even turned on himself, and the bulge in his sweatpants gives it away. “I helped you. Nothing wrong with wanting to get off, you just needed an extra hand. In this case, my mouth.”

You shake your head, tugging up your panties. “This can’t happen again.”

Seungcheol chuckles, sitting up before grabbing your leggings and tossing in your direction. “If you need me to, we can make it happen. Now get dressed, I’m taking you out for a late night snack.”

Despite all the sleazy things he says, how flirtatious he is, and persistent he remains, there’s something about him that makes you wanna stick around him longer. Maybe it’s the way he looks up at you while slurping those ramen noodles straight out of his plastic bowl and gestures at your own serving.

“Why ain’t you eating the noodles I cooked for you?”

You blink. “Buying a bowl of instant noodles and turning on the boiling water switch on the machine doesn’t count as cooking.”

He clicks his tongue, lips pink from the spice and glossy from the grease in the soup. Arms crossed, he leans back in his chair as he lets out a heavy breath. The air is cool tonight, but with him, it… feels warmer than usual. “I paid for it and I brought it out for you. Put the chopsticks on the cover and everything so it cooks the noodles faster with all the rotating heat. Heard that? Cooks. I cooked it for you, baby. Make me your house husband, why don’t you? I’m already in your garage.”

You laugh, swirling your ramen with the wooden chopsticks. Admittingly, he sounds ridiculous, but that smile that tugs on the edge of his lips gives him away.

Choi Seungcheol sort of makes things feel okay.

You heave out a breath of air. The wind is brisk tonight, being the cause of the goosebumps that appear on your bare legs and your skirt didn't help provide any warmth. The jacket that hangs over your shoulders is thin, mostly because you didn’t think you would be standing out here this long and with the expectation of the venue being packed with sweaty, hot people, you figured a heavier jacket wouldn’t have made it any better.

Plopping down onto the curb, you adjust yourself to stretch your legs out over the asphalt. Luckily, at the last minute, you opted for sneakers instead of those chunky boots the girls voted on in the group chat or else the soles of your feet would’ve been aching by now. Pursing your lips, you tap your fingers against the concrete, wondering why the fuck Yubin was taking so long.

Part of you grows concerned, another part grows annoyed.

Unlocking your phone, the previous texts you’ve sent go unread. Calls are unreturned. Normally, her location would be shared with you, but tonight, it’s off and you grow weary. 

Then, a flash of headlights beam in your direction. 

It’s Yubin’s car—the familiar uneven brightness between the two headlights is enough to give it away, but what truly takes the cake is the white scratches on the front bumper. She’s just as bad at taking care of her care as you are, and it’s probably the reason why you’ve bonded so easily. Her little grey Chevy is one you could identify from miles away, and the sight of it tugs on the corners of your mouth.

But the person driving the car is the one to flip it upside down real quick.

“Namjoon.” His name is bitter when it leaves the tip of your tongue.

“Hey, pretty,” he greets, stumbling out of the car. He looks… apologetic, almost like he actually didn’t plan to be there, and the regret on his face was a genuine one. “Uh, Yubin got caught up at work. She tried texting you, but she told me she figured it would be best if I came and gave the news myself,” he pauses for a moment, almost knowing that the next words would infuriate you. “She asked if I could take you instead.”

There was no other way to describe the boiling blood in your veins.

Heat rises, lingering around your neck and you could feel the warmth radiating to the tip of your ears. “What was the reason?”

Namjoon rubs his nape. “Emergency with a patient. I’m sure if it was anything else, she would’ve been here now.”

How could you be mad at that?

For as long as you’ve known Yubin, her dream was to be a registered nurse. And now that’s who she is, it’s become her identity. Being pissed because she blew you off in a moment where a patient was in need wasn’t really… rational. Even if that’s what you wanted.

With a heavy sigh, you wave him off. “Fine, I… I can’t really be mad at that. We can go.”

Namjoon blinks. After the last altercation, he expected a rejection. “I.. Yeah, y-yeah,” he’s already shuffling to the passenger side to open the door for you. “We can go.”

Going with Namjoon wasn’t really an option you wanted to take, but this was the band of your dreams to see. It wasn’t easy obtaining the tickets, and shutting the plans down because Yubin couldn’t go wasn’t a choice you were going to make. “These seats are expensive. I’m not ditching it just ‘cause she’s busy.”

“Right,” he grins, this time, it’s not slimy or irritating as it usually is. There’s something different about Namjoon tonight–for once, he’s tolerable. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he makes sure that he’s secure in his seat before checking yours, and for a brief moment, you feel your heart skip a beat when his hand brushes against your arm gingerly. “Well, let's head out. Wouldn’t want to be late to see your all-time favorite band.”

And truthfully, Namjoon was bearable the entire time. No demanding a relationship, no presentation about how he’s the best candidate to be your boyfriend, no shenanigans that involved persuading you that he’d be the best husband he could be for you.

He’s more of a gentleman than anything; opening doors, offering to pay, and even keeping his distance physically and emotionally, without pushing himself onto him like he normally does. 

This Namjoon isn’t the Namjoon you’ve come to know.

When he stands in the crowd next to you, he does just that. Next to you, not behind where he could be pressed against your body in attempts to seduce you. Namjoon treats you as a friend more than anything—the light nudges on your arm to get you to see something he points out, the slight lean in to share a comment or two, and the excitement he shares with you through glances instead of aggressive touches.

This version of Namjoon is… nice.

Him as a friend is possible—you know through the grapevine that he’s someone who is loyal and dependable, the same traits he shares with his sister. It’s the reason why people tend to lead you in his direction, hoping you’d view him as more than just your best friend’s brother.

But you preferred him like this.

There’s no explanation for it, and you didn’t believe that it warranted one. Namjoon was someone who didn’t show up on your radar, and there wasn’t anything wrong with that. But the constant pressures of having to consider him and the repetitive questions of, “Why don’t you date Namjoon?” only because he’s this nice guy who fits the trope of best friend’s brother wasn’t something you wanted. 

With the bass vibrating underneath the soles of your shoes, body swaying to the music, feeling light as a feather—this is the concert high you missed. The heat that lingers over your skin, the breeze from the booming sounds of the music through the speakers, and the contagious eagerness that runs through everyone’s veins is why you desperately wanted to be here for so long. In words, there’s no full elaboration on this concert bliss. And although you wished you were here with Yubin, Namjoon wasn’t bad company either.

“Here,” Namjoon hands over the cup of beer that the bartender slides over. The rumbling of the music is still heard through the walls and you’re glad that the concession stands are out on the perimeter halls so you could catch your breath. “Modelo, right?”

Not your favorite beer, but you know it’s his attempt to be observant. You’ve probably ordered it twice because your favorite one wasn’t on tap, and he was quick to assume that it’s one you love.

“Uh, yeah,” you roll your lips. The awkwardness is still there but it’s just because you had the tendency to attach the belief he was pursuing you to every encounter you had with him. “Thanks.”

“Kinda stuffy in there,” he comments, taking a sip of his drink. Small talk wasn’t really your thing, but there wasn’t much to talk about when it came to Namjoon. You’ve always avoided him like the plague. “Nice to take a breather.”

“Yeah,” you quietly agree, bringing the beer to your lips. Maybe a little alcohol will loosen the tension.

There's a moment of silence; the music continues to blast through the concrete walls, the scatter of the audience running in and out of the venue hall, and the rustling and bustling of the concession stands but it’s soundless in the space between you and Namjoon.

Namjoon breaks that glass of quietude.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, a frown on his face. “That… I know you didn’t want to come with me in particular, and hoped for Yubin instead. She said she trusted me more than anyone else, and I was reluctant but—you know my sister. She does that thing where she bats her lashes and pouts. I can't say no to her.” 

You could relate to that. With a soft laugh, you shake your head. “I… I get that. And don’t worry so much about it, tonight isn’t that bad.”

When Namjoon drives you home, the car ride isn’t silent.

He makes you laugh—although it reminds you of Cheol and how the effect is definitely not the same—and he shares a side of himself you never really saw before.

Namjoon is caring; he’s the typical ideal son that every parent wants to have. He takes care of his family, treats his sister as not just a sibling but as a best friend, and he’s smart with a job that he got straight out of college. Getting girls wasn’t difficult for him either. He talks about dates he’s gone on before, and how every experience was similar to the last—he just couldn’t seem to connect with any of them the same way.

And as you chortle once more at one of his anecdotes, shaking your head in disbelief, you miss the loving stare he shoots your way. 

“There was even one where we didn’t even walk into the restaurant yet and she asked if I wanted to fuck,” he taps the pads of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel. “I didn’t think people were that bold these days.”

You shrug, fiddling with your phone case on your lap. “Least she knows what she wants.”

He finally reaches your house, the screeching sounds of his breaks filling the brief silence as he leans against his arm that rests on the middle console. “I always admire that in a girl.”

With a smile, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “You should’ve gone out with her, then. She seems like a catch.”

“But she’s not you.”

He doesn’t make your heart stutter in its beats like Seungcheol does, he makes it skip it from anxiety and uncertainty on how to react to the next potential move he makes. Seungcheol does it in a way where he lures you in, enticing you with his lips that you wish you could kiss, but with Namjoon, you fear he would move any closer. 

“Uh, yeah. Kind of the point. You should date anyone that isn’t me.”

Namjoon sighs, placing his hand on the back of your chair. “Even after tonight?” 

Uncomfortably, you shift away. “Namjoon, I had fun with you at the concert tonight. But I hope you don’t take my word as something more than just… a friendly gesture. It was a nice time, but I still don’t see you in the same light as you see me.”

He scoffs. “I don’t get why you’d rather be with Seungcheol than me. You said you had fun tonight. He’s not fun. I’m charming. He’s not charming. I have a corporate job and he works in your fucking garage.”

Infuriated, you could almost hear the whistling of the steam that blows from your ears. Who does he think he is to speak about Seungcheol like that? Not that you care or anything, but he wasn’t in position to do so. “Why do you think someone who works behind a desk is more intelligent than someone with grease stains on their pants? Plus—why does it matter if I choose him? He’s a nice guy.”

“Sure. He might be smart, then. And a nice guy, even. But he’s not good for you.”

You furrow your brows. “And what gives you the right and authority to decide who would be good for me?”

Namjoon shifts closer, so close that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face. The scent of beer is pungent in his breath despite his actions being sober. “Because, I’m your best friend’s brother and she purposely didn’t come tonight so we’d get to spend time together. If your best friend had to whip up a scheme like that, what does that say about you?”

There isn’t enough time to express the vexation and betrayal. The driver’s side door swings open and the two of you jolt your heads to the culprit.

“The fuck you doing to my girlfriend?”

Namjoon chuckles, resting back in his seat. “Oh, quit the fucking act. You guys aren’t dating—fucking, maybe, but not dating. She wouldn’t settle for a dumbass like you.”

The cigarette at the corner of Cheol’s mouth is lit—you could’ve sworn he promised to quit because you hated the smell. You’ve complained several times that you hated men who purposely blackened their lungs and willingly basked themselves in the effluvium of that cancer stick. But tonight, you’d wish for the stench of his cigarette to be embedded in your clothes instead of the beer that wafts from Namjoon’s breath. 

“Get out the fucking car.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I’m getting out the fucking car, Choi Seungcheol. You can play with all the girls in the world, but can’t you leave the actually good one for me?”

Seungcheol leans over, blowing smoke into Namjoon’s face as Namjoon turns away. “I said get out of the car, Kim Namjoon. I’m not playing. We gotta talk.”

“Why? You afraid I’m gonna kiss your girl?”

With another drag of the cigarette, Seungcheol releases another puff before tossing it into the gravel with a stomp. “Nah. You gonna get out the car, look her dead in the eye and tell her you’re gonna fuck off. That you’re sorry, and that tonight was a great experience but it would be the last of your persistence. Whether or not she’s single, she said she’s not interested and you gotta respect that.”

Tongue poking his cheek, Namjoon pulls himself together to get out. He stands before Seungcheol, arms crossed with the look of incredulity washed over his face. “Come on. Let’s talk—man to man. Remember that girl at the club a couple years ago? What’s her name? Chaeryong? You could always fuck her. You’ve got so many options for a quick bang, why her?”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue, a habit he’s grown used to. He even smacks lollipops in his mouth in lieu of the stick, but he does it now in the midst of indignation. “If you really loved her, you would’ve known that Chaeryong is one of her friends and Chaeryong is engaged, dumbass.”

Huh, you think to yourself. Maybe he does listen.

Namjoon waves his hand in dismissal. “Doesn’t fucking matter. The point is that you could walk into the bar or a club, find a hottie and take them instead. She,” is he really pointing at you through the car windshield right now? “She’s someone you settle with, not play around with.”

With the fronts of his brows dipped, Seungcheol mimics Namjoon’s stance. “I never said I didn’t wanna settle. That’s what I want, actually.”

Namjoon laughs; it’s weighted when it releases from his chest and he has to put his hand on the car to regain his balance. “You’re kidding. Why do you want to settle for? You’ve got daddy’s money—he’s not asking for shit from you, I know that much. You were sleeping with girls, never coming home, and making your mom worried. And what? One day, you wake up and you realize you want a serious relationship? Who are you kidding?”

Seungcheol inhales deeply. 

He doesn’t want to make any rash decisions, especially because it’s just normally expected from him. Seungcheol had the reputation of being the type of guy who did things because it felt right in the moment, never using logic behind his actions, purely all emotion.

But when he sees you leave the car and Namjoon making his way to you, Seungcheol is quick to pull Namjoon back. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m walking her inside,” Namjoon snarls. “Like gentlemen should.”

“I’ll walk her inside, she’s my girlfriend,” Seungcheol shoots back, flames in his eyes. “Go back home, Namjoon. You’re probably worked up on the adrenaline at the concert, it’s messing with your thoughts. Take care, yeah?” He releases his hold on Namjoon, and when he spots you at the end of the stairs, all he could think about was watching you make your way inside with a couple insults and rejections shooting his way. He’d make some more advances, but when you roll your eyes with a smile and tell him goodnight with a wave, he goes home feeling warm in his chest.

That doesn’t happen. At least, not tonight.

Namjoon swings, his fist colliding with a crack to Seungcheol’s cheek.

← last chapter | next chapter →

#kpopsociety #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol fanfic #gyukultfics

[lveclouds]

(proof ver.)

#mine #edits #THEY LOOK SO GOOD IM YELLING #THE FITS????? #kvanity #ultkpop #kpopsociety #bangtan #heyryen #tusercait #userlavienjin #tusermanny #ot7 #anyways here's my medicore contribution <3 #ignore this coloring idk what it is

[baekhyyun]

"In this changing season, I'll remember you, I'll remember us"

credit: 001, 002, 003, 004

#kpopsociety #kvanity #nctcreations #nshitty frathouse #nctinc #ultkpopnetwork #wkcnet #mark lee #nct #nct dream #superm #nct mark #nct dream mark #superm mark #nct gfx #nct dream gfx #superm gfx #nct mark lee #nct dream mark lee #superm mark lee #kpop gfx #mark lee gfx #mark gfx #can you tell that i'm not over hot sauce

[levantea]

Sorry, I love you | hyunjin

Pairing: ex!hyunjin x ex!y/n (feat. Han Jisung)

Genre: fluff in the beginning, tablemates, crush, angst, mentions of possessiveness, mentions of fights, heated arguments, break up, reconcile??

Rating: PG 15+ (suggestive content)

Warning: suggestive fights, suggestive possessive actions

Word Count: 12k (longest one shot i’ve written uwu)

Synopsis:“The fact that we’ve grown even further apart than we were makes me weary.” Do we still have a chance to return to how we used to be?

现在 (xian zai) | Now

What I did to get closer to you was rather,

Building a wall between us, I'm speechless.

—

-> Your pov

Frequently, 3 questions are running in my mind ever since I stepped into adulthood.

What is one encounter that left the strongest impression in your mind when you recalled your teenage memories?

For me, it is not about how well or bad I've done for my exams, not about the different friends I made and most of them come and go, not about the rebellious moments when I skipped lessons or shutting my teacher up. Yes, those are priceless moments that all of us can only do when we are young because we can afford to make mistakes.

The most memorable encounter would be meeting my first love, where we had crushes on each other, confessing to each other, falling deeper with one another and how things went out of hand, leading to a sad ending where we part from one another.

We laughed, we celebrated, we loved. We also argued, we fought, we cried and went numb. I never believed my parent's words -- teenage love are all puppy love, it will never end well until I actually went through a heartwrenching break-up with someone I used to pour my heart out for.

"You were the first person I ever loved so deeply, but you are also the first person I lost."

That was his last word before he left you for good.

What is one thing you regretted the most in your teenage years?

One thing that I regretted... would be not understanding, not empathising and not loving with him more. It is undeniable that he has his own fault, but I was not sensitive enough to fully understand what he actually wanted. I only remembered blaming him for everything he did, which irks me, but I neglected why he had done so and would be hurt from what I commented.

What makes me feel even more guilty is he blamed himself for making me feel that way, making me upset and angry, creating all the unnecessary dramas that drifted both of us apart when I was clear that I was also at fault.

There is one common Chinese saying -- 失去了才知道珍惜 (Only when you lose it then you will cherish it), and I feel that it totally explains how we feel about this painfully broken relationship. It was our first time experiencing love attraction, learning how to love, and overcoming obstacles, but we were too immature to get over that.

We thought separating would be the most ideal decision to free each other from pain. Ironically, little did we know that the actual pain comes from finally understanding our faults and regrets, all the unspoken apologies and unexpressed love as we grow older and no longer by each other's side anymore.

They said that first love is the sweetest, and the first cut is the deepest. The scar will forever be carved in my heart and hurts no matter how old I get.

What is one thing you want to tell yourself if you can rewind the time?

Please apologise and tell him how much you love him, how much you regretted pushing him away and how much he means to you. He loved you with all his heart and soul, so please forgive him for everything he did and show him that you love him too. Don't be stingy to express them, because it is what he needed the most from you, that nobody can provide him with the same warmth and affection as you do. He had protected you with all his life and what have you actually done to reciprocate that?

When can I deliver the 4 unspoken words that I desperately want to let him know?

"Sorry, l love you."

—

-> Second person pov

"Y/n! Isn't this you and Hyunjin when we were in our last year?"

Alumni were invited back to your high school to have a gathering, and they have specially set up a gallery for all of you to walk through. You were initially hesitant to attend because you didn't dare to face your ex-first love if you were to bump into him again.

Your best friend managed to convince you, and despite turning up for it, your eyes still wandered around frequently, trying to spot the familiar body frame that you missed for 4 years. Anxiety lingered around your heart because you were trying to mentally prepare yourself, hoping you would not make a fool out of yourself when you meet him again.

Walking down the memory lane, you saw many nostalgic pictures hung across the wall, smiling foolishly at yourself when you spotted an unglam picture that you took with your best friends during a sports carnival. Your smile was frozen until you heard that name that it is unforgettable and how much it stings your heart even after 4 years.

It has been a long since you mentioned or even heard about him. How has he been doing? Has he been doing fine? Has he found someone better than you?

Piles of questions left unanswered in your brain as you walked over to your best friend's side, catching sight of a picture where both of you were wearing the school uniforms, hugging each other and smiling blissfully under a huge tree located in your high school.

It was the happiest day you ever had in your whole 18 years of life because both of you confessed to one another after having major crushes since middle school.

Coming back to the tree, it was reputable for fulfilling students' wishes when they tied their handwritten notes onto the branches. Nevertheless, both of you also tied your own wishes onto the tree.

Tears started accumulating around the brim of your eyes as your gaze stayed on the picture that became worn off. You still remember clearly how your form teacher sneakily took a picture of both of you and teased you for a good 1 week. To your surprise, you didn't expect her to pin up the picture in this gallery.

A picture speaks a thousand words. Those memories that you wanted to bury deep inside your brain so badly started replaying like a documentary again.

起 (qi) | Initial

To be just friends, you're too beautiful,

To just stay as friends, I know I'll regret this so,

I know I'll regret, so I decided to express my feelings,

I want to be more than just friends.

—

~ Spring 2018

"Welcome back to school, my dears, it is the last year of high school, which means national exams are coming. Also, I am pretty sure you guys have already mingled well with one another, so that means I can shuffle the seats, right?" Your homeroom teacher greeted all of you with her signature warm smile, immune to the dreading faces of the younger ones.

Not claiming the title of being the teacher's pet, you always somehow get better likings from your teachers despite your calm demeanour. You were not a chatty, gossipy girl that shares different tea in the morning or a rebellious girl that flunks studies or bullies other people. Staying on the neutral stand wouldn't make you offend anybody and reduce being the protagonist of the various dramas airing in school.

The only thing you are concerned about is your results, your wellbeing, your loved ones, and last but not least, your long term crush that lasted for the past 5 years from middle school. Miraculously, you have been in the same class with him since you met him till now.

"No objections? I will spin the wheel now," she continued on with her new game and rearranged everyone's seating arrangement. Perhaps it was a school reopen luck, you get to sit with your crush after being in the same class for 5 years.

"Hi! I think you already know me, we are tablemates now!" His joyful and welcoming expression painted more colours to your new year new day. Despite your heart beating at an insane speed, you faked a small smile as you didn't want him to think of you as a materialistic girl if you were to flash your white teeth at him.

It isn't your usual style at all.

"If I can't even remember you after being in the same class for 5 years, I should be visiting the doctor to get a full-body check-up," you joked while packing your textbooks under your table, hearing a light chuckle from the latter.

"I didn't know your humour is on the next level, nice knowing that," he placed one of his hands to support the side of his head, sitting slightly slanted to look at you until your homeroom teacher called for his attention. You smirked at him before flipping to the last page you were at, tapping your pen on the paper as you hear Hyunjin going on and on with his grandpa story.

Was he ever this talkative?

Both of you didn’t take a long time to get close to one another. Almost all your classmates were surprised by how the 2 least talkative people who got arranged to sit together started to talk endlessly in class. The chemistry between both of you was vigorous, including your feelings for him that increased exponentially overnight.

The relationship between you and Hyunjin felt like a drug — addictive and underlying toxicity. Both of you couldn’t get each other off your mind, despite putting on a calm facade. The passion flaming inside both hearts is crazy to the extent that both can appear in each other dreams that none of you mentioned.

You always thought that your feelings for him were a one-sided love, oblivious to the fact that he fell for you earlier than you did. Neither one dared to bring it up until the feelings started to overflow and suffocate him.

Before he decided to confess to you, you began to sense that something was different about him. The rate of coincidentally bumping into him in your neighbourhood rose, he always somehow appeared when you needed help, he would protect you at all costs — preventing you from getting injured in many cases, replacing you to receive detention when you forgot to bring your textbooks, buying you food when you didn’t have time to eat, taking care of you in class when your period came etc.

Although there were many questions you wanted to ask him, you didn’t have the courage because you were afraid that you were maybe just overthinking or misunderstanding his intentions.

What if the precious friendship is broken after you asked him the most burning question, “do you like me?”

So you ended up swallowing them back and down your throat.

Friends surrounding you and him were asking if both of you were dating, but there wasn’t an exact answer given to them because both of you are still between the fine line of close friends and lovers. Nonetheless, all the friends were sure that both of you would end up together one day, and that must be the most successful relationship they have ever witnessed.

That was what all of you thought.

There was one day when you remembered you didn’t sleep for nights due to overwhelming stress as exams were around the corner, you fell asleep in class. Hyunjin agreed to cover up for you so that the tutor would not scold you, and he did an excellent job. As you were still groggy in your sleep, you felt your eyes get darker. You assumed it was Hyunjin who tried to avoid sunlight shining at you so you could have a better sleep, so you decided to continue closing your eyes and get more rest.

Your mind was still hazy between sleep and awake, but one thing you could confirm was that you felt something soft and warm touch the corner of your lips. It stayed there for a while before leaving, making you lowkey still want more of it.

Many options ran in your already awakened mind, and the verdict was — his lips. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself it was not that, the sensation you felt clearly pointed towards his lips. As your brain searched for the answer, you felt a strand of hair tucked behind your ears, followed by a gentle caress from a warm hand.

It’s him. It’s definitely him.

Your burning question started rising again, and you decided to confront him then. Opening your eyes, you saw your tablemate froze in his action as he looked into your eyes while the warm sunlight shone on his flawless face. He looked like an angel.

“Perhaps…do you like me?”

That question was audible enough for both of you to hear, including the racing heartbeats that deafen whatever the tutor spoke.

I don’t care if we won’t be friends anymore after this, i just want to know the answer.

“What if i say yes?” he uttered softly under his breath, gazing at you as if you mean the whole world to him.

“Hyunjin, off to detention for 4 hours now,” you jumped from your seat as you immediately sat up straight, knowing that your tutor had caught him red-handed for talking in class. He sighed softly before exiting, leaving you hanging from the conversation that was cut off.

Since then, both of you started to drift a little apart and didn’t talk as much as before. It wasn’t because you didn’t like him anymore or he annoyed you, you just couldn’t bring yourself to look at him like how you used to be. You were able to be comfortable with him because you thought he only treated you as a close friend, for which you were already grateful enough. But with the knowledge of him having a huge chance of developing feelings for you, how can you face him when there wasn’t a defined label of the relationship?

Sometimes you felt like he was just kidding with you that day because he didn’t take any further actions afterwards. You were confused as hell about his feelings towards you, but you were too pussy to probe him more. Likewise, for him, he thought you didn’t like him and hence distant, so he decided to keep his own feelings to himself and let it fade over time.

Both of you thought the one-sided love would never be reciprocated until receiving courage from your friends to confess during Valentines Day. Even if both of you may feel hurt when one was rejected, at least the other party knew how important both meant to each other.

“Y/n, once you see this post it, please make your way to the wishing tree asap.”

You just returned from your music lesson, and you saw a pink post-it pasted on the middle of your table. It was prominent that the handwriting belonged to Hyunjin, and he wouldn’t do this kind of stuff except for urgent things. You ran your way down the stairs despite your tutor hollering you from the back, mind only thinking about him as you were afraid if he wanted to tell you anything important or worse, bad news.

“I’m-i’m here,” you panted heavily after dashing down from the classroom, taking over the plastic water bottle that he gave you. Muttering a quick ‘thanks’, you gulped the water while he signalled you over to sit with him on a bench below the tree.

After stabilising your breath, you asked, “why did you call me over now? Weren’t we supposed to be having a lesson? We can do it after school too.”

“I want to spend some time with you, only you,” he darted his eyes at you, triggering your heartbeat to be irregular again. You nodded awkwardly, turning your attention back to the water bottle in your hands, waiting for his following line.

“Did you confess to anyone today?”

You almost choked on your water when you heard that question.

“No…? Why?”

“Did anybody confess to you today?”

What the hell is wrong with him?

“No,” you answer subtly while looking at him with a confused expression, furrowing your eyebrows as he seemed weird that day.

“Great, i’ll be the one breaking the record today.”

Before you could even process, you already found him inches away from you, hands reached out to the back of your neck while his thumb gently grazed at your lips. His gaze wasn’t soft and warm like he usually has, but it was filled with desire and domination.

The implied message would be: “I want you, and i want to eat you up.”

You were not afraid because you knew he wasn’t someone who just fuck around and toyed with peoples’ feelings, proven by those straightforward rejections to those girls he didn’t pick an interest in. He also wasn’t someone who would hurt you as he cherished you like a fragile glass.

“The reason why i called you over today and now is because i want to tell you something that has been in my heart for very long. I know i’ll regret, but i still decided to express my feelings. I want us to be more than just friends because i like you a lot.”

Are my ears fooling me? Am i hallucinating? Is it real?

Your heartbeat was like hitting 200km/h and it almost fell out from your chest. Your head was spinning, ears were deafening and mouth drying up when you heard that confession come out of his mouth. He was staring into your eyes when he said those words, warm breath touching your skin, showing you that he was more than serious about what he just conveyed.

"I like you too."

Your long-awaited confession has finally left your mouth and been heard by the recipient. The one-sided love that both of you had was finally reciprocated.

We will now be together forever, right?

承 (cheng) | Escalation

I try to hide this feeling that I can't control,

I get carried away by this feeling that I can't control,

With you being so irresistibly charming,

I should have looked away, yet I'm mesmerised again.

—

~ Summer 2018

Even after 2 months, you still cannot believe your crush has turned into your boyfriend. It still felt like a hallucination during the confession day, where both of you poured your true feelings for each other, shedding tears of joy at how both of you finally belonged to one another.

The whole class soon knew that both of you had gone beyond the label of just ‘tablemates’ as they saw you guys going in and out of school together, eating in the canteen together, spending almost all your time together.

Dating him felt like a dream. He was all that fitted your ideal type perfectly and treated you like a queen. Of course, you were never a selfish girlfriend who just received, you also placed him on your priority, probably even above your parents.

Within a short span of 2 months, both parents have already met the other partner, and they are very much satisfied with each of you. With the affirmation of both families, you guys were more firm on blooming this relationship in the hope to walk together till the end of life.

There were many beautiful memories both of you shared — chatting in class when the tutor was boring, helping each other out in studies, staying back in the library to study and ending up falling asleep beside one another, hanging out after school in a nearby cafe to express all the sweet nothings etc. You felt inseparable from him because he meant the world to you and vice versa.

Everything feels right with him. You thought that you had found your significant other, your soulmate, your lifelong lover. Only when you grow older then you understand that it was just a honeymoon phase.

Most couples will feel the excitement, sexual arousal, nuance, and slightly obsessive 'lust', which all contribute to the reasons why both of you were addicted to one another.

"You lit up like a chandelier around me, and my eyes can only contain you."

You can never forget that sentence that he told you when both of you were having a picnic at the beach. It was a holiday period and you suggested going for a picnic, where he immediately agreed and volunteered to plan the outing for both of you. It was when you had a heart to heart talk with him, and you found out that he actually fell in love with you since the start of middle school.

"We were not even close, not to mention about conversing with one another," you reminded him as you heard him chuckle lightly.

"Yea I know, I mean, even though we didn't talk much, I have been observing you for a long time," he traced his hands over yours, finding a home for his palms. "You are quiet and calm as if nothing would affect you at all, even if the sky drops, which is something I like about you. You are not like other girls who wanted attention, wanted fame by gossiping about others or bootlicking the popular to join them or those that were snobbish when they scored full marks. You have always been yourself -- saying whatever you feel like saying, doing whatever you feel like doing, behaving like how you wanted to behave."

You looked at him with watery eyes when he pointed out all the features he spotted in you, feeling touched by how he remembered every piece of you in school that made him confirm you were who he wanted to be with. Never ever have you expected him to notice so many traits about you because you thought he never laid your eyes on you until he confessed.

Oh and, another reason why you were not bold enough to express your feelings is that he had always been the most popular guy in your cohort since middle school. You felt inferior to stand beside him because you felt like a wallflower that adds colour to his blooming image.

"Really? Am I that-"

"Yes, you are great, you have always been great, my dear. Don't ever degrade yourself because you deserved to be recognised," he pulled you closer to his embrace, running his hands behind your hand to soothe you from your insecurities.

You swore that the sunset during that day was the most beautiful sunset you have ever seen as you hugged your lover by your side. The comfort, warmth, love that you had always been seeking were found in his arms. You have dreamt of that scene countlessly and it finally came true, affirming your mind that he will be the one that was the most suited for you, fitting in like the last missing piece in your life.

"Hyun, I know it's too early to ask this, but will you always be with me?"

It was the most vulnerable state you have been in. As much as you hated to show your weak side to anybody, you knew that he was someone who would empathise with your situation, lending all his ears to hear you out, giving you the best consoles that you needed then. Both of you were still young, the future was unpredictable and you felt that having a long-term relationship does sound promising but uncertain at the same time.

What if his feelings faded over time?

What if my feelings faded over time?

What if he found a better person than me?

What if more obstacles are coming in our way as we enter adulthood?

Are we still able to maintain our relationship like how we are now?

There was an abundance of uncertainties residing in your brain, and you felt the need to let him know. Having attraction, falling in love, getting together is definitely easier than challenges, conflicts, disappointments coming in the way.

"Of course, I will. No matter what happens, I will always be by your side," he replied firmly as he hugged you tighter, showering you with soft kisses on your head as both of you enjoyed the sunset. His reply did make you feel better, and you believed in him.

Kisses with him were the ultimate gift that you ever received. Recalling how he was so careful when asking if he could kiss you, if the force was right, if you were okay with the speed... all the stupid questions that came up from him until you shut him up by kissing him back.

He was very respectful when coming to things that were your virgin tries, and he always ensured that you were totally comfortable with him until he proceeded further. His pink, juicy, plump lips felt tailor-made for you.

The first kiss was distinctive. You remembered clearly how he lifted you off the floor and placed you on the table, hands around your waist, holding you tight. He still asked you, "are you sure you want to do it? We can stop if you don't feel comfortable," even though he was eyeing your lips for a long time, you just shook your head and told him you were ready for it.

You were supposed to study at his house as invited by his mother, but it ended up becoming a steamy session when you accidentally fell on him when you tried to reach out for his book.

Lust and desire, isn't it?

His lips gently brushed against yours like butterfly wings, staying long enough to inhale your breath, feeling the warmth of your skin as the pad of his thumb rubbed softly against your tee and the taste of your lip balm that lingered around.

"No regrets?"

"No regrets."

His lips soon smashed against yours and kissed you like how he wanted to be kissed. It wasn't rough, but he was trying to seek union with your lips when both of you shared one breath, one sensation and the passionate moment that revolves around only you and him. Your shirt gradually got lifted as his hands went beneath that sent electricity across your body, igniting the fire inside you as you felt heat rising to your cheeks. Soft mewls escaped your lips as he devoured you like his prey, tracing your abdomen as you threw your hands around his neck.

Thankfully the door was locked, if not you would dig a hole on the floor and jump in then. It felt like euphoria when he explored your inner mouth, sucking and licking every part of it while letting out soft groans that were only audible for both of you to hear. All the test questions and answers were far behind both minds, as all you could think about was to show your love to him.

Both of you finally pulled away, panting heavily from the heated session both of you shared. If not for running out of breath, he swore he would continue on and on because your lips felt like a drug to him. Hands still intact with your skin, he pulled you into his arms as he dived deeper into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses on it as you closed your eyes and enjoyed his dominance.

"Did I go too far?" He uttered under his breath as you shook your head.

"I won't let you off easily next time," you winced at an unfamiliar pain that was on your neck as he pulled away, smirking at you before asking you to go to the mirror and see for yourself.

"Holy shit you-" you playfully whacked his arms as he pulled you down to sit beside him, continuing where both of you left off from the discussion earlier.

After that day of the first intimate session both of you shared, you guys had gotten closer and felt more comfortable with physical contacts that were beyond the norm. Things were going exponentially well until he received a letter from a university he applied to in the UK.

When you first heard the news, you were genuinely happy for him, but the more it ran in your mind, your worries of maintaining a long-distance relationship triggered your insecurity again. Nevertheless, you still wanted him to pursue his dream of being an interior designer. You knew that he had always wanted to further study in that field, and now he finally received his acceptance letter, you didn't want to be a burden to him.

He is an intelligent, talented, hardworking person that deserves the opportunities, and it was finally his turn to spread his wings.

The process of accepting both of you would be apart for 3 years was already tough. You guys had been discussing what would be the best plan to sustain this relationship when he would be abroad in 6 months time and to be honest, it was brain-wrecking. No matter how concrete the plan would be, there would definitely be underlying issues that rose unexpectedly.

As both of you were already coming to a consensus after endless discussions, conflicts, arguments due to disparity in perceptions, issues started to rise again when your childhood best friend, Han Jisung finally returned from Malaysia.

Will we still be able to stand firm together despite all the obstacles coming in our way, or will we fall apart?

转 (zhuan) | Twist

I blame myself, I blame you,

I don't know whom to blame, my resent grows,

Trying to break down the wall between us just brеaks my heart,

While making my mind up, I missed thе most important one.

—

~ Autumn 2018

"Hey, Jisung! So happy to see you again!" You gave a warm tight hug to your long-time-no-see bestie, ignorant to the black-faced Hyunjin standing behind you and crossing his arms. Before arriving at the airport to fetch him, you had a minor conflict with Hyunjin because he was reluctant to follow you and last-minute changing his mind to come along.

"If you are not happy, then don't come," that was your last words before hanging up the phone the night before. When you first shared the news of your guy best friend coming back to him, he made a big fuss out of it because he felt you would spend more time with Jisung than him.

You thought he would be receptive to it, but little did you know that he would have such a big reaction, which made you feel wronged. You understood that he felt insecure because he presumed Jisung to be his 'enemy', as he had childhood trauma caused by his family.

He grew up in a problematic childhood where he was the most unfavourite child among his other 2 siblings (let's assume he has here okay). Ever since he was born, he was never doted by his family and was forced to be independent when he was a kid. He never had many possessions, but he would never let it go the moment he had it. He didn't tell you this until one of the days when you had a midnight call with him.

As the days went by, his true colours started to reveal -- he got agitated when you were talking to other guy classmates, as well as those guy colleagues you worked with. Initially, you were patient with his actions because you empathised with his situation, and you did your best to assure him that you would always be by his side.

However, things started to get overboard when he picked a fight with your assigned partner during lesson time. You recalled that you were just sitting slightly closer to your partner because both of you were analysing a picture, and he suddenly barged in and punched your partner in the face.

The situation got out of hand when the fight got worse and no matter how much you tried to stop him, his fury overshadowed his rationality until you slapped him in the face.

Your heart stung badly like how your palm was.

The whole class went so silent that even a pin drop could be heard. You opened your mouth wide as you saw his redden cheeks and your burning palm, immediately regretting slapping him. However, you were also triggered because he created chaos in the class, punching someone innocent.

Both of you looked at each other with reddened eyes. He realised what he had done, and he knew it was wrong. Likewise, you realised you hurt him, which was terrible as well.

"Y/n, Hyunjin, (partner's name), come to the teacher's office now."

The 3 of you got reprimanded by the discipline master, but none of his words entered your brain. The only thing you thought of was to confront Hyunjin, as well as apologise to him. The moment your discipline master released 3 of you, you dragged Hyunjin to the end of the corridor that was more secluded so you could have a private space to talk to him.

"Hyun, I'm-I'm so sorry, i-i didn't mean to," your head hung low as guilt gushed all over your heart. No matter how angry you were at him for making the reckless move, it was your fault for slapping him.

"No, no it’s okay, I'm sorry too, babe, I was-i was...I was jealous..." he replied apologetically as he fiddled with his fingers, waiting for your answer.

"Hyun, I know it's my fault for slapping you, I'm very sorry for that, but why would you do that? We were just discussing and you just came in to punch him as if he harassed me, how am I supposed to face him now? We are only halfway done with our project and how can I work properly with him in the future?" You combed your hair to the back frustratedly as you looked at the latter in front of you, stifling his tears as he nodded at your response.

"Hyun, what happened? It wasn't the first time you did this. The previous time you hit my colleague as well, remember? I almost lost my job... and now this, how am I supposed to face him and the rest of our classmates? Hyun, I totally understand your emotions, I heard you and I assured you repeatedly that I am always by your side, why would you still do this?"

You knew, you knew whatever you said would stab his heart, but he needed to know that you had your own limits as well. There were countless times when you had to take time to talk to him, making sure he understood where you were coming from. You were never born patient, but he was constantly challenging your limits.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry babe..." his cries got louder as your heart softened.

It was a toxic cycle. Unsure when the relationship had been going on a downfall as you started to interact with other male figures. He will first give you a black face, ignoring your words, waiting for you to probe him and you always did, then conflicts rise, followed by his fights with others if it was severe if not he will start approaching you again after cooling down for a few days.

You felt sick of entertaining all of these anymore, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to break things off with him. You were aware that because he put you at the top of his heart, that’s why his reactions were always theatrical, but it started to make you feel suffocated.

However, whenever you saw him breaking down, your heart felt weak and you forgave him because you knew that he was sensitive to your distance with guys, but you continued to do so despite him telling you that he didn’t like it. You were unable to blame him as you were not focusing on his needs as well. Things were starting to subside until Jisung came back from Malaysia.

“Oh my god bestie, I missed you too! By the way, this is…?”

“Her boyfriend,” Hyunjin came over from the back, sharply pulling you beside him as you winced at the impact. You laughed awkwardly as you darted a glare at the latter, suppressing your anger when he just rudely pulled you away, leaving Jisung speechless.

“Ah-oh, hi, I'm Han Jisung, y/n’s close friend,” he reached out his hand, wanting to make friends with Hyunjin. Hyunjin just flashed a fake smile at him before changing the topic, leaving Jisung’s hand awkwardly in the air.

“Jisung, don’t mind him, he’s just a little angsty today, let’s go,” you shoved Hyunjin’s hand off your waist and went over to Jisung side, leading him to the car that you have driven over earlier and Hyunjin tracing behind both backs unwillingly.

Having Jisung around made the relationship between you and Hyunjin worse. Of course, it’s none of Jisung’s fault because he wasn’t even aware of what was going on between the both of you, but just got dragged in from time to time in the arguments you had with Hyunjin.

As Jisung was transferred to the same school, he had to start from year 2 as the syllabus was slightly different from Malaysia. You mentioned to Hyunjin before that Jisung needed more help in his studies and you were the only one he knew that could guide him, so you will take some time over to Jisung’s house and tutor him.

This issue had been going on before Jisung returned, and the consensus was already agreed upon that you would take 2 days to help Jisung and spend the rest of time with him. However, there were times when you had to go over for extra 1 or 2 days as exams were coming.

You felt unfair that you had to restrain your time spent with Jisung as your boyfriend wasn’t fond of it. You wanted to catch up with Jisung but could not do so as you knew that if you stayed for an extra 5 minutes, you would receive spam calls from him. When you rushed over to his side, he would say sarcastic words that add flame to your fire.

You felt guilty about one thing because you lied to Hyunjin for a good 2 weeks that you had to work overtime, but in fact, you were at Jisung’s house. He only found out when he decided to do a surprise visit at your shop, only to hear from your manager that you weren’t assigned duty that day.

All infuriated, he decided to find you and confront you. To his dismay, you were not in your own house as well. He decided to wait for you to come back while cooling down his anger, as he knew that you disliked him raising his voice in any sort of situation.

“Hyun? Wh-why are you here..?” your voice quivered as you saw your boyfriend standing by your door, emitting icy cold energy from his eyes.

You knew that you were busted.

“Weren’t you supposed to be working?” he asked monotonously, sending shivers down your spine as you were certain that you couldn’t lie further.

“Let’s go in and talk,” not wanting your neighbours to hear, you unlocked the door and let him in, ready to start another world war.

“Answer me now.” The moment the door was shut, he pinned you against the wall while ordering you to answer him.

He was angry, very angry at you.

“I-i-i’m sorry, I lied,” you squeezed your eyes shut as you owned up your mistake, hearing a sharp inhale from the latter as he pulled away from you.

You were expecting him to yell at you, but he just kept quiet and looked at you with redden and swollen eyes that showed he had been crying before you even returned home. "Why? Why did you lie to me?"

His trembling voice broke your heart. You were speechless, flustered, anxious because it was indeed your fault. In order to spend more time with Jisung, you decided to take the worse approach, which is to lie when you could have talked to him nicely, and he probably would have understood your stand.

The method of resolving numerous conflicts has been wrong since the beginning. Instead of talking things out and explaining both rationales, both of you kept arguing for nothing but not sharing the true intentions behind your thoughts.

"I-I was afraid that you would be angry, then you would pick a fight with Jisung again..." your voice quivered as you looked down on the floor.

Silence.

Your anxiety is creeping in as it was your first time seeing Hyunjin keeping his mouth shut as he stared at you. It was scarier than him shouting or arguing because you knew things were worsening.

"Y/n, do you know why I have acted this way since the beginning?"

Right, why did he act this way? Isn’t he is just jealous because i talked to opposite genders? But is that really it?

"No..."

"Y/n, you know sometimes I really hate how insensitive you are. Those guys who talked to you in school were trying to court you. How could you not notice that? Didn't you notice their gazes? Didn't you notice those 'coincidental' touches? Did you even consider my feelings?"

Your mouth opened wide as you recalled those flashbacks. Those interactions you had with the guy schoolmates, who always appear whenever Hyunjin was around. There were times when they touched your hand but ended up apologising and said they were coincidental. Now that you look back, you realise that those were intentional and you fell for it. However, as you mind flashed how he always fought with them, the blood in your stomach boiled again.

Many people were speculating your reaction towards his reckless actions. There were many times when you felt ashamed because you had an immature boyfriend who went around punching people because of his jealousy.

"Well, but there isn't a need to fight with them right? Like, I get that you are angry and jealous, but fighting doesn't resolve things?! Why didn't you tell me instead?"

"I didn't tell you?! I remembered myself bringing up many times to ask you not to go close to them, but you don't listen?! You always said that I am possessive and doesn't give you the space you need, but have you ever considered what do I exactly need? I can respect you but have you given me the same respect I gave?"

"But Hyunjin, I get that you are angry but you know the moment I recall those fights you have gotten into, got called into the discipline master's office various times and getting yourself bruised makes me feel upset? I feel ashamed, that my boyfriend has to act like that in order to protect his girlfriend. I know that I am at fault, but aren't you accountable for your actions as well?"

Fury, blames, disappointment filled the atmosphere.

"I definitely am, but it is because I love you so much, that I can't control myself at times. I got so jealous whenever I see you with others, especially your bestie. I know nothing is going on, but I still feel jealous, urgh!"

"Hyunjin! I already said many many times that we are just besties and he already has his own crush! It has been a long since we met and we need time to catch up? Why can't you even spare that mercy for me?! Oh dear like, you know your love makes me feel suffocated? I want to live like other normal girls as well, who has the freedom to befriend opposite genders while having a boyfriend. Yes, I may have neglected you, but can't we understand each other?"

You broke down when you finished your words, crumbling on the floor as you cried your lungs out. You immediately regretted saying those but you couldn't take it anymore. Likewise, for him, he was also bawling his eyes out when he looked at the situation both of you were in.

“I’m so tired Hyunjin, really, i thought we were fine, but what exactly happened to us…” you choked on your words as tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks, clutching your throbbing head from excessively crying and the painful situation you were in.

We were not how we used to be anymore.

None of you expected this day to come so soon. 6 months back you guys were living the real definition of eudaemonia but now, things seemed to have collapsed and a strong hint of separation would the best decision to spare each of your life.

Why did things end up the way we least wanted them to be? We know that we truly love each other, but what had gone wrong? Were we in the wrong place, wrong time to get together? Is that all for us?

合 (he) | verdict

The fact that we've grown even further apart than we were makes me weary,

Because of my honesty, there is no relief, all that remain is regret.

—

~ Winter 2018

You were not feeling anywhere better even after 3 months of breaking up with your ex-lover.

“I just want to tell you that, meeting you is the best decision i have made, but the time and place that we met is wrong. We are young, immature, unable to express our love like how we want it to be which leads us to the situation now. Maybe breaking up is the best for now.”

That was the hardest decision you have ever made — to initiate a break-up with him. Breaking up was the last thing you would want to do on earth, but you felt that persisting in that torn relationship with 2 broken hearts would cause more pain for both of you. It wasn’t because you didn’t love him anymore, but you didn’t have the energy to love him the way he wanted you to be, vice versa.

That night was excruciating for you. Those redden eyes, nose, cheeks of his flashed in your brain countlessly, even in your dreams. His words were carved in your brain, frequently stabbing your heart when you recalled it.

“You were the first person I ever loved so deeply, but you are also the first person I lost, im sorry my love, i didn’t know my love would cause that much pain for you, maybe splitting would be the most ideal way for us now. Sorry, i love you.”

And he left your house without looking back. It was difficult for him to say the same thing as you, but it was a fact that there was no way out of this relationship and ending would put a stop to both sufferings.

Loving someone is hard, but breaking up with the person you loved the most is harder.

From that day onwards, you never saw him in school anymore. As the final year was coming to an end, you knew that he was busy preparing for his documents that would be brought over to UK. Touching the empty table beside you, you could only mock yourself for the worst state you were in and the regretful decision you made.

“I miss you,” the only 3 words that you could mutter to the empty cold seat every day you entered your class.

Winter came and everyone started to whip out their thick and furry jackets, likewise for you. The only difference you had with others would be, your heart still felt icy cold no matter how many layers you were wearing, because you lost the source of warmth that could keep your heart on fire.

You were no longer like how you used to be before you dated him. Unable to focus in class, submitting incomplete work, a drastic drop in grades as you often daydream the past that you had with him until got pulled back to earth when your tutor called you. You also started to isolate yourself from your friends, only to wander around the school where both of you spent time together.

“Y/n, are you okay?” you were daydreaming as you sat on the bench below the wishing tree. It was an instinct for you to go over that day, to review the note that both of you left during Valentine's day.

“Y/n and Hyunjin will be forever together”, that was the message. Both of you even signed at the end of it, tieing it with a red string before leaving. Now that you revisited it again, he wasn’t around anymore.

Maybe i shouldn’t have initiated the breakup…

Overthinking badly, this statement has run through your mind since you broke up till now. No matter how regretful you are, things can’t go back to how it used to be.

It was snowing that day and you were sitting on the bench tearing up. As you caressed the bench with your gloves, a sudden surge of tears rushed to the brim of your eyes, falling like pearls until your tutor walked over to check in with you.

“Saem, i-i feel a par-part of me is- is gone,” you tried to stifle your tears while covering your mouth, but it got out of hand as your form teacher hugged you. She knew everything because she was close with you, and definitely able to understand as she had gone through before.

“I feel bad, i feel so bad, i shouldn’t have said that…” your cries got louder as your brain kept replaying the last day you met him. Your tutor tried to calm you down by whispering consoling words into your ears, only effective for a few seconds.

“Y/n, everything happens for a reason. Parting now may not be a total bad outcome, what if you are able to meet him again in the future? This distance will help both of you to learn your own mistakes, learn how to love the other, learn how to empathise with each other. Until the day when both of you are enlightened, you guys will cross paths again. Trust me, i am sure that he wants to see you doing well because he loves you. I have saw numerous times where he focused, talked about you alot, so i am sure that there will be a day where both of you reunite again, okay?”

That was the longest yet most precious word your tutor has ever shared with you. Your cries ceased, slowly absorbing whatever she has said. She made her point and the only thing you could do then was to pull up your socks and live on. Dwelling in the past doesn’t solve things but only focusing on the current or future can determine your life.

That was the last time you cried till now. Numbing yourself, you decided to isolate all your emotions as you prepared for your final exams, only aiming to go to a good university and study something you want — which is to become a psychologist. And you did, you caught up in the last lap and managed to enter where you aimed.

It was the day when Hyunjin was going to leave for UK and you contemplated if you should at least send him off. He didn’t tell many people about it, and he once said that he really hope to see you there before departing. However, with this situation, do you still even have the audacity to go?

“Y/n, if you really want to go, just follow your heart. It doesn’t matter whether both of you are still able to reconcile, but at least go and tell him those words that you failed to deliver to him,” your mum came over to your side, patting your shoulders as you were sitting on the dining chair churning your brain.

You only live once.

“Okay mum, i’ll go now, thank you,” you set your mind and you swiftly took your sling bag, rushing out of the door to book a grab. It was 30mins left to his departure and you desperately hoped that you were able to make it. By the time you arrived, you saw from the screen that the flight gate that he would be taking was already opened. You dashed quickly to the departure gate despite knocking onto a few people, muttering a quick ‘sorry’ as your eyes were spotting for his figure.

“Hyunjin!” You saw that he was about to enter, turning his head back and stunned at your presence. You were panting heavily as you hold on to your knees, trying to catch some breath before saying a few words.

“Why are you here?” He rushed over to you, slightly furrowing his eyebrows as he saw the layer of sweat on your forehead. “I-i came to say, say a few words before, before you leave,” you swallowed your saliva, looking up at his worried face.

He still loves you, doesn’t he?

“I know, i know you are running out of time but, i just wanted to say-“

“This is the final boarding call for passengers Mr Hwang Hyunjin booked on flight 372A to London. Please proceed to gate 3 immediately. The final checks are being completed and the captain will order for the doors of the aircraft to close in approximately five minutes time. I repeat. This is the final boarding call for Mr Hwang Hyunjin. Thank you.”

Ah shit!

“You wanted to say?” He was still staring at you with worries written all over his face, but you didn’t want to hold him back anymore, so you just briefly blurted whatever was on your mind.

“Nothing much, i just wanted to say, good luck for your university life in London, we may or may not meet again, but i wish you all the best,” you faked the brightest smile you could before chasing him to enter because you didn’t want to be the cause of his delayed arrival.

You already burdened him enough for 1 year, it wouldn’t be nice to burden him more for his future.

After he entered the departure gate while turning to wave at you, you broke into tears as you crumbled onto the floor. Blaming yourself for being such a coward, you contemplated too much if you should come to send him. Even so, you still didn’t tell him the 4 words that you have always wanted him to know.

“Sorry, i love you.” They were useless no matter how many times you repeated as you looked at the fading from your sight. People were judging you but you couldn’t care less, as your whole mind could only focus on scolding yourself for being a pussy, that wasn’t even able to end a relationship right.

Till when will we meet again? Will you have already found a better person in the place you are in? Will there be a chance for us to reconcile again?

The most memorable yet heartwrenching year out of 22 years of your life.

之后 (zhi hou) | After

But maybe I took too long

Our timings were off, I feel like I'm being punished

What I did to get closer to you was rather

Building a wall between us, I'm speechless

—

~ Spring 2022

“Hey y/n! Congratulations on your bachelor degree! Damn, we are having a psychologist soon!” You received a warm hug from your bestie, Jisung while his partner stood by the side. Throughout the 4 years, he never leaves you alone trying to piece back every part of you. He is still that best friend just like how you met him since 7, and you are incredibly grateful for that.

“Thanks Han, congrats on your studio opening as well!” You patted his back as you replied. Jisung recently opened a production studio where he helps artists to produce songs. So talented, isn’t it?

You managed to graduate with a high score and you were on the honour’s list. Surviving the 4 years was not easy — you had to handle the broken heart inside you while putting on a facade in front of others, juggling with the enormous workload that stressed you out every day and working part-time to at least feed yourself as the uni fees were costly.

In your uni years, all you thought of were to study hard and work hard. Open for relationships? It wasn’t in your mind until someone confessed to you half a year later into your freshman year. You thought you were receptive to a new and incoming relationship but when it really happened, you still turned down as your heart still couldn’t eliminate that 1 person that took it away — Hyunjin, of course.

You couldn’t remember how many times your other best friend that you made in high school adviced you to get a new boyfriend, but it doesn’t sound like a good idea compared to having a new part-time work with more attractive pay. “Y/n, you can’t keep dwelling in the past. What’s over is over already, you need to move on and you may meet a better person in future, isn’t it?”

“Yea, yea, yea, you are right,” you brushed it off quickly as you continued to focus on doing your literature review. You understood where she was coming from, but you still felt there maybe a chance both of you could reconcile again. Claim it to be daydreaming, you just don’t feel the vibe to get into one right now.

“Damn y/n, I'm soooo proud of you, you finally made it after 4 years,” your best friend Lydia came over and gave you another hug, while her square hat accidentally knocked onto your jaw. “Yes i did, i mean, we did, im very proud of you as well,” you soothed her back as she giggled.

“Are you going to further study?” She asked, which earned a little attention from your parents and Jisung. You paused for a while before answering.

Should i? But i need a Masters degree to become a licensed psychologist, but i still need to study for a few more years…

“Maybe, i mean, after all i need a Masters degree? I shall see how,” you flashed a light smile before shifting the topic to take a group picture, even though a part of you wished he was around.

How has he been doing? Is he doing fine? Has he found someone better than you? Maybe he did because he deserves it…

“Y/n, say cheese!” Your senses came back to earth as you heard your other classmate, who is also one of your good friends, Seungmin called you and you smiled wider.

“Thanks Seung,” you took the camera over and scrolled through the pictures. “Still miss him?”

You were busy checking the photos, grinning unconsciously until his question took you aback. Stopping in your actions, you closed the camera and looked at him.

“Does it matter anymore? It’s not like we are meeting again,” your voice shook as you scoffed at yourself.

It’s not true, it definitely matters, and it matters alot. Why were you saying things that are opposite from what you thought? Or were you just too egoistic to admit you still love him after all?

“It definitely matters, he is coming back y/n.”

—

“xxx High School is sincerely inviting all Alumni that graduated in the year of 2018 to come back here and have a gathering. There will be a special gallery set up for all alumni to have a walkthrough, reminiscence their high school years and catch up with their classmates. Should you wish to come over, do flash this invitation card at the entrance to gain permission, we hope to see you there!”

You stared at this invitation card for a long while. The school logo that was right smacked at the cover of the card pulled you back into your high school memories that were filled with ups and downs. You soon received spam messages from Lydia and they were all about convincing you to go to the gathering with her.

“Omg plweaseeeeeee y/n, come with me okay?”

“Just for a short while is also fine, i hope you come with meeeeee”

“Don’t you miss our memories back then? Let’s go back and do all the stupid shit again!”

“I know what is running in your mind, but you only coming with me okay, only me!”

“If you really happen to run into him, isn’t it a good chance to speak your unspoken words?”

Right, unspoken words.

As much as you detest going back to school, you still didn’t want to give up the chance of meeting him again. The odds may be small, but it is still worth a try isn’t it?

“Okay, i’ll go,” you swiftly punched the letters in, placing the card back into the envelope before you plop onto your bed, staring into the ceiling. Taking up your hand, you stared at the ring that you have never taken off since 4 years back. It was a promise ring that he bought for you on your birthday, one for you and one for him.

Did he throw his away? I hope not.

There were many times when you wanted to remove and keep it somewhere, or even throw it away, but you just couldn’t do so. The ring wasn’t rare or expensive, but it was something that you poured your heart out for someone for the first time and despite not ending well, it still shaped your life and who you became. Groaning at how you couldn’t get him off your mind, you just decided to wrap yourself beneath your comforter and get some sleep.

The day came quicker than any other day and you woke up early to dress even though you claimed that you were totally not enthusiastic about it. Lydia was already waiting for you downstairs and you ran down after bidding goodbye to your mum.

“My girl said that she doesn’t want to go, not looking forward to it but oh look, she’s dressing herself,” your best friend made a sarcastic remark as she saw you wearing dress once in a blue moon as you rolled your eyes at her.

“Talk properly,” you slapped her arm playfully and she broke into peals of laughter, signalling you to hop into her brand new car that she bought a week back. That is the life you wanted, having a rich best friend who gives all her back when you needed and never forget about you when she succeeded. Being an entrepreneur requires lots of courage and resources, and not many actually earned big bucks out of it. Maybe lady luck is on her side, her business is prospering now.

The car ride was pleasant until both of you reached the school. Your anxiety starts to kick in again as you saw the nostalgic building, and the people who almost faded off your memory became prominent again.

“Hey Lydia and y/n, wow you guys have been besties for so long! How have both of you been?” Your form teacher, who is the one who comforted you when you sat on the bench crying beneath the snowfall. “I have been great! Got my own business now~” Lydia smiled sheepishly as she nudged your elbow lightly, asking you to follow up her sentence.

“Oh yea, i-i have been doing okay, preparing for my Masters,” your tutor looked at you with sparkling eyes, mouth opening wide when she heard about your accomplishment. “Im so happy to hear both of you are blossoming! Are you guys attached?”

You looked at Lydia and she did the same. Both of you are definitely not taken, despite the countless courters queuing to get both numbers.

“No saem, we don’t have haha…” both voices trailed off and your tutor chuckled. “That’s okay! Do what makes you happy and relationships can wait, oh and, go and take a look at the gallery before coming to the hall to grab your meals, we’ve got budget now,” she winked at both of you before ushering you guys to the gallery.

The moment you caught sight of the exhibition, your tears started making their way to the brim of your eyes. Those photos, those video montages, those voice recordings, those written hand messages across the wall punched your soft spot. You thought you hated high school until you revisit them again.

It is because you love high school too much that you hated it ended too fast. No matter how immature all of you were, we can never be like how we used to be anymore.

"Y/n! Isn't this you and Hyunjin when we were in our last year?"

Your smile froze when you heard that name again.

“Y/n? Are you listening to me?”

You are pulled back to earth when you looked at Lydia staring at you with a perplexed expression. Your mind went too far off to recap those memories as you gazed at the picture. “Why are you crying?”

“Me? Crying?” Your hands reached out to your cheeks and you realised a strand of tear fell from your eyes. You are oblivious to them as you were too caught up recalling until you noticed your cheeks got wet and your shirt that has a tear stain.

“Oh, nothing much, just feeling nostalgic, let’s go,” you wiped off the rest from your eyes before pulling Lydia away, continuing down the memory lane. Both of you were laughing at how foolish you look when your unglam was taken during Sports day. You met a few old classmates along the way and chatted with them, before exiting the gallery that leads to the area where the wishing tree is located.

Gaze fixating onto that wishing tree, the image of both of you confessing reappeared again, lightly smiling, you tugged onto Lydia’s hand before making your way to the hall.

Everyone was present except him. Looking at the empty seat beside you, just like how you looked at it 4 years ago, your heart fell as the chance of you meeting him became slimmer and negligible. Trying to put on a happy facade, you replied to your classmates' questions courteously until they asked you if there was any sequel after you and Hyunjin’s relationship.

“No, nothing happened,” you answered monotonously as you took a sip from the cup of tea, implying that you didn’t want to entertain anymore. Understanding your passive behaviour, everyone kept quiet and shifted the topic.

“Excuse me,” you muttered softly before making a move as you didn’t want to stay inside anymore. Totally not focusing on what the emcee was saying, you rather exit to take a fresh air instead of cooping inside. Taking the flight of stairs down, your feet brought you back to the wishing tree that you missed the most.

There are more notes tied now, you thought. The legacy must have been passed on successfully…

Climbing onto the bench, you wanted to search for the note that you used to tie with him. No matter how distorted it is, at least you wanted to retrieve back the note and bring it home. There wouldn’t be a reason why you need to leave it here as he wouldn’t come back either.

“Found it,” you uttered as you jumped down from the bench, wiping some residues off the note. The words are slightly faded, but still legible to read. Giggling softly at the handwriting, your urge of tearing came again while trying to force a smile. He has always been your soft spot, no matter how many years have passed.

Still carefully caressing the old note, you suddenly feel a few raindrops falling from the sky. It came too fast that you didn’t have time to react, you quickly hide the note inside your bag and wanted to run into the building. Before you could even turn your body, you don’t sense any water dripping on your head anymore.

Weird… it’s still raining heavily but why don’t i feel it?

You slightly tilt your head to the top, seeing a transparent umbrella hovering over your head. Feeling grateful, you turned your body to thank the kind soul, but no words come out of your mouth as your eyes caught the familiar figure standing inches away from you that is unforgotten since 4 years back.

“Am i dreaming?” you accidentally blurted your thoughts out and immediately covered your mouth, earning a light chuckle from the latter. You looked at him with confusion, slightly pinching your skin to prove to yourself you are not dreaming.

“You are not,” he answered softly while staring at you. His gaze is like a mystery — it feels like it is filled with nostalgia, love, hate, neutral, you don’t know. You only know he is standing in front of you now.

He looked even more charming as compared to 4 years back, no more childish vibes emitting from him, only mature energy. He look taller and more toned than he was, blonde hair tied in a ponytail instead of the old black one. Covering with a long coat, it makes him look more untouchable because you felt like a peasant talking to a god.

“I know…” you looked down at the hem of your shirt, fingers fiddling with them as your heart starts to race again like how you first met him. An awkward silence filled the air until he initiated. “It has been long…isn’t it?”

His voice also got deeper, got more addictive. You are timid to raise your head because you know you will be hooked onto his eyes, so you rather keep it low.

“Yea…actually, i have something to tell you… have been in my heart for 4 years and, you know, they aren’t delivered,” taking a harsh deep breath, you decided to confess that unspoken phrase to him.

It doesn’t matter whether you are able to reconcile with him anymore. All you wanted to do is to let him know your bottled heartfelt words. This timing is the best because you don’t know when it will come again, or maybe not.

“Go ahead, all ears for you,” he took a step closer to you, making your heart beat faster than it was despite him not touching you at all. It is raining, but why do you feel so warm?

Squeezing your eyes tight, you mastered your last courage to look at the latter into his eyes, muttering “Sorry, i love you.”

Oh my god, i finally said it, i finally said it!

Heaving a sigh of relief, you felt a heavy stone lifted off your chest. You avert your gaze to elsewhere because he is still staring at you and god knows why, trying to act as normal as you can.

“You know, you-you don’t have to say anything, i-i just wanna let you know… that’s all,” your nervousness rose because he was silent the whole time after you confessed to him. The fiddliness on the hem of your shirt got more obvious while you bite on your lower lip. You can’t help it, self talks don’t work anymore.

“Sorry, i love you too,” he uttered softly that was only audible for the both of you to hear, other than the raindrops splashing on the floor. People were running into the building but both of you are squeezing under a transparent umbrella, shooting unexplainable gazes at one another, weirdly romantic.

A part of your heart plunged because you thought that is really the end of both of you. End of teenage, end of the relationship, end of the chapter. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad too right? At least both of you once loved each other before, fight for each other before, quarrel with each other before…

Life is full of regrets, isn’t it? Why didn’t both of you hold onto each other tighter? Why didn’t both of you talk to each other? Why didn’t-

“Y/n, can we start from square one?”

-> author’s note: omg i finally finished this… i took like 2 weeks to finish it because i was preparing for my last lap of acadamic year and i wanted to give up halfway but thank god i didn’t >< sorry if thr’s grammar errors because i barely got time to vett, ignore those thank you!!

-> Networks: @thesunshineshop @ficscafe @koffeenet

-> Taglists: @ajxreads @xa21x @reallyloudstarlight @lunaflvms @lolalee24 @elmi-chan (not sure if you wanna get tagged but i shall tag you first if you don’t want lmk!)

-> masterlist | about

© levantea — all rights reserved. No plagarising, editing, claiming as own without permission.

#the sunshine shop #koffeenet #ficscafe #kpopsociety #straykidsland #destinyversenet #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #skz #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin ff #hyunjin skz #hyunjin angst #skz angst #hyunjin stray kids #skz x y/n #skz x reader #skz imagines #straykids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #Spotify

[magicshopaholic]

Industry Baby (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: In an unexpected turn of events involving your economics class and a magazine article, you find out just how talented your boyfriend is.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word count: 8.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, teasing, dirty talk, making out, breast play, blowjobs, restraints, mild dominance, edging, unprotected sex

A/N: Not me reading a Reddit thread about the best rappers in the Korean music industry and coming up with a whole fic by the time I get to the end of it :')

A huge huge thank you to @jeoniius for being a stellar beta as usual, reading the whole thing, giving me tips and telling me how hot it was at the end :') Couldn't have done it without you, Tannie <3

This is also part of my submission towards the Bangtan Bingo Spring Event by @bangtanwritingbingo, using my square "oral sex".

Listen to: "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

Click, click, click.

You don’t realise you’re clicking your pen until the person in front of you turns around to frown at you. You immediately stop and mouth an apology, sinking down further in your seat as your cheeks burn and you continue counting down the minutes until you get home.

Not just home, though. To your boyfriend. There’s a warmth that flows through you at the thought. For once, when you go back to your studio apartment, you won’t need to look forward to simply receiving texts from him or maybe catching him on the phone during a common free half hour. No, if everything goes well and you’re able to get out of here at a decent hour, Namjoon will be right there, in the flesh, tall frame and dimpled smile welcoming you.

“Diversification bias!”

You almost jump out of your seat as your professor barks a term at the class, quite possibly the reaction he was hoping for. You realise that you’ve missed the last ten minutes of the lecture entirely, most unlike you. You love what you do, what you study. You like this professor: a thin, lanky gentleman with kind eyes and thinning hair who speaks with an exasperation that suggests he’s seen war - or numerous batches of post graduate students, which is pretty much the same. You even like this particular topic - Practical Case Studies on Neuromarketing and Their Uses in the Modern World - which is why as a Ph.D student who doesn’t mandatorily need to be here, you’ve still shown up to an advanced post graduate class.

You’re surprised, therefore, at how distracted you’re getting. You glance down at the notebook before you, to see one and a half pages of written notes and feel slightly better; your boyfriend’s presence here doesn’t seem to have rid you of all your focus, at least. You don’t know why it should; it’s not like it’s the first time he’s visited you here in Amsterdam. It’s the first time he’s been here in months, it’s true, and for some reason you’ve missed him more than ever while he’s been working on promotions for his new album. Soon, he and his band will be on tour and you’ll be lucky if you can get even a minute of his time in between your classes, his concerts and the multiple timezones.

“That’s correct!”

Fuck. You’ve never been this low on concentration before. You sit up straighter in your seat as the professor nods approvingly at someone a couple of rows behind you, determined to focus for the rest of the lecture. You squint at the slides he’s presenting, sighing quietly in relief when you pick up the gist of what he’s talking about. The graphs are ones you’ve worked on yourself for your research and the insights are logical enough for you to catch up.

“Why would we be talking about Herd Behaviour in this context, though, hm?” The professor prowls about the dias in front of the class, peering at the forty twenty-somethings in the room. “Why -” He turns with a flourish to the other side of the class “- would the perception of a choice affect the decision of a consumer when those around them would perceive the choice to be something else?”

Everyone looks at him blankly for a few moments as they process this before the murmurs break out and the guesses start coming in. You don’t raise your hand; were you a student of this class, you would have. As a doctoral candidate, you and the professor both know it would be unfair for you to answer, even if you’re the same age as half the class.

“Exactly,” declares the professor when a girl in the front row makes an educated guess. “Can you think of a practical example where an industry not only employs this, but thrives on perception marketing to influence a consumer’s decision?”

Film, sports, music, pharmaceuticals… You sigh, suddenly remembering why you’d zoned out. Still, you wait patiently as the answers come in slowly from different students and the professor nods in approval.

“Quite right. All correct - except that, Janssen. Sports? Think again.” He claps his hands, making everyone jump again. “Let’s talk about a popular case study here, alright? This one’s for the kids.” The slide behind him changes and your heart stops. Right there, in the middle of your classroom, eight feet tall, is an image of your boyfriend.

You hear the lazy whoops and claps from corners of the class and the professor grins at the reaction, everyone suddenly a bit more awake at a pop culture case study.

“Does anyone know who this is?” The professor asks, almost jokingly, pointing at the picture on screen.

“BTS!” Several voices crow, the classroom erupting into laughter. They’re right, of course, for while your eyes had naturally gone straight to Namjoon, you now notice his six bandmates around him, all dressed similarly in suits, posing for the camera with perfect make-up and styled hair.

“And who knows who this is?” To your horror, the professor trains his pointer straight to Namjoon so the red dot hovers somewhere between his chest and his shoulder.

The voices are fewer this time but, if possible, louder. “Rap Monster!” a couple of people call, while some go “RM!” and one girl goes “Kim Namjoon!”, the loudest of all of them.

“So you all are capable of such energy in class. Imagine that,” quips the professor as everyone laughs, and the girl goes red in the face but continues smiling, eyes trained on the picture. “Well - yes, in answer. Rap Monster, RM, what have you. Leader of BTS. Can anyone tell me why he’s the leader of this world famous band? No, not you, Karina, we’ll have to wait for you to calm down…”

Your heart is still thudding, unable to reconcile the image of Namjoon, your Namjoon, here in your Economics classroom. As the answers pop up, you find yourself surprised at how many people know him and the detail in which they do. You’re not daft; you know BTS is world famous. Just because you had no idea who they were when you met Namjoon, aside from the band’s name in a vague sort of way, doesn’t mean other people in your campus aren’t aware of them. You’ve just never been faced with it this blatantly.

From behind you, you hear a guy speak in a low voice. “Mate, who’s the bloke with the blue hair and why is he looking into my soul?”

Another male voice answers. “Dunno. The only one I recognise is Rap Monster.”

From next to you, a girl whips around to look at them. “Wait, Bill, what the hell? You listen to k-pop?”

“Nah, not really,” the second voice, Bill, answers lazily. “But I know Rap Monster, though. Aoki posted a picture with him so I checked him out. He can rap, by the way.”

“He goes by RM now.” You don’t realise you’ve spoken until the girl next to you snaps her head down to look at you, blue eyes wide. “I think,” you add hastily.

“Are you army?” she practically squeals.

“I - uh, not exactly,” you stutter, already regretting saying anything. While Namjoon doesn’t get recognised too much in Europe, compared to back in Seoul at least, you want to limit any potential connection between you and him, especially while he’s here. He’s warned you before about getting photographed together, more for your safety than anything else, and you intend to defer to his judgment here at least. “My cousin’s a huge fan. She’s Korean,” you add, nodding when the girl sighs in understanding and you thank your stars for Jae-Lin, your favourite cousin and the perfect cover for your bouts of random BTS knowledge.

Somehow, like something out of a dream, the class progresses, proceeding to break down the entire economics behind the formation and positioning of one of fastest emerging bands in the world. The professor switches the slide and this time it’s thankfully not just a huge picture of the band but a couple of graphs, pie charts, article screenshots and pictures of about fifteen different bands in a messy collage of sorts. 

Some of them are k-pop - thanks to Jae-Lin, you recognise who you think is EXO and Got7, and whom you know is Blackpink. Apart from them, you recognise One Direction, NSYNC and some western girl group that looks incredibly familiar but you can’t place for the life of you. However, the picture of BTS, this time in baggy clothes and headbands as they glare into the camera, still remains bigger than the rest of the collage put together.

“Why -” The professor’s voice booms around the class even in the absence of a mic “- is the concept of a centre so important in the k-pop industry? What is the perception they’re working with, when -” He trains his pointer straight to Namjoon again “- the band was actually created around a different member altogether?”

For the first time this entire lecture, you’re paying full attention. The professor continues, with factual inputs from a few students here and there, to explain how Namjoon was the first member, former underground rapper, leader, producer and whatnot. “Where does the revenue for a label come from?” he asks dramatically. “Come on,” he prods, a bit impatiently, when no one answers for a few seconds, “how would a label make money?”

“Production.” It’s the only thing you’ve said in the class so far and you intend to keep it that way, even when the professor catches your eye and nods, looking slightly gratefully.

“That’s right!” He turns with a flourish to point the red dot at the western bands now. “Historically, usually, the labels are the producers. Why is k-pop different? Why is -” He turns towards the class this time “- BTS different? Take a wild guess as to who produces half their music!”

There’s a smattering of answers as people guess the answer to this rather leading question. Somehow - and you have no idea how - the class has turned into an RM worship session, and most surprisingly, a large number of people seem to be participating in it. You don’t speak again for the rest of the class, simply listening in awe at how much people seem to know about your boyfriend. 

In the eight odd months that you’ve been dating - and the few months preceding it where you both danced around the topic for longer than required - you’ve discovered his love for modern art, his favourite artists, how he likes his eggs in the morning, which t-shirts he likes to sleep in, the fact that he greatly prefers wine to beer, that he’d read the entire Iliad in English when he was sixteen years old, that his favourite mode of foreplay is to palm you over your underwear until you’re begging for his fingers. Somehow, amidst all this information, and the fact that he’s somewhat of a legend in the k-pop industry has escaped you.

Of course, sixteen year old Jae-Lin has done everything in her power since the day you’d met him to convince you of his greatness, but given the fact that she’s also called Jimin “a real life angel” and declared Taehyung her future husband, you’ve been forced to take everything she says with a rather large pinch of salt.

You’re shaken out of your reverie when there’s a collective gasp of acknowledgement from the class, usually reserved for when a professor presents the class with a logic that’s been staring them in the face this whole time. As seems to be the theme for today, you’ve missed the explanation, but you watch as the slide switches to the conclusion of this case with - you guessed it - a full screen picture of BTS, this time at some sort of interview where all the members are sitting on high revolving chairs.

Your eyes, predictably, go straight to Namjoon, who’s sitting in the middle with a mic in his hand and a small smile on his face. It’s incredible how much you miss him in that moment, even though you know you’ll see him in a couple of hours. As the professor takes doubts from the class, your gaze lingers on the t-shirt he’s wearing, how the thin material stretches across his shoulders and around his lean biceps. You’d left fingernail marks on those last night, you remember, biting your lip.

The summer heat suddenly feels stronger, and you reach for your bottle of water to cool down whatever it is you’re feeling. It’s pride, for sure, and a lot of surprise - but a pleasant kind of surprise. But there’s also something else, something that makes you feel just the tiniest bit uneasy, only because its elusivity makes your reaction completely unpredictable. Just a few more hours, you think as you take a sip. Next to you, the girl leans over.

“Which one are you looking at?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Um… no one in particular.”

She rolls her eyes and gives you a knowing look, as though letting you know your secret is safe with her. “Let me guess. It’s Jungkook, isn’t it?”

You almost choke on your water. “Oh, God, no,” you mutter, automatically thinking back to the first time you’d ever met the kid, his shocked and reddening face, inopportune timing, and the cold showers you and Namjoon had had to take after that. Realising how that must sound, though, you immediately backtrack. “I mean, he’s - he’s sweet, but… I was looking at… at Jimin, actually. I like his jacket,” you add lamely, for the first time noting the colourful and sparkly cardigan he has on.

She seems to accept your answer as the professor dismisses the class, thanking them for their unexpected participation. As you stand up and begin gathering your things, it takes you a moment to realise that while the case study might be over, the topic of BTS certainly isn’t.

“... documentary on how Eminem rose to fame,” Bill, one of the guys behind you, says as he zips up his bag. “Dre said it, too, that the best rappers have flow, beats and wordplay. RM has all of those. At least in k-pop, he’s one of the best,” he declares.

“The rest of them are really good, too,” the girl next to you pipes up, letting her blond hair out of its ponytail. “Suga and J-Hope. Best rap line in k-pop,” she corrects Bill.

“Wait, hang on, Ana,” says the guy next to Bill, turning to his friend. “What d’you mean wordplay? You don’t even speak Korean!”

They continue bickering, the two guys and Ana trailing behind them next to you. As the class exits, a few more people join them and it doesn’t take you long to realise that it’s everyone in the class who has any kind of opinion on k-pop. It’s incredibly strange; your heart skips a beat every time you hear anyone refer to Namjoon, especially when they’re giving him a compliment, but everything after that feels like brand new information. You hover around the same group as everyone mills outside before going their separate ways. There aren’t too many post graduate students you’re familiar with apart from the ones you studied with last year, but suddenly you’re glad you chose to attend this lecture.

BTS RM Tops Spotify Charts with Mixtape in Twenty-Four Hours… You scroll through the article on your laptop an hour later, feet up on your coffee table and a glass of red wine next to you. They’ve used a recent picture of Namjoon, dyed blond hair and winning smile taking up your whole screen before the article begins. You remember when the mixtape came out; you’d been together for three months at the most, and all he’d said about it was that it was different from the stuff BTS usually put out so he wasn’t sure if fans would like it. 

You knew it had done well, though; Namjoon’s relief and happiness hadn’t been a secret but it had coincided with you getting your research methodology approved and his reaction when you’d told him had been to “celebrate both wins together”. Now, you can’t quite believe he’d thought they were the same thing.

You continue going through headlines with a little trepidation. Even after Jae-Lin had revealed that the guy you’d bumped into and flirted with over a year ago was the leader of BTS, you’d been hesitant to look him up online, part of you wanting to follow your instincts and research, but another part forcing you to restrain yourself because you honestly had no idea what you’d find. Once you’d met him and gone on a couple of dates, you’d been able to form your own opinion of him - which, by all standards, was a fantastic one, and you’d no longer needed to read anything else.

The front door opens and you immediately close the browser window, looking up to see Namjoon enter. He takes off his earphones the moment he sees you and smiles easily, dimples popping. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, walking up to you and tilting his head to kiss you on the mouth. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, straightening up and taking off the baseball cap. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” you reply, leaning into him a bit when he puts an arm around your shoulders. “Good lecture.”

“Yeah? What was it about?” He sounds genuinely interested, just like he had on your first date when you’d told him what you do. 

“Neuromarketing.” You bite your lip, not elaborating further. It’s suddenly odd to see him back here after everything you’ve seen and heard in your class today. You note how different he looks, too; every picture on the slides had him and the band looking flawless, in designer clothes and with smooth skin and perfect hair. But right now, in chinos and Chuck Taylors, with his hair slightly messy and face bare, he looks like a dream. 

He’s still frowning curiously, though, so you shake your head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs and ruffles his hair again. “I’m going to take a shower. It was a hot day,” he adds, and you nod in agreement. “We’ll watch the documentary when I’m back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Smiling and patting your bare leg affectionately, he kisses your cheek and stands up. “Oh, by the way,” he says, moving to hang the cap on the line of hooks you have on the wall next to your TV, currently occupied by your bag and a few stoles, “I passed by the gallery today while they were setting up for tomorrow’s exhibit. It looks like it’s going to be huge.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you think you'll be recognised? We can skip it if you want.”

“What? No,” he says immediately. “I know how hard it must have been to get these tickets - I definitely want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent,” he confirms, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles before heading inside. He emerges fifteen minutes later, in a white t-shirt and black cotton shorts, drying his wet hair with a towel. The image makes something stir inside you and the warmth you feel coursing through you makes you wonder if the second glass of wine was a bad idea. You’d tried, while he was gone, to try and put your finger on why you were suddenly looking at him a bit differently, hoping that seeing him in the flesh might do the trick. But he seems more than ever like the same person you’ve known since June last year - except for that one thing.

“I just remembered, I have to send an email,” he mutters, going to his bag which he’d left under the row of hooks and retrieving a small, sleek laptop.

“Now?” you ask, keeping your own laptop aside and standing up before making your way over to him.

“Yeah, it needs to get to the management before they wake up in the morning, which is…” He checks his watch “... in about an hour.” He props the laptop open on your small dining table and begins typing away on the Korean keyboard, still standing. 

You stop right behind him and place your hands lightly on his hip bones, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He smells of your shower gel but there’s an additional scent there, something you only get to experience when he’s around and miss like hell when he isn’t.

Namjoon lets out a content sigh and pauses typing when he feels your touch. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly, “but this will just take a minute, I promise.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist when he resumes typing. Your nose is at level with the top of his shoulder; you rest your forehead against it and inhale, content to just be with him, his large and comforting frame back in your life and in your apartment.

“Babe?” You tighten your arms around him slightly and wait for him to murmur in acknowledgement. “Who’s Runch Randa?”

The typing stops abruptly. “What?”

You lift your head to rest your chin against his shoulder blade so he can hear you more clearly. “Runch Randa?” you repeat.

“Where, uh, where did you hear that name?”

“In my Economics class today.”

“You heard Runch Randa in your Economics class?”

“M-hm,” you nod, mostly telling the truth. The girl sitting next to you - Anabelle, you'd discovered later - had mentioned the name to the group in a deliberate attempt to be nonchalant and looked extremely proud when no one else seemed to recognise it, before she finally explained it on her own. “Apparently, he’s a pretty big deal.”

“Kaya?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to explain, babe, just a little bit.”

You snicker against his shoulder. “You were a case study in my class today. Or, BTS was,” you amend.

“Seriously?” Namjoon turns around slightly. “Wow. Why?”

“It was actually a pretty good example of perception marketing,” you allow, “and it included other k-pop acts, too. But,” you add, coming back to the point, “apparently you’re, like… a really huge deal. Top of the industry and stuff?”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not true.”

“Really?”

“M-hm.”

“So BTS isn’t platinum in, like, forty countries with the highest album sales of any k-pop group ever?”

He pauses. “I mean… okay, yeah, but -”

“And you aren’t the leader of the group? And apparently the best rapper in the industry, neck and neck with Zico?”

Namjoon pauses, turning around a bit more. “Someone said I’m as good as Zico?” he asks, eyes wide. “Wait - how do you know who Zico is?”

You haven’t the faintest idea who Zico is, but it was one of the two names being thrown around while the group from your class debated on who the best rapper in the Korean industry was. But this isn’t about your k-pop knowledge - or lack thereof. “And your mixtape didn’t top Spotify charts in, like, a day?”

There’s silence for a moment before Namjoon sighs and turns around fully, and you drop your arms from around him. “Where did you hear that?”

“I read it online, like a normal person. Although a normal person would probably hear about it from her boyfriend, considering it was his album,” you tell him, unable to keep a note of annoyance out of your voice.

He leans back against the table and frowns slightly. “Are you mad?”

You sigh heavily, reaching out to tug at the bottom of his t-shirt. “No, of course not. I just… it’s a really huge deal. And even the other stuff…” You bite your lip, trying to get to the bottom of it. “You don’t talk about your work a lot,” you finish eventually.

He shrugs, eyes softening. “Yeah, because I don’t get to see you that often,” he says, pulling you closer by the waist. “Why would I want to talk about work when I do get to see you?”

“I’m not saying you need to talk about it all the time, but I want to know,” you say in a small voice. “The good stuff and the bad. I tell you everything about my work,” you point out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You tell me everything?”

“Pretty much. Minus the boring stuff.”

“You didn’t tell me you walk back home alone from campus after midnight. I found that out when I got here and saw it for myself.” You don’t miss the disapproving note in his tone, so you give him a look until he sighs again. “Look, I know you weren’t really into k-pop before we met. I don’t want to force it on you.”

“You weren’t into behavioural economics research when we met either, but I still tell you all about it.” When he doesn’t answer, you drop your gaze. “Congratulations. On the Spotify thing.” You feel yourself getting pulled closer to him and his arms encircling your waist.

“Thank you,” he mutters, pressing his lips to the side of your neck before coming back up to your lips and kissing you. You automatically kiss him back, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck as you melt into him, like you always do. His mouth opens against yours and you sigh softly, having thought about nothing but this all day. 

Namjoon slides one hand slightly lower down the curve of your hip. “Sexy t-shirt,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You smile into the kiss. “It should be. It’s yours.”

He lowers his hand even further so it skims the hem of the t-shirt and lifts it up, making a low sound of approval. “Damn, I thought you were wearing shorts under this.”

“M-m, it’s too hot for shorts,” you reply, feeling the familiar warmth between your legs and nipping at his lip. “Is that a problem?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “Not at all.” He squeezes your arse and the heat increases. “It’s encouraged, in fact.”

You know if you keep going, you’re bound to forget everything you were talking about before this so you pull away regretfully and push him back slightly, ignoring his quiet groan. “Okay, no, but back to you and how you’re some kind of legend in the industry.”

Namjoon groans, an embarrassed hint of a smile on his face. “I’m not. Really. There’s seven of us who’ve made all that happen.”

“No, I know,” you say immediately, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not trying to take anything away from them, but… okay, aren’t you the leader? The first member of the group? Had the opportunity to go solo but didn’t take it? Underground rapper with a name and a brand already?”

His smile widens and the dimple appears, even as he drops his face into his hand before looking back at you. “Okay, yes, all that is… technically true. But it sounds a lot fancier than it is.”

“Ugh, you’re so sexy when you’re being modest,” you groan teasingly, your stomach flipping when he laughs as you push him back by the chest until he’s sitting in your recliner. It’s your most expensive purchase, one you’d made after you’d finished a gruelling research job for one of the university’s faculty members, and you’d sprung for a good version, with a soft leather lining and the cup holders on either arm. 

Namjoon sits back without protest, the top of his head just an inch above the back of the chair. You straddle him, finally having his full attention. His expression is somewhere between exasperated and indulgent and you have to ignore the jolt in your heart as his hands come up to rest comfortably on your hips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.” You aren’t sure how to put this into words and it frustrates you. You’re normally quite articulate, especially when it comes to self-awareness, but this time you just can’t identify it. You hold his gaze; despite sitting on his lap, his height ensures that you’re still at eye level with each other. “I just want to know what’s going on with my brilliant boyfriend, that’s all.”

“Your brilliant boyfriend needs to finish writing an email,” he says, matter-of-fact.

You deflate. “Fine, I can take a hint,” you mutter, moving to get off but immediately feeling yourself being pulled back.

“No, come here, I’m sorry,” he says, smiling and sounding apologetic. “I’m… I’m just not very good at taking compliments.”

“Even from me?”

“Especially from you. My brilliant Ph.D girlfriend,” he adds, pulling you even closer and kissing you on the cheek.

“I’m not a Ph.D yet,” you remind him, your cheeks warm. You shift your gaze, suddenly feeling shy. You finger a strand of his hair; it was initially a warm, golden blond but with his natural brown seeping in, it’s a dark, caramel colour, longer than it had been when you first met. “It felt nice,” you say finally, “to hear all that stuff about you. Of course, a little weird because a room full of strangers knew more about you than I did…” You lower your hand and your eyes. “But I felt proud and…” You trail off.

“And?”

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing. Just proud.”

"Thank you," he says after a moment, and his voice sounds deeper. When you simply nod and look up, he frowns slightly. "What?"

"... What?"

"Kaya." His voice is deep and soothing, like warm honey, and he looks more curious than anything else, tilting his head. "What is it?"

You straighten your face, wondering what exactly it is that he's seeing on it. "Nothing," you repeat, mostly because you don't know either. His torso, large and lean, is inches away from yours. You feel your toes curl of their own accord when you notice how his gaze continually falls and lingers on you.

Namjoon doesn't say anything else. He’s seen this look before - he just can’t place it exactly. You’re playing with the ends of your hair, falling dark and wavy down your shoulders and stopping just above your breasts. The leaf green t-shirt looks like spring against your olive skin and, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair off your neck. As you shift slightly in his lap, he feels the elastic of your underwear against his thumb and immediately wonders if you’re wearing black - and he feels himself stir at the thought.

He can’t tell if you’ve felt it. It suddenly occurs to him where he’s seen this look and at the same moment, something seems to click in your mind. Leaning forward, you tilt your head slightly and kiss him. 

He seems surprised for a fraction of a second but responds passionately, sliding his hands slowly up your back as you bring your hand to rest behind his head, fingers running through his hair. All intellectual brilliance aside, Kim Namjoon is the best goddamn kisser you’ve ever come across in your life. You open your mouth against his, sighing when you feel his tongue press sensually against yours and pull at his hair slightly, and this time you definitely feel him stir under you.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, moving down to trail kisses down your jaw and to your neck as his hands disappear under your t-shirt. His large hands envelope almost your entire torso, warm and familiar on your skin before reaching your breasts, pushing them up and squeezing them. Your soft groan makes him twitch and he feels for your nipple, moving the hem of your bra aside and running his thumb over it.

“Oh, god…” You moan even louder, rolling your hips into his. “Shit, you’re really good at everything, aren’t you?” His low snicker against your neck makes your abdomen clench, and you feel him squeeze your breasts again. “World famous music producer and everything?”

Aside from the conversation you were just having, you’ve just referred to an inside joke, possibly the oldest one you both have. His chest flutters at the memory of your face looking up at him in the sunshine, juxtaposed with the reality of you on his lap right now, expression full of desire. “You know I am, baby,” he murmurs, snaking a hand down to your arse and pulling you closer. “A pretty damn good music producer…”

Your eyes snap open as he begins sucking softly at the spot above your collarbone. There it is, you think, except you don’t yet know what it is but you can tell it’s right in front of you, dangling just within reach. You run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails scraping against his scalp. He groans softly against your skin and your heart starts beating faster.

“Tell me you’re the best rapper the industry’s ever seen,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezes your breasts again. He chuckles again, soft and low, but you’re done with jokes. Pulling away slightly, you push him backwards by the shoulder and kiss him, ignoring his momentary surprise. By the time you separate, he’s panting, his eyes narrow and heavily lidded. You suddenly realise how you’ve both shifted, and you’re finally able to look down at him. “Tell me,” you repeat softly.

Namjoon bites his lower lip, as though just realising he’s looking up at you, too. “I’m the best fucking rapper the industry’s ever seen,” he says quietly. Your heart jolts and you feel a warm wetness between your legs as you reach forward and your mouths meet again, messier and wetter than before. Even his grip is stronger now, holding your pelvis to his as he slides one hand beyond the hem of your underwear and squeezes the flesh.

“Joon,” you murmur, pulling away, breathless, and holding his gaze. “I want to tie you up.”

His eyes flicker for a moment, running over your dishevelled hair, swollen lips and glowing skin. Then, he nods. “Okay.”

Your heart thuds and for a moment you don’t move. You think you know what this is about, but you don’t want to overthink it. Clambering off his lap, you walk towards the row of hooks and grab the two thinnest stoles you can find before sauntering back over to Namjoon. His eyes don’t leave you and as you near him, he places his arms on the armrests of the chair, his erection now fully visible. 

“Sure you’re okay with this?” you ask, pausing where you’re kneeling down, a dark blue stole ready to be used. When he nods again, the corner of his mouth curving upwards slightly almost like he’s looking forward to it, you smirk up at him. His heart jolts in his chest at the sight of your smile, his favourite thing in the world, and he sits back as you secure both his wrists to the cup holders of the chair before standing up again.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he mutters, visibly checking you out and letting his gaze linger on where the t-shirt rides up to the tops of your thighs as you run your hands through your hair. You notice where his attention is and raise your hands even higher, allowing the black of your underwear to peek through and Namjoon lets out a choked sigh before looking back up at you.

You love it when he talks dirty - which is often. He knows he has the voice for it and he uses it all the time, telling you how gorgeous you look or what he wants to do to you. It usually works differently because while neither of you occupy the role of the dominant one, Namjoon usually leads, worshipping your body and driving you crazy in equal measure. This time, though… you straddle him again, slowly, taking your time because now, the best fucking rapper in the industry has all his attention on you.

Hesitating just so you can see his reaction, you lean forward and kiss him again, slower this time. You tease him, swiping your tongue across his lower lip and biting on it lightly until he groans into your mouth. His erection twitches again and you feel it more clearly this time. Still kissing him, you reach down between you and palm him through his shorts, feeling yourself get wetter when you realise how hard he is.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away and resting his head on the back of the chair. “God, I want your mouth on me…”

“I know you do, baby,” you murmur, slowly letting him go and sitting back so you can lift his t-shirt. You watch his expression as you run your hands up his torso, loving how he’s forcing himself to meet your gaze. You make sure to graze your fingernails against his skin until you reach his pecs and lift the shirt up further. The way his breath hitches tells you that he knows what’s coming - something you’ve only done once before.

Shifting further back on his lap, you lower yourself so you can press your lips to his sternum. The scent of your lime shower gel that he's used hits you again and you move up further, feeling his chest tighten under your light touch. “Something wrong, baby?” you ask softly, trailing your mouth higher up. When you reach the spot below his nipple, you feel his erection strain against his shorts.

“Kaya,” he mutters, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “Come on, don’t tease me, baby...”

“You tease me all the time,” you remind him, unable to resist pointing that out. “Being a big deal in the music business can’t get you everything, baby.” Lifting his shirt up further, you reach out to lightly brush your tongue against his nipple.

“Fuck!”

You look up from your position to see his head thrown back as he bites down on his lip. You continue, more confident now that you’re getting the reaction you wanted. You lick his nipple again, this time grazing it lightly with your teeth when he groans again when you feel a warm wetness against your thigh. Reaching for his erection, you brush your thumb over his covered tip, confirming the pre cum that’s leaked out.

Straightening up, you reach for his face, bringing it down to look at you. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me, baby,” you murmur, only partly in wonder. Slipping a hand under the waistband of his shorts, you grip his length through his boxers, your own clit pulsing at the feel of it. Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut when he feels your touch and you kiss his jaw, making your way down to his neck and biting lightly on his earlobe. 

“How many artists said they wanted to work with you this year, hm?” you ask calmly, your lips touching the helix of this ear and your thumb brushing the tip of his cock. “When you were in the States last month?”

“Not -” He breaks off, biting his lip as you continue stroking him. You sit up to look at him properly, waiting for him to pay attention to you. “I…” He swallows, and you feel him pulsate in your hand. “Ten… maybe fifteen,” he says at last.

You nod, knowing you’re soaked through your underwear by now. “I’m so proud,” you tell him softly, lowering your head to kiss him again. He kisses you back hungrily and you run your free hand across his shoulders and down his chest, your stomach leaping at how tight and tense he is.

“I want you…” Namjoon whines, lips moving off yours and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “... please, babygirl.”

At the last word, you let him go and slide off of him, getting your first good look at how far you’ve been able to push him till now. Wrists tied, cock hard and expression both aroused and frustrated, you can finally reconcile what you’ve been feeling this whole time. RM, leader, rapper, producer and Big Hit’s main man is yours. 

Kneeling down between his spread knees, you hear him sigh and see his hands clench into fists on either side of your head, bound by a green and blue stole each. You snake one hand up his thigh, continuing even after it disappears into his shorts until you feel him again, big and hard. You palm him, trying to ignore how much you want him right now, how badly you want him to fill you up… Namjoon groans again, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Kaya…” He sounds so incredible, his deep voice reverberating in your small apartment, his huge frame in your favourite chair, all the while at your mercy. 

"Yeah, babe?"

“Please…”

You retrieve your hand and reach forward to bring his shorts and boxers down together, freeing his cock, hard and already dripping pre cum. You need to bite your lip to keep from audibly moaning at the sight; it’s never ceased to amaze you just how well-endowed your boyfriend is, especially because he doesn’t act overconfident or super proud of it. 

Getting on all fours so you can crawl back between his legs, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, willing him to beg again. His pleading gaze is enough, though; when you reach out gently grasp him, he lets out a guttural groan and drops his head back against the chair. 

“God, you’re so hard, baby,” you repeat in a wondrous murmur, stroking him once. Next to you, his fists clench again and his hard length pulses in your hand. You brush his tip with your thumb so the pre cum leaks out, your core aching when he groans in pleasure. Standing up but retaining your hold on him, you gently bring his face to meet yours. You kiss him, softly. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Namjoon’s eyes flutter open unevenly to look at you, the desire and desperation clear on his face. You feel a jerk, and when you see his gaze abruptly move to his hands, you realise it’s the first time he’s forgotten that he’s tied up. Licking his lips and swallowing, he meets your gaze again. “Suck me…” he sighs, closing his eyes and finally giving in. 

BTS’s RM essentially, you could say, was responsible for an entire quarter’s increase in revenue for the parent company - so why are we glossing over this rather important fact? The question that was posed to the class runs through your mind as you lower yourself, as does the response, wherein while everybody else struggled to put forward a few well-informed guesses, you’d felt a flutter in your stomach at the sheer power your boyfriend clearly held… except for now.

You stroke him a few more times, smoothly and consistently, using the pre cum to lubricate him well. Namjoon’s sighs tell you it’s working, so without making him wait any longer, you reach forward and take him in your mouth. The moment your lips touch his cock, he lets out a groan and you automatically grip him a little harder. Slowly, you take him in further until you establish a cadence, running your tongue along his length and swirling it around his head.

“Fuck, Kaya, you feel so good…” He groans, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep his hips from buckling. His deep voice, capable of making you feel so much even in a non-sexual setting, makes your heart race and your clit throb with desire. From your periphery, you see him look down at you. “You look so pretty with your mouth around my cock, fuck…”

You can’t help it; you moan at his words and hunch further over him, taking him in as deep as you can, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat. You lift your hips off your heels to get into a better position and feel his oversized t-shirt drop down your back. You don’t realise until you hear the chair creak and see his hands strain against the bonds that your underwear is visible and by his reaction, you were right about it being black.

“God, baby, I want to come in your mouth,” he murmurs, groaning loudly when you cup his balls with your other hand. “I don’t think I can - I think I’m going to -”

Just as he breaks off, you let him go with a pop and stand up, feeling close to the edge yourself when he groans in frustration. You don’t wait for him to glare at you or beg any further; you’ve teased him enough - and ironically, you’ve made yourself a hot mess for him, too. Brushing the rogue strands of hair off your face and wiping your mouth, you reach up under the t-shirt and tug your underwear down, stepping out of it and straddling him.

“Shit, yes…” The relief in Namjoon’s face is more than evident when you climb onto his lap. Kissing him, you raise your hips and slide down onto his cock, both of you moaning in unison. Pulling away from his mouth, you sigh in pleasure as you shift into position, feeling his length and girth inside you and feeling so full, so complete that you whisper his name without thinking.

He grunts in response, moving his hips so he hits your g-spot just right. “Fucking hell… Kaya, take off your t-shirt, baby.”

Instinctively, you’re about to listen before you stop and take a long, hard look at your boyfriend. He’s gritting his teeth, already on edge, his muscles tense and his eyes narrow and boring into you like he’s already undressed you mentally.

Can’t have that. Grabbing the back of his head, you roll your hips into his, not taking your eyes off him as he groans again. You kiss him, your tongues meeting immediately, both your moans being swallowed as you fuck him into the chair, your hands sliding up his t-shirt and feeling his taut chest. His shoulders tense further and you feel the chair move as he tugs on the restraints.

“Kaya…”

You shiver when you hear his voice, because he’s no longer pleading. His mouth moves to wherever it can reach, down your jaw and to the side of your neck before you manoeuvre him to look at you again.

“Tell me you’re it,” you murmur, using all your strength to keep your voice steady while he stays inside you, “tell me you’re the industry, baby.”

Namjoon meets your gaze, looking like he’s holding onto the last shred of resistance he has in him. Still not breaking eye contact, you reach down and take your shirt off, keeping just enough distance from him for him to screw his eyes shut in frustration and tug at the restraints again. “I’m the goddamn fucking industry,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your mouth.

You don’t keep him waiting any longer and roll your hips into his again, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kiss him roughly, pulling his hair and biting his lip to tell him everything - how proud you are of him, how much you love him, how ridiculously lucky you feel sometimes. He tugs at the bonds again and this time you feel the chair move.

“Fucking hell, Kaya, please let me touch you, baby!” Namjoon pulls away and blurts, sounding more frustrated than ever. He tugs at the restraints one more time but you don’t make him wait any longer, simply reaching back and untying both scarves one by one. His hands come up to you at lightning speed, flat on your skin, reaching everywhere. 

You frantically tug at the bottom of his t-shirt and unhook your bra as he takes it off, mouths meeting again in a fit of passion and desperation. You can feel every bit of his skin, as warm and clammy as yours, as he holds you to him as close as possible.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters against your mouth, hands pushing your breasts together and squeezing them. He takes one of your nipples, rock hard between his fingers and twists it. You moan and pull away, fucking him faster now, your whimpers and his grunts in harmony. 

“Oh, God, Joon, I’m so close,” you gasp, clutching his shoulders. His hands snake down to your arse and he grabs the flesh, and you can feel his warm breath on your face, telling you he’s close as well.

“Mm, cum all over my cock, baby,” he murmurs tightly, pressing another kiss to your jaw. He squeezes your arse again before landing a light spank on your cheek - and you do exactly as he asked. You shudder in his arms as you feel wave after wave of your orgasm crash onto you. “Fuck, I love you so much,” you hear him say against your neck before grabbing your hips again and coaxing you to move.

Using him for support, you begin moving again, feeling his hips thrust upwards as well. “I’m almost there, babygirl,” he mutters, reaching up to kiss you again.

You kiss him back hungrily, feeling your wetness coat his cock further. “Come on, fill me up, baby,” you whine against his mouth, feeling his hips buckle upwards before he groans and drops his head backwards. You close your eyes as you feel the warm spurts inside you as he pants, his bare chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

You lean into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder, exhausted. Pressing a kiss to the slightly sweaty skin of his neck, you close your eyes again. “Love you, too,” you whisper, feeling his arms come around you as he softens inside you. This, arguably, is one of your favourite things about sex with Namjoon. While neither of you are too cuddly or tactile in general, the few moments after sex are so intimate and private that he holds you in silence anyway, gentle and protective no matter how urgent or rough the sex was.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet, fingers brushing your hair off your clammy shoulder.

You look up at him, head still resting on his chest. “What was what?” you ask innocently. When he gives you a look, a hint of a smile still on his face, you shrug and look down. It seems insane that after what just transpired, you might actually be too shy to meet his gaze. “Did you like it?”

Namjoon sighs thoughtfully, and you eventually do look up at him. “Well,” he says finally, “it was different. And I think you can tell if I liked it or not,” he admits, smile widening just a bit. “But I’d say if you like this chair, you probably shouldn’t do it again.”

“Okay. I won’t do it again in this chair.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Where are you going?” he asks when you sit up a moment later, an underlying whine in his tone.

“I’m getting up.” You adjust yourself and both of you sigh softly as he slides out of you. Reaching for the tissue box on the side table, you clean yourselves up before you get off the chair and start pulling on your clothes. “What?” you ask, noticing how he hasn’t moved.

“I…” He sighs and smiles lazily, sitting back and watching you hook your bra. “Nothing. That was just…” He sighs again and you feel your cheeks heat up with the way he’s looking at you, but you keep your cool. “I’m not ready to be done yet,” he states, holding out a hand, presumably for you to take and climb back on his lap.

You shake your head, though. “Can’t, baby,” you tell him, pulling on your t-shirt and kissing him on the cheek. “You have an email to finish writing.”

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @ggukkieland

#namjoon x oc #btswritingcafe #ficscafe #kpopsociety #thebtswritersclub #btsgoldnet #houseofddaeng #bangtanbathhouse #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon smut #btsbingo2022 #btsdreamcourt #bangtaninn #bangtanwritershq #bts fanfiction #bts smut #namjoon fluff #bts fluff #ksmutclub #52hertz #hyunglinenetwork

[seokmins]

i mean... i wouldn't complain if he knocked me out or smth- what?

#ezralia-creates #ezralia-gfxs #svt gfx #dk gfx #svt #seventeen #ultkpop #kpopsociety #kvanity #seventeenweeklyphotography #gifs #svtdaily #svtsource #wkcnet #dk #dokyeom #lee seokmin #seokmin #thesvttown #kpopccc #i'm in gremlin mode #alexa play i can't stop me by twice

[minshift]

𖦹Ꜥꜥ ꧇ THINGS TO ADD TO UR SCRIPT ៸៸ ( 🍥 ،゛

♡ general edition

ped0philia, zoophilia, r/pe, sexism, racism, homophobia, murder, theft, animal ab/se, war, transphobia, drug/alch0hol abuse, fatphobia, h/man tr/fficing does not happen

i never have wardrobe malfunctions

i dont get sexualized when i dont want it

i have a black card/unlimited money

i dont have to pay bills

i dont get in debt

i cant gain weight or lose weight unintentionally

my hair remains healthy no matter what i do to it

my hair never gets greasy

im not stiff

im not clumsy

#꒰ 01 minshifts ˙ #꒰ 01 scripting ˙ #shifting #shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #desired reality #reality shift #manifesation #manifesting #void state #kpop shifting #kpopsociety #kpop #harry potter shifting

[woosluv]

02:28 am — wooyoung

— pairing: wooyoung x gn! reader

— rating / genre: G / fluff, established relationship

— warnings: wooyoung curses once, y/n is ready to beat woo up lol, pet names(he calls you baby)

— word count: 411 words

— summary: wooyoung loses his key to your apartment and is forced to find another way in.

[ start ]

You were startled awake by the sound of clattering outside your bedroom door. Your immediate thoughts went to oh my god, I’m being robbed. You took a deep breath as you stood from your bed and grabbed the baseball bat one of your friends had left here. Slowly, you raised the bat over your shoulder and silently twisted the knob of your bedroom door. You could hear the man huffing as more things clattered.

Your steps were slow and steady as you took one last deep breath to prepare you for the beating you were about to give the robber. “Shit, y/n’s gonna be so mad. This is their favorite vase.” Your eyes opened at the voice. You brought the bat down to your side and stepped out from the hall to see your boyfriend standing among the shards of your favorite vase. “Really, Wooyoung? You broke my favorite vase?” 

You could tell he wasn’t expecting to hear your voice when he jumped in his place, startled by your sudden presence. “y/n! What are y-” He took a second to study you, seeing the bat in your hand and your disheveled clothes. “Why are you holding a baseball bat?” You huffed at him as you made your way to the switch to turn on the lights to reveal the mess your boyfriend had made in your apartment. 

Wooyoung looked sheepish as he rubbed his neck and looked down at the mess at his feet. “Why did you break in? You have a key.” You were already using a broom to sweep up the ceramic from around his feet. “I don’t remember where I left it.” You sighed as you swept the last of the broken clay from around his feet and took it to the trash can in the kitchen. You went back to where Wooyoung stood, frozen to his spot in embarrassment and held out your hand so he could follow you. “C’mon love. It’s late and we both have an early day today.” Wooyoung nodded as he followed you to your room.

With Wooyoung in your arms, you felt the heaviness of sleep pull you back in. You remembered Wooyoung’s startled face earlier. “I’m sorry I almost beat you up with your bat, Youngie. I love you.” Your words came out mumbled against his back causing him to chuckle a bit as he pulled your arms further around his waist. “It’s okay, baby. I love you too.”

[ end ]

taglist: @wooyoung-a

#underworldnet #kpopsociety #koffeenet #🍄 my writing #ateez imagines #ateez #ateez fics #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #[🐱] wooyoung content #wooyoung x reader #ateez fluff #wooyoung fluff

[btsmosphere]

Firstly, congratulations on your milestone, well deserved!

I am here for the drabble game, love this pick and mix idea!

So can i request:

Taehyung, idol neighbour au, strangers to lovers (suggestive if thats ok)

prompts:

Hiding and "I'm used to it."

Can it be for a mxr (fem reader please)

Thank you! Love your writing, can't wait to read! 🖤

~summary: your busy life hasn't given you the chance to meet your neighbour, until a crowd outside your apartment block brings you together ~pairing: taehyung x reader ~ceo!reader, idol!taehyung, neighbours, strangers to lovers, fluff, suggestive ~word count: 1k ~rating: pg ~warnings: swearing, a tad suggestive

~a/n: another drabble! thank you so much my lovely!! this was a fun one, I really hope you enjoy it and thank you for playing💜 this story is part of my drabble game, and requests are still open! for any of you who have seen it and considered, I would seriously love to get some more requests, so don’t hesistate!

Your journey home wasn’t too long, something you were thankful for. Having risen through the ranks of a big company, you always worked hard, but there were inevitably days when you wanted nothing more than to collapse onto your sofa and not move for hours.

Today was one of those days.

But when you turned the final corner of your route home, your dreams of Netflix were swiftly crushed.

At the foot of your apartment complex, spreading a little way along the pavement, was a crowd of people. Their clamouring reached you from across the street, and you noticed several holding up cameras.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened, given the area you lived in. Many rich and famous people lived in this district, and you had opted for this place in particular thanks to its high security and luxury apartments.

Unless some serious shit had gone down at work since you left twenty minutes ago, you were fairly certain the crowd wasn’t for you. That was something, but it didn’t change the fact you weren’t going to be able to make it inside anytime soon without leaking your address to the world.

Sighing, you dug your mask from your bag and slipped it on, just in case.

You made a beeline to avoid the rabble outside your home, instead going around your building to the back, where you could wait it out.

There was a back entrance, but it was usually for things like deliveries, so your key wouldn’t open it. Luckily, the crowds didn’t seem to be aware of its existence, as there was no one around this side when you got there.

The moment you stepped into the alcove where the doorway nestled, you were proven wrong.

A yelp startled you, realising too late that there was a man here already. He was very well concealed, only visible now you were round the corner.

Wide eyes stared from underneath a cap, a mask also covering the lower half of his face. His gaze darting behind you briefly, a faint frown appearing on his brows when he found nothing there.

Understanding quickly dawned on you.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring them with me,” you chuckled, “I guess you want to avoid them too?”

Blinking, the man raised his head so you could see a little more of his face, though he still looked bewildered. Adorably so.

Wow, it must have been a long day if you were crushing on someone that quickly. You needed to pull yourself together.

After a moment, he leaned forward, speaking in a low voice, practically a whisper.

“You live here too?”

You nodded.

“Is it you they’re after, then? Damn, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, slumping back against the wall.

“I’m used to it.”

Shuffling further into the small space, you clicked your tongue in sympathy. You weren’t quite sure who this guy was, but it felt rude to ask in such a stressful situation. Whoever he was, he was clearly someone the front pages were keen to get a hold of.

A slight issue you hadn’t foreseen was that now you were pressed quite close to this stranger, the doorway not providing too much space.

“Do you think anyone’s around to let us in?” you asked, peering through the small window in the door, if only to avoid his eyes now you were so close.

“I think security all went to deal with the front,” he sighed, resigned. His voice was low and resonant, his clear tiredness lending it some huskiness that was affecting you more than it probably should.

“Do they not understand people have important binge-watching to attend to?”

You were relieved to note he laughed at your attempt at a joke, cheeks belying his happiness under the mask.

“Well said,” he agreed, “though I’m not sure if I’ll get to that tonight. I’m only in this mess because I forgot my keys, and someone spotted me while I was stuck outside.”

“Happens to the best of us,” you chuckled, “I’m sure you had big plans.”

Strangely, the conversation between the two of you flowed easily despite having just met. He became quite animated, causing the barely existent space between you to shrink sometimes, your face heating up.

You barely noticed the time passing, but eventually a click announced the opening of the door beside you.

The security guard apologised profusely for the situation. Accepting it with a smile, you didn’t have the heart to tell him you actually wished he had left you out there for longer.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Taehyung.”

Taehyung. Perhaps it ran a bell.

The two of you walked side by side to the elevator.

“Y/N,” you told him, “what floor do you need?”

You had pressed number 7 for yourself, but when you turned around, you barely registered him telling you he was on the same floor.

If you had been captivated by his eyes alone when he had his mask on, then this was…

Wow. You were speechless. He had removed his cap and mask, leaving dark scruffy hair falling into his dark eyes. His face looked as if it had been sculpted by the gods. No wonder he was famous.

A shy smile spread across his mouth. Clearly you had stared a little too long. With a breathy laugh, he leaned across you to press the console, letting the doors slide closed and the elevator set into motion.

To your surprise, he hardly moved further away from you than you had been in the doorway earlier, despite much more space being available here.

“I can’t believe I never noticed I had someone like you as a neighbour,” he smirked, leaning against the metal wall. He was way too at ease to be saying things like that.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Like me?”

“Yeah, I’m glad I got stuck hiding with you of all people. You’re funny” – his eyes then flicked up and down – “and cute.”

You were quite surprised you hadn’t burst into flames yet.

“I’m glad I could ease your boredom,” you laughed, “it certainly beat being out there all alone.”

The lift came to a halt too soon, the doors announcing the end of your journey.

“Thanks,” Taehyung grinned, though he stopped in the hallway, “I still can’t get into my apartment, though.”

One hand on your own door, already pushing it open, you turned to him and allowed a smirk to slip onto your own face.

“I think I might have a solution to that too.”

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can still make a request!💜

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @un2-verse @rockwithwoo @taegularities

#thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #bts drabble #taehyung drabble #taehyung imagine #taehyung x reader #kpopsociety #bts drabble game #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #kim taehyung x you #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung idol au

[ugh-yoongi]

love.fm | knj

⟶ pairing: namjoon x f.reader

⟶ trope/au: estranged lovers | radio host

⟶ genre: angst, fluff, comedy

⟶ rating: mature

⟶ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, lots of feelings about a previous breakup, jk is a shithead but we love him, ambiguous but hopeful ending. not much else, this is pretty tame aside from the swearing.

⟶ wordcount: 12.4k

⟶ summary: you know three things for certain: jeon jeongguk will do anything to inconvenience you, kim seokjin is an absolute bastard for putting you in charge of the station’s holiday show, and you’ve got a lot of regrets about the way your relationship ended. however, you also know spending the last two years on your own has done you some good. you’ve got a new haircut, an apartment with a bay window, and a rescue dog.

there’s also the stranger who keeps writing into the station about regrets of their own. the stranger whose prose feels so familiar. the stranger who leaves you wondering if things with your ex are quite as resolved as you think.

⟶ dialogue prompt: "i'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. i never realized how lost i'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. i finally understand how you felt."

⟶ event: written for the resolution revolution collab, hosted by ash @jimilter and amelia @knjsnoona​. thank you both for letting me participate! ❤

⟶ a/n: ahh, it’s finally here! i’ve been working on this on and off since the beginning of october. i guess i can’t seem to stay away from those exes to lovers fics, eh? this will require some suspension of disbelief but i hope you all will enjoy it anyway. please let me know what you think! feedback/reblogs/etc. are always appreciated and welcomed!

Ben Franklin once said there are only two certainties in life: death and taxes.

You’d like to add a third: that every year, without fail, on the day after Thanksgiving, you can always find Jeon Jeongguk hogging the staff microwave.

It’s the busiest day of the year for you, and every year, without fail, your half-hour break is always halved because Jeongguk is hogging the microwave. Most people would adapt, having sensed a theme, but not you. No, you’re stubborn, and instead of packing a lunch that doesn’t require reheating, you find a better use of your time to be lecturing a kid fresh out of college about proper office etiquette.

“Jeongguk,” you say, voice stern and exhausted, “honestly. This is absurd. There’s no way in hell you need to microwave whatever that is for ten minutes.”

“I do,” is all he says, not at all oblivious to your seething but choosing not to acknowledge it.

“You’re an asshole. Why do you do this every year? Why must you make me suffer?”

He turns to you, earrings twinkling under the fluorescent lighting of the staff kitchen, and smiles. It’s smug and taunting and far too pleased. It gives you heartburn. “Should’ve gotten here sooner. You know how much I love Thanksgiving leftovers.”

“Fuck off. You know I always take my break at this time. You saw me get up and ran in here so you could steal the microwave—”

Jeongguk squawks. “I did not!”

“You did so,” you insist, nose scrunched in indignation. “You saw me get up, ran into the hallway so you could cut in front of me, and then you shoulder-checked me into the wall like some kind of barbarian. There’s a dent! You posted it on TikTok!”

He snaps his mouth closed. “That doesn’t sound right. I’d never do something like that.”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and pull out your phone to check the time. Seven minutes have ticked by. You pinch the bridge of your nose, try to steady your breathing. “I’m being serious. Nothing on earth needs to be microwaved for ten minutes.”

“Wow, what if I get worms and die because you made me eat raw turkey?”

“It’s not raw. It’s already been cooked.”

“To the appropriate internal temperature? You don’t know for a fact. I have to microwave it for ten minutes to kill off all potential bacteria.”

This is not a battle you’re going to win. Not against Jeongguk, anyway, because he takes great pride in being the world’s largest pain in the ass. Proctalgia, if you want to get technical about it, which you don’t, so you just huff and pay for a bottle of cold brew from the stocked refrigerators and grumble about why the station can afford weekly fresh food delivery but not a second microwave.

Truthfully, the microwave probably isn’t the issue. It’s just a scapegoat for the real problem: the holidays. Thanksgiving is stressful enough, because you’ve got to keep track of travel plans and takeoff and landing times and flight and gate numbers long before November even rolls around, not to mention all the extracurricular bullshit once you’re actually in the same city as your family. Then there’s keeping track of whose house to be at, when to be there, and what to have in hand once you are. Then, as if you haven’t suffered enough, you’ve got to deal with the mind-numbing conversations all your aunts and uncles and cousins rope you into, all while your brother gets to sit on the couch doing nothing as he nurses a beer.

Which is why you’d decided to pass on all of it this year.

Sure, spending the holiday alone was kind of a bummer, but traveling halfway across the country and taking a red eye back just for some turkey and mashed potatoes had stopped being worth it a long time ago.

(Two years ago, maybe.)

Because you’ve never been able to just enjoy it. Not ever, but especially not since you’d started working at the station, because they’d stuck you with the yearly holiday show once the old host retired. Santa-mental is the station’s pride and joy, raking in more advertising money than it sees the other ten months of the year combined, so there was no way they were going to let it die just because of a little retirement.

And it’s not like you hate it. True to its name, Santa-mental is just an excuse to expel all that pent-up festive energy and sentimentality. From Black Friday through the second of January, listeners call and write in to say what they’re thankful for, what their hopes are. Kids write letters to Santa and say what they hope to find under the tree on Christmas morning, and, thanks to all that advertising money, the station always mails back a neatly wrapped gift. On December 26th, the talk shifts to New Year’s resolutions, what changes people want to make in the upcoming year, what they hope will be different.

It’s exhausting, and it’s a lot of playing therapist, sometimes, because not everything is holiday cheer and light-up antler headbands and confetti from the ceiling when the clock strikes midnight, but you love it. Despite all the stress, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Which cannot be said for the motley crew you’re forced to work with.

In particular, one Kim Seokjin, who’s merely an older yet just as chaotic version of Jeongguk.

You’re barely back at your desk five minutes, half of your lunch still uneaten since someone decided to hog the microwave, when he corners you and Hoseok. “Ah, Hope and Joy, my favorite Santa-mental co-hosts!”

“We’re the only Santa-mental co-hosts,” Hoseok laughs, seemingly incapable of experiencing irritation. Hence why Seokjin had given him Hope as his on-air nickname without a modicum of irony. Yours, on the other hand…

You shove a forkful of stuffing into your mouth, trying not to cringe at how bland and rubbery it is. “What d’you want?”

“Impeccable manners as always,” Seokjin retorts. “I just came to check in since it’s the big day, see how everyone’s feeling. Are you sufficiently festive? Do I need to buy you two matching Christmas sweaters?”

You stare blankly back at him as you spear another piece of lukewarm stuffing. “You know what you can buy us? A second—”

“Wow, would you look at the time? You two are on in ten. Some of the sponsors for this year are new, so don’t forget to take a look at the final list. We’re already at 75% of our revenue goal and it’s not even December yet, so don’t fu—”

“Are any of those sponsors a microwave company?”

Seokjin just glares at you. “Don’t fuck it up,” he warns, “or else you’ll get coal in your stocking.”

Hoseok, the perpetual ray of resplendent sunshine that he is, smiles at you. “Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

With another roll of your eyes, you mumble something under your breath that suspiciously sounds a lot like I’m going to write a letter to Santa and ask for a fucking microwave before Hoseok drops the sponsor list in front of you. Three minutes until showtime, so you gather your things and make yourself comfortable in the studio, mentally preparing yourself for five more grueling weeks.

Then there’s the countdown, the red ON AIR light flickers to life, and you hear Hoseok’s cheerful, familiar voice through your headphones.

“Ho, ho, ho! It’s finally that time of year again…”

December arrives before you can blink, and with it comes the snow.

It used to be a welcomed sight. Used to bring a smile to your face every time you stepped outside and the world smelled earthy and crisp. Waking up and seeing everything under a blanket of white—there was nothing like it. Those days you used to crawl back into bed, feet covered in thick socks, a warm body to fit yourself against.

Those days are long gone. Now there’s a pinched frown instead of a smile. Everything smells stale. The disgusting, brown-tinged slush is nothing but a hindrance. You wake up cold and alone in a bed that’s too large for just you.

December used to come not only with snow, but magic, too.

It doesn’t feel magical anymore.

And that’s—well, it’s not great. There used to be so much joy and infectious happiness. You used to look forward to digging the decorations out of storage, to knocking the days off the advent calendar. You used to bake cookies and ice silly reindeers and snowmen on top, laughing so hard you’d cry at how horrible they looked. You used to pour a glass of wine and put on Christmas music as you stuck ornaments on the tree.

You don’t do any of that anymore. Not alone. Not without Namjoon.

Now you wake up cold and alone and there’s a split second, right as you wake up and aren’t fully conscious, in which you forget. A split second where you feel tacky and warm, where there’s a phantom body heat on the side of the bed that used to be his. And after you come to, after that dream is ripped away from you, you drag yourself out of bed and paint on a smile.

You go to work and you listen and you read and there’s a split second there, too, when you think this is it, this is the year all those holiday blues finally disappear, this is the year I’ll be okay.

Another dream that’s ripped away.

“Hey. You okay?”

Hoseok’s next to your desk, looking just as sunny as he sounds in a light-up sweater. HAVE A KOALA-TY CHRISTMAS! it says, right above a cartoon koala wearing a Santa hat.

You clear your throat, trying to remember what you’d been doing before devolving into yet another existential crisis. Oh, right—you’d been going through the comments on the station’s Facebook post (“What’s your holiday wish for this week? Comment below and we might make it come true!”), looking for anything you might be able to use for the show.

You’ll be taking it to your grave that I wish I didn’t have to shovel my driveway anymore!! was the post responsible for this downward spiral.

“Ah, yeah, I’m okay.” You hope your smile is convincing. Not likely, considering you’re trying to convince a professional smiler. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok doesn’t push. Not right away, at least. He at least has the audacity to wait a whole fifteen seconds. “You sure? Did Jeongguk post something inappropriate on the Facebook page again?”

You snort. “Not yet. Although if he promises one more person a PS5 I’m gonna murder him.” You point at the screen and Hoseok leans in, his face so close he starts to go crosseyed. “Look. All this person said was ‘I hope my banana bread turns out good!’ and he offered to send them a fucking PlayStation.”

A trickle of laughter comes tumbling out of Hoseok’s mouth. He always tries not to, tries to heed all your warnings about not laughing at the shit Jeongguk does, but there’s only so much he can hold back. Today, the limit is apparently a banana bread PlayStation.

“I’ll take over the Facebook comments,” comes his solution. “Why don’t you check the emails?”

Hoseok’s gone as soon as you agree, just the remnants of his expensive cologne lingering in the air. Smells like one Namjoon used to wear, which is not a thought you should be thinking when you’re only seconds removed from a crisis. Some things can’t be helped, you reason, typing the station’s email address and password into the boxes.

[email protected]

dontgivethistojeongguk

Immediately, you sigh. Seventy-six emails, and that’s low for this time of year. Seventy-six is you getting off easy.

Most of them are some variations of the same: promotions, raises, holiday bonuses; a day off, a flight voucher, debt erased; spending time with family, seeing friends. Sometimes the contrasts make you dizzy. A college kid wishing to ace their finals at the same time a single parent wishes for enough money to buy their kid some toys. Sometimes it feels wrong, feels like Seokjin’s playing God, deciding who is and isn’t worthy. But you also know there’s worth here. You know what you do is silly but important. It helps people, even if it’s just Jeongguk blindly promising gaming consoles.

I wish organic chemistry didn’t exist, one says. You snort in agreement.

I wish I could afford a flight to visit my parents. You forward that one to Seokjin.

I wish Taco Bell was open 24/7.

On and on they go, sent at all hours of the night. Unsurprisingly, the one about Taco Bell came in just before three a.m., and you can only assume the sender hadn’t been entirely sober. Relatable. You’d spent many nights pining after unattainable fast food during your college career. Going one step further and writing into a radio station to pine further? Also relatable.

However, just below it, sent at two-sixteen a.m., is this:

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

It strikes you someplace deep—a place you’ve tried really hard not to acknowledge, because there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to hear those words from Namjoon. Which is silly. There’s two years’ worth of time and distance between you now, and no combination of words is going to erase it. Nothing’s going to undo what’s already happened.

Still.

You stare at those eight words for a long time. Long enough for them to blur around the edges. Long enough for the cursor to hover over the reply button. Long enough for the voice in your head—the one meant to tell you how bad of an idea this is—to go quiet.

In all the time you’ve done the show, you’ve never replied to an email. They either get forwarded to Seokjin or read on-air. Turning them into correspondences isn’t a thing, because god forbid Jeongguk ever got ahold of the password and turned hundreds of people into pen pals and formed weird parasocial relationships with them. And you’re not keen on doing that, either, but—

Why can’t you? you type. You need to know.

Before you can overthink it, you hit ‘send.’

After two years and one month, you’re still adjusting to living alone.

The silence had been almost overwhelming at first. Same with all the empty space. Drawers that might’ve been Namjoon’s in another life are empty and clinging to the smell of old wood, the scent of fresh linen not having permeated yet. Lights he might’ve flicked on stay dark, and that darkness is at its worst in the winter when it seems to last forever. Just a few hours of light and then this inevitable, lingering darkness.

Perhaps that’s how the entire breakup has been, if you had to describe it.

It’s why you’re staring at an empty corner of your living room, thinking it might be a nice spot for a Christmas tree if you bothered to put one up these days. You’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, your mother’s voice a dull buzz as she drones on and on about whatever comes to mind, because she knows how you get this time of year and wants to help but is a bit shit at being empathetic and comforting.

Which is why she says, “Did you hear your cousin’s getting married?” and doesn’t consider it a bad thing to say.

Because it shouldn’t be. Two years and one month. Most people are over it in two years and a month, you think, so it’s not really a bad thing to say. “Hm,” you grunt, “had no idea.”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, tongue clicking against her teeth. “That’s because you’re not on Facebook.”

You make a face she can’t see. “I use it enough for work. Trust me, there’s nothing on there I want to see.”

She must be going through the mail. Every now and then there’s the sound of a page turning—a magazine or a circular. Your mother always used to call her sister or her best friend as she clipped coupons. Now it’s you. “You know,” she starts, and you do, actually, know where this is going. “I’m still friends with Nam—”

“Don’t.” She sighs, moves to protest. “Mom, seriously, I don’t want to know.”

Because what you also know is Namjoon’s five-year plan. The house, the marriage, the garden. Could’ve written a ten-novel series on it, the way you’d memorized it back when it was relevant to your life.

(Back when you were a part of it; when it included you.)

Maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s self-preservation, but you don’t want to know how he’s doing. Can’t know, because whether he’s doing well or doing awful, both are equally miserable. The thought of him moving on and loving someone else, being happy without you, is enough to take your breath away, but you still love him enough to want only good things for him.

Two years and one month.

You spend another fifteen minutes talking to your mother before the call disconnects and that silence is back. It’s almost enough to have you dialing her number again and letting her talk about your ex. Instead, you stare at the empty corner of the living room and imagine the Christmas tree you’d put up. How large it’d be, what color lights; if you’d buy new ornaments or use the old ones you’d inherited from your grandmother. Then there’s a thought, so brief and jarring it nearly steals the air from your lungs—

Namjoon would’ve put a plant there.

Working under Kim Seokjin, there aren’t many rules.

Hoseok had described him once as two children in a trench coat (“His shoulders are two children wide!”), and you can’t find any fault in that description. That’s what he is: an overgrown child playing at adulthood—and, really, it’s not that you mind. You’ve had far worse bosses than Kim Seokjin. Squeaky, honking laugh and incessant need to be the center of attention at all office parties aside, he’s a good station manager. A bit neurotic, especially where Santa-mental is concerned, but his only rule is solid:

Work stays at work.

Compared to your last gig, you’ve got it good. Not easy, because you experience ten months’ worth of stress in the span of two, but you clock in and leave on time, Seokjin has only called you after-hours once (ate questionable ceviche at his partner’s holiday party and sent an SOS from the bathroom), and you’ve still got to deal with Jeongguk. Leave work at work? You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, yet here you are, face shrouded in blue light as you add the station’s email account to your phone.

Across town, Seokjin just got a phantom chest pain and doesn’t know why.

On this side of town, you try to swallow the feeling of being too big for your body—that jittery thing that accompanies anxiety. Because it doesn’t make sense, the way you’ve latched onto a single message. Two years and one month and you’ve never projected this hard, no matter how wistful and depressing the email. Holiday blues are nothing new, yet this time it’s enough to send you spiraling.

“Idiot,” you mumble to yourself, free hand stuck in a bag of potato chips. “They probably didn’t even answer.”

That’s the problem with these one-sided relationships. You’re halfway to desperate and they probably feel stupid for even sending in something so personal.

It takes a bit to scroll through all the new messages, mind blanking on what question Hoseok had posed today. Jeongguk’s Facebook privileges had been temporarily revoked after a small crowd had shown up to collect their PlayStations, so the responses are more level today than usual.

Then the username appears, and it halts all executive function, potato chip growing soggy on your tongue as you forget how to chew. There it is, a new message at the bottom of the old ones, your heart thumping wildly in your chest despite there being no reason for it:

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

[email protected] | Why can’t you?

[email protected] | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

Introspection has never really been your thing—not like it was Namjoon’s, anyway—but the response gives you pause. In the place of this imaginary woman, would you want to hear it? If Namjoon called you right now, stitched his heart to his sleeve and let apologies spill out of his mouth, would you listen? Or would you hang up the phone, all of it too much to bear?

That’s the thing about time. Everyone says it heals all wounds, but maybe all it does is give you clarity. Buys you enough time to do all that introspection you weren’t good at before. And, sure, maybe that’s healing. Maybe all someone needs to do is look back on something with a fresh set of eyes, see all the parts that didn’t fit, all the parts that used to taste sweet but turned sour, and it’s enough to begin moving on.

Time. You’ve had two years and you’re still not sure if you’d pick up the phone. And, if you did, would it be in the name of closure? Morbid, genuine curiosity? Would you call it selfless, giving Namjoon the space to say what he feels needs to be said? Or would it be selfish? Because it’s a double-edged sword. Maybe you’d give anything to hear Namjoon’s voice again, hear that apology, but you know it’d destroy you.

So, yeah.

You can understand this person’s hesitation. It’s hard enough being on the receiving end in your imagination; you can’t imagine the turmoil of being the one who wants to apologize but not knowing if they should.

If they can.

It’s unfair to latch onto this the way you are. You know that, but it’s easier to justify when you think it might be mutually beneficial. Maybe this stranger’s apology for someone else can soothe some of your scars, and maybe you can be a listening ear for someone who clearly needs to be heard. So you suck in a breath, swallow your nerves, and type:

[email protected] | What would you say, if you could?

Then you do two things: you press send, and you change the password.

“Seokjin,” you say the next morning, meeting him at the coffee machine in the staff kitchen. “The station email started getting some weird spam messages,” you lie, “so I went ahead and changed the password.”

All you get in reply is a grunt. “Okay,” he says, pressing the espresso button on the machine.

He doesn’t ask for the new one. Doesn’t tell you to share it with Hoseok or Jeongguk. Doesn’t do anything except lean against the wall with his eyes closed, stress and exhaustion oozing from his pores.

You know exactly why you’re relieved, but you pretend you don’t.

Jeongguk’s punishment—for lack of a better term, because Seokjin would let him get away with murder if he could—for the PlayStation debacle is, much to your delight, Santa Duty.

Usually, it’s Hoseok that has to suffer. Has to stay a few hours late and deepen his voice and take call after call from kids who are very excited and very vehement to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Hoseok’s lovely, human sunshine and all that, so he never complains, but the stress of playing Santa on top of the rest of his duties is a lot.

Hence Jeongguk.

“Are you serious?” he whines, seconds away from pouting and stomping his feet. You’ve seen this song and dance before. Any second now he’ll deploy the twinkly doe eyes and Seokjin will fold like a cheap metal chair. “You’re really gonna make me be Santa?”

Seokjin’s fighting the urge to let him off the hook, you can tell. His face is all scrunched up as if he’s physically pained by making Jeongguk do something he doesn’t want to do, and his clenched fists twitch at his sides. A pathetic display. He would truly let Jeongguk get away with murder, and it’s you who has to suffer for it. “Yes,” he says eventually. “Hoseok had to take over the Facebook page since… the incident, so he’s too busy.”

Jeongguk is a brat, but not enough of one to argue. Pretending to be Santa on the radio is a much more palatable punishment than permanently losing social media access. “Fine,” he grumbles, though the undertone says it’s a bad idea. He knows it, you know it, and Seokjin probably knows it, too, but he’s not willing to take on the task, so Jeongguk it is.

Which turns out to be a horrible decision, of course.

Kids one and two are simple enough: one wants a Barbie Dreamhouse and the other one wants a new bike. Jeongguk hems and haws through both calls, saying just enough to keep them hopeful but careful not to over-promise now that he’s on probation. Seokjin’s watching him like a hawk, all five-feet-ten-inches of him managing to take up the doorway to the studio, arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer.

He’s gonna fuck it up, his eyes say.

I know, yours respond.

It isn’t until the third kid calls in that things start to go downhill. Jeongguk never wanted to play Santa in the first place so he’s bored, doling out half-assed responses. Sometimes he forgets to use the Santa voice and it’s just Jeongguk talking to kids, witch cackle and all. It’s… a stark contrast to Hoseok’s Santa, that’s for sure, and Seokjin looks incensed, steam practically pouring out of his ears. You’d spare him some sympathy if he ever bothered to buy a second microwave, but he still hasn’t, so he deserves whatever consequences come from this.

Turns out the sponsors aren’t, like, overly thrilled that Santa Jeongguk promises child number six a PlayStation even though he asks for a limited-edition Iron Man figurine, so Seokjin dumps even more work on you and Hoseok: Santa duties for him, regardless of whatever else he’s tasked with, and all social media accounts for you. Makes you feel like you’re drowning.

Somehow, thanks only to divine intervention, you make it to the weekend. You collapse face-first onto the couch and shut off your brain. No thoughts about what to have for dinner, about your car payment you haven’t had time to pay that’s now three days overdue, all the dog hair you have to vacuum—no, all that exists are the fuzzy blanket you’ve draped over yourself and the cringey Hallmark movie you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from.

And it’s… nice, you suppose, but it’s just a temporary distraction. Can’t be a stopper for all that stress and loneliness. Doesn’t do much to change the fact that the first thing you take off after a long day at work is your obligated smile. Doesn’t do much to ease the chill in your bones. Doesn’t do much to stop the reminder that, years ago, this is the type of day that’d have Namjoon pulling you into his arms, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck, thumbs working at all the knots in your shoulders.

Lingering on the past is dumb—you know this—but it just feels a little cruel that a D-list celebrity couple on a questionable television network can laugh and smile coyly and flirt their way through a Christmas tree farm and you’re sad on your couch.

Just three more weeks of this, you tell yourself. Three weeks until January 2nd. Three weeks until you can shrug off your fake holiday cheer and try to go back to normal.

You should call your mother.

Which is another dumb thought, because it’s not like she’ll understand. She’ll listen and coddle you a little, but she won’t get it. All she’s ever known is your father. She can’t relate. Never had that breakup. Never lost who she thought was her person. And it’s not like you’re about to confide in your coworkers, even though you’d begrudgingly consider them actual friends. Seokjin’s too stressed to take on your problems; Hoseok’s too cheerful, despite being the one who’d probably understand the most, so you’re not about to drag him down with you. Jeongguk was never an option.

Still, your eyes drift to your phone. There’s someone in it that’d understand. Seems to be going through the same thing. Someone you’ve been too overwhelmed to reply to, so now that guilt settles over you, too.

There’s comfort in familiarity. That’s how you excuse the calm that washes over you when you see the unread message waiting for you, a real water-in-the-desert situation. The proverbial light at the end of this week’s shitty, taxing tunnel.

Briefly, you read over the old ones—

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

[email protected] | Why can’t you?

[email protected] | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

[email protected] | What would you say, if you could?

—and then your breath hitches as your eyes gloss over the new one.

[email protected] | I don’t know. That’s silly, isn’t it? I’ve had so long to think about it and I still don’t know. Or… maybe I know and I’m just scared. Is that worse?

I know I’d want to say I’m sorry. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, if it’s too late, I’d want her to know that. I’d want to say I miss her, that I hope she’s doing well and is happy. I’d want to ask if she misses me, but I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to actually do it.

I keep having this recurring dream about running into her by accident. Serendipity, I guess. Like, I bump into her at the grocery store or at a coffee shop. And, each time, I say the same thing to her: "I'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. I never realized how lost I'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. I finally understand how you felt." And, each time, it’s somehow too much and not enough.

So, I guess I’d want to say that, too, just so I can stop dreaming about it.

My friends keep saying I’ll be okay soon, to give it more time. I guess that’s what you do with breakups: you just… wait, and one day it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. No one really tells you what to do until then, what to do with all the empty space. They don’t tell you what to do with the guilt and the hope, either, and that’s the worst part.

I’m sorry. I sort of just dumped all of this on you, but it feels nice to get it out. Even if I’ll never be able to say it to her, at least I’ve said it to someone. Thank you for reading it.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the screen, obscuring the letters, making them illegible.

I think she’d really like to hear that, is all you manage to type.

“God,” Hoseok groans, looping his headphones around his neck, “today is brutal.”

Across from him, you nod, lips wrapped around the straw to your extra-large cold brew Seokjin had bought you as a peace offering. “Mm.”

“It never stops,” he continues. Face-plants onto the table in front of him, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” no doubt making his suffering worse. “Look at it,” he whines, pointing at the screen. “There are sixty-seven people on hold. Sixty-seven!” A pained sigh. “You think those reindeer will run me over, too?”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” You lean back in your chair. “Jeongguk! Can you come in here and run into Hoseok at full force?”

Hoseok chokes while Jeongguk tosses back a huh? why? that has you snorting. “Ah, cheer up, Hobi. You know this day’s always the worst.”

“Okay, but why?” he continues to gripe. “Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need you to mansplain Christmas blues to me. I know why this time of year is hard for people, but it’s usually, like, because of money or people having shitty families, right? But this year it’s all bullshit. Just stupid stuff that absolutely doesn’t matter.”

“That seems a little harsh.”

“Is it?” he retorts. “If I have to listen to one more person complain about the price of wrapping paper, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“There’s a paper shortage, Hoseok.”

He pulls a face. “And that’s my problem? Stop cutting down the fucking trees, then! Did they ever think of that? Did they ever think that if they cut down an entire fucking forest, maybe suburban white women who put oatmeal recipes on Pinterest wouldn’t be able to wrap Christmas presents anymore? God, how selfish! Think of the children—”

Seokjin materializes out of nowhere, a bag of takeout in hand—the sort of boss who’s kind of a shithead but always seems to know what people need. “Eat up, bud, I got your favorite,” he says to Hoseok, busying himself with setting out the food. True to his word, he presents your co-host with a spread of all his go-tos and you watch, bemused, as Hoseok whimpers. Seokjin shoves a fork in his hand and pats the top of Hoseok’s head. “Okay?” When he nods, Seokjin tacks on, “Okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Just stay off the internet. This is your third rant this week about the environment and consumerism.”

“Okay,” Hoseok replies, cheeks bulging around a lot of orange chicken.

It takes a while for the color to return to Hoseok’s face, make him look alive again. You take the next few calls on your own, fielding rants about the state of Christmas in between rants about corporate conglomerates and the general demise of small businesses. Someone calls in to complain about the people complaining. Another person calls in to complain about this year’s mall Santa and how every single child that’s met him has cried. There must be a reason for that, the person drawls. Don’t you think it’s worth looking into?

Jeongguk cackles from outside the studio. Makes a show of grabbing his coat and keys and says he’s going to the mall to investigate. Seokjin catches him by his scarf when he’s halfway out of the building and shoves him back to his desk. Hoseok’s still shoveling broccoli beef into his mouth.

You’re starting to sound soulless when you take another call. “Hi,” you chirp, voice dripping with fake sugar. “Thanks for calling Santa-mental. What’s got you down this year?”

It’s another stupid tradition in a long line of stupid traditions. December 23rd is always set aside for those long-suffering Christmas blues, the day where callers can air their grievances and get them out of their systems at the last minute. Before they have to go to Christmas Eve parties and pretend; before they have to exchange gifts with people that have been wearing on their last nerve for weeks.

So maybe you’re starting to sound worn down, shouldering all this negativity temporarily, but you’re used to it.

“Yeah, hi,” a gravelly voice responds. “I’m calling to bitch about my best friend.”

Hoseok chokes on a forkful of rice. Begins to whisper, “Tell him he can’t—”

“That’s not a very festive word,” you snort, light enough that this caller knows it’s a gentle correction but stern enough for him to not use the word bitch on air again.

The man clears his throat, undeterred. “Right. Anyway, I’m calling to complain about him.”

“Why? Is he being a Grinch?”

“No,” the caller says, “he’s just lovesick. Had a bad breakup and can’t seem to get over it.”

“Oh. Well, breakups are hard, y’know.”

“Sure. And he’s not, like, unbearable. He still showers and goes to work, and he even has a therapist so he’s being functional and working on himself or whatever other bullsh—stuff. Stuff his therapist helps him with.”

You roll your lips, try to contain your laugh. Seokjin’s probably red-faced and white-knuckled in his office. “That sounds good,” you counter. “Productive. What’s there to complain about?”

The caller is quiet for a few seconds before he tentatively admits, “I miss him.”

“Oh—”

“He’s my best friend and he’s been so hard on himself. Blames himself for the breakup. Which, like, sure, maybe that’s true, but… I don’t know. It’s hard to see him like this, I guess.”

“How long has it been?” you ask, even though you’re long past the point in the conversation where you’d wish them well and play some tone-deaf Christmas jingle.

The caller hums. “Almost two years, I think.”

Play the song about the Christmas shoes, Hoseok mouths to you. Always says that about the really sad calls. Says it one-ups their sadness, and Hoseok’s not as much of a bastard as Seokjin and Jeongguk are, but he has that streak sometimes.

Fuck off, you mouth back.

“I had a tough breakup of my own not too long ago, so I understand your friend’s struggle. I’m gonna play something for the two of you. Happy holidays.”

Maybe you play it for them, but you play it for you, too: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” probably a too on the nose choice, but it helps distract you long enough that you miss the questioning stare Hoseok sends you before he stares past you and catches Jeongguk’s eye and sends him the same look.

You also miss the voice in your head that says you know that voice, the one on the line. It’s a little rougher than the last time you’d heard it, two years and one month ago, but you know it.

For now, you let Darlene Love croon away. Hoseok wordlessly hands over his egg roll.

They’re his favorite.

Christmas is quiet.

At six, you blink your eyes open and check the weather. Bundle up and put those little boots on your dog’s paws. They put too many chemicals in the de-icer these days, your mom had said. I can’t believe you moved to a place that snows so much.

(You can’t either, sometimes, but you would’ve gone a lot farther for your relationship. For Namjoon, specifically, because you’d dated a few people in the first year or two of college you couldn’t imagine moving down the street for, let alone to some pin-prick town on the opposite side of the country.)

By seven-thirty, you’re eating a breakfast you’ve managed to scrape together with the last of your groceries. Eggs, a slice of toast, some cut-up fruit. Not bad, considering all you’d managed to choke down last year had been half a Nature Valley bar that you’d cried over after it covered your bed in crumbs you didn’t have the energy to clean up.

Your mother FaceTimes you at ten-thirty, just like she’d promised. She scolds you first, chastising you for the millionth time about not coming home this year for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but lays off once your dad redirects her. She flips the camera to your brother and his wife at the breakfast bar. You suspect she’s pregnant but that they’re waiting to drop the news and suddenly you’re thankful you’re not there.

You like your sister-in-law; really, you do, but you don’t think you have the energy for something so big and important.

By noon you’re back in bed, your dog curled up by your feet and A Christmas Story playing nonstop on TV. You contemplate making a drink but decide against it. Somehow it feels like progress to be sad sober.

That plan goes out the window by three. It’s snowing again and the snow always makes you think of Namjoon, of all those nights in college where he’d drag you out of your shitty student apartment with your awful roommate to pelt you with snowballs and kiss the warmth back into your cheeks. Makes you think of graduation and heat-slicked skin and Namjoon next to you on the couch, limbs rigid with anxiety as he asked where do we go from here? even though he meant do you still want me now that this part of our lives is over?

And you had just smiled and said I can’t imagine living somewhere without snow now even though you meant of course I do, sometimes I’m scared that I want you forever.

So, the snow makes you think of Namjoon and you miss Namjoon something terrible so, yeah, you’re drinking by three.

An email comes through at 3:48. A digital gift card from your brother, because that’s when he realizes he’s forgotten to get you a gift. You send him a quick thanks but leave off the asshole. You wonder if things between the two of you had always been this strained or if they’d gotten worse after your split from Namjoon. They were fast friends, closer in five minutes than the twenty-something years you’d had with him. You wonder if they still talk; if your brother blames you.

Doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Not all siblings have to be close.

But now you’re thumbing through the rest of your emails. Personal combined with work in one singular inbox, so there’s a 10% off coupon for the pizzeria by the station sitting on top of a response from the stranger you’ve been corresponding with.

[email protected] | I think she’d really like to hear that.

[email protected] | Hm, I’m not so sure, but I’ll take it into consideration. The New Year is coming up. Maybe my resolution will be to say all these things I’m too scared to.

You snort derisively. Yeah, you know a thing or two about fear, know a thing or two about all the times you've picked up your phone, intent on reaching out—not just to Namjoon, but to anyone—only to lose all your resolve. And where has that gotten you? Now you’re stuck with all these feelings and no one to talk about them with. Alone in a room full of friends. That’s no way to live, you can hear Namjoon say. The king of emotional intelligence except when it mattered most.

Being vulnerable is hard; perhaps the hardest thing there is, if your stunning lack of enthusiasm towards it is anything to go by. And it’s not like you’re opposed. Until things fell apart, your and Namjoon’s relationship was a masterclass in effective communication, and that doesn’t happen if both parties aren’t willing to be vulnerable. It’s just… hard—hard to pick yourself up and get back on that particular horse when everything in you is screaming to stay off.

But there’s an opportunity here. If this stranger can pluck up the bravery to do—and be—better, maybe you can, too.

[email protected] | That sounds like a really nice resolution. Maybe I’ll do the same.

[email protected] | Have some things you can’t bring yourself to say, too?

[email protected] | A lot of what you said really resonated with me. I had a rough breakup of my own a while ago. A lot was left unsaid. I’ve spent a lot of time convincing myself it isn’t worth reaching out as opposed to thinking about what I’d say if I did.

[email protected] | And? What would you say, if you could?

[email protected] | I guess… I guess I’d ask if it was worth it. Not in a snarky way, just genuinely curious. Because there were problems, of course—it isn’t like the relationship ended for no reason. But it feels worse now, alone, than it ever felt together.

I’d say that I’m sorry. I’d say I wish I would’ve tried harder. I’d say there’s an empty spot in my apartment that would be perfect for a plant, but that I haven’t put one there because I’m scared I won’t be able to take care of it. That maybe that’s some kind of metaphor for our relationship—or me. I’m scared of ruining all these things I grow to love, and I don’t know how to let go of that fear. I don’t know how to accept that sometimes things end, and maybe it’s no one’s fault, even when it still feels impossible to breathe sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be over it by now, so the thought of asking that terrifies me. What if I’m the only one not over it? What if I’m hanging on to something that’s long dead?

[email protected] | I don’t know anything about your relationship, but if it’s anything like mine was… love like that, it doesn’t just go away. It’s too big, too important. Just because there’s time and space between the two of you, it doesn’t erase the love that was once there.

Or maybe I’m just projecting?

[email protected] | If you’re projecting, then so am I.

Although… if your resolution is to be brave, maybe I can be brave, too.

[email protected] | Hm, like a pact? I think that would be nice, actually. I think I’ve felt complacent for far too long; content to leave things as they are instead of saying what I want to say. Maybe it’s selfish to reach out after so long, but I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope that if I do… maybe I won’t get rejected. Maybe there are some things she’s left unsaid as well.

[email protected] | You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?

[email protected] | Right. If nothing else, there’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

[email protected] | Let’s do it, then.

[email protected] | Let’s do it.

After your first day back to work, post-holiday, Seokjin takes you out to dinner.

Hoseok and Jeongguk are invited, too, but both decline. Hoseok’s eager to head home and loaf in front of the 85-inch, ultra high-res television he splurged on with his Christmas money, and Jeongguk’s off to the mall to, in his words, “finally investigate that sus mall Santa.”

So here you are, sat across from your boss in a tiny Italian restaurant. A candle flickers between the two of you, flames dancing wildly every time Seokjin sticks his hand in the bread basket. He’s suspiciously quiet, and it’s not just because he’s in an enclosed space. Much like every other restaurant in this podunk town, Seokjin knows the owner, so he’s not concerned about his volume or the speed with which he puts away five buttered dinner rolls. No—this is beyond. This is genuine concern he’s looking at you with.

“Can you just spit it out already?” you prompt, anxiety needling along your skin. Would he really bring you to an Italian restaurant to fire you? You’ve been having doubts about playing the Christmas shoes song, but you hadn’t thought it was this bad.

Seokjin’s hand pauses centimeters from his mouth. “The bread?” he asks, words muffled around a mouthful of soggy roll. He swallows hesitantly. “Is there something wrong with it? Where would I even—”

You gag. “Ew! You’re sick. Why would I be talking about the roll?”

“Because I had a mouth full of roll! What else would you be telling me to spit out?”

“Whatever it is you’re clearly trying to figure out how to say! You’ve been looking at me weird since we sat down!”

Seokjin adjusts his posture, spine ramrod straight against the uncomfortable wooden back of the chair. “Oh,” he says, tone caught out. “We’re just concerned about you.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Concerned about what?”

“Nothing serious,” he replies. He toys with the stem of his wine glass. “Hobi and Jeongguk were a little concerned to hear about your breakup. None of us had any idea.”

“Ah, well, you forgot to ask about it during my job interview.”

Seokjin levels you with a pointed stare. “You didn’t really have a job interview.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The waiter appears, dropping off a plate of fried calamari that Seokjin immediately has his hands on. Oblivious to the look on your face, he retorts, “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Are you? That’s a bit of a loaded question. After two years, you’re well past the worst of it, so you’re not exactly lying when you answer (“I am. It wasn’t recent.��) but it almost feels like you are. Because you are okay, but you still have bad days. Not the kind of days where you break down crying and feel like you can’t get out of bed, but days where you feel worn down. Days where all your limbs feel heavy with what-ifs and a little bit of guilt.

“Okay,” Seokjin relents. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug. “If you want to talk about it.”

He laughs. “It’s not an interrogation. Really—I’m just making sure you’re okay. You don’t talk much about personal stuff. Not like Hoseok does, anyway.”

You scoff. “Hobi would give someone his social security number if he liked them enough.” Seokjin doesn’t react. In fact, he’s quiet for a long time—long enough for the silence to be replaced by the clanking of dishware, of the chefs barking out orders in the kitchen. “Tell me he didn’t.”

“He… might’ve done that, yeah.” Awkwardly dabbing his napkin at his face, he quickly adds, “But Jimin was able to get it sorted! Everything’s fine!”

“If you say so.”

Over two massive dishes of pasta, and perhaps slightly fueled by the carafe of wine that never seems to go empty, you wind up telling Seokjin about your relationship. How you’d met Namjoon during the spring semester of your sophomore year in a shared chemistry lab—you, a bright-eyed and probably naive nursing student; Namjoon pre-med and too smart for his own good. You tell him how you’d only taken organic chemistry at the recommendation of your advisor and how it didn’t make a lick of sense to you; how Namjoon had offered to tutor you, which was standard at first, but found the two of you going on coffee dates by Valentine’s Day and official by Easter break.

You tell him how happy the two of you had been. All the conversations you’d had about what would happen after graduation. How you promised Namjoon you’d go wherever he went. You could get licensed anywhere, so as long as the two of you were together, you’d be happy. So that’s what you did: followed him to another big city, passed your boards and got licensed, found a cozy apartment not far from the hospital and campus. Two years of that before you outgrew it. Found a small house to rent in the suburbs. Namjoon used to wake up early to catch the train and text you pictures of the sunrise.

Life was good. The two of you were twenty-five and exhausted but so, so horribly in love that nothing else mattered.

And then, like most good things inevitably do, things fell apart.

It was gradual. Blink and you’ll miss it. The opposing shifts, the burnout, the days off spent catching up on sleep rather than each other. The meals eaten alone, the gray mornings that found you waking up to an empty bed. The first morning Namjoon had taken the train and didn’t send you a picture. The evenings spent in silence in front of the television. No conversations, no touching, just existing alongside one another like the ghosts of a love gone stale.

You’d smiled in Namjoon’s graduation pictures. Kissed him on the cheek and showered him in endless praise about how proud of him you were, not a lie to be found, drunk on the hope that maybe things would be better now that another chapter was behind you.

Then he dropped the bomb. His residency was on the opposite side of the country. He’d matched into his top choice, the best one in the country for his specialty, and he wanted you to go with him. I know that’s selfish, he’d said, and you couldn’t figure out why he’d say that, why it’d be selfish for you to go. You’d asked him why he’d waited so long to tell you, and the air was knocked from your lungs when the answer was that he knew you’d say no.

You tell Seokjin that Namjoon had been right. A string of tearful conversations, the mutual decision to call it quits, put an end to the proverbial suffering and let go of a dying thing. I guess that just happens sometimes, you tell him. Life gets in the way.

You tell Seokjin how you couldn’t bear to stay in that house in the suburbs anymore. How you quit your job and moved to this tiny town, adopted a dog, applied for any job that was hiring. How you’d never worked in a radio station before, but you’d liked Seokjin the moment you met him. He’d said you had a voice for radio and they had an opening that needed to be filled immediately, so when could you start? You don’t make anywhere near as much money as you used to, but you have time to breathe. The stress, the exhaustion and the burnout, are gone. You have enough.

Now here you are, two years later.

So, sure, you’re okay in the sense that there’s scar tissue where the worst of it once was, but you’re not sure how to shake the knowledge that Namjoon was your person. You’re not sure how to reconcile that, of all the decisions the two of you had made together, you’d chose wrong on the most important one.

[email protected] | I finally talked to someone about it today. My relationship.

[email protected] | How did it go?

[email protected] | Probably would’ve gone better if it’d been a therapist instead of my boss, but… it was nice. Talking about it means it was real, you know?

[email protected] | Yeah, I feel like that, too. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what her voice sounds like, how she laughed. I’m scared I’ll forget more and then it’ll be gone completely. God, that sounds pathetic, huh? It’s not like she died. But you cling to those sorts of things when memories are all you’ve got left.

[email protected] | No, it’s not pathetic. It’s hard to feel like the person you spent so much time with is just a stranger now. Like, what are you supposed to do with all the space they used to occupy? I had all this love for this person, and now I can’t remember what their laugh sounded like.

[email protected] | Can I ask… if you’re still planning on reaching out, what are you hoping for? I’m trying to temper my expectations (preparing for a rejection and/or to be ignored) and I just have no idea what to expect.

[email protected] | Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m not expecting anything, especially not any sort of relationship. I’d say the most I could hope for would be a cup of coffee, but I don’t even know where he’s living these days. Or if his number is the same. I could reach out and get told I have the wrong number and to fuck off.

[email protected] | Wow, coffee. That sounds really nice. I’m really hoping for that for you.

[email protected] | Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

[email protected] | I guess we’ll see, huh?

You decide you’re going to text Namjoon on New Year’s Eve.

It’s fitting, you figure. Symbolic. You can casually text him at 11:59pm and have an answer. If he tells you to fuck off, you’ll have a clean slate for the new year. You haven’t really thought about what’ll happen if he doesn’t. Getting your hopes up is dangerous, and you have enough self-control not to let yourself go down that road.

But the wait is almost torturous.

Four days. That’s all the time you have to both muster up the courage and figure out what to say. Whatever you’ll wind up saying, you’ve decided you’re going to keep it simple. It’ll be far less embarrassing to have your ‘Hi, Joon’ go ignored than some over-the-top paragraph. You might be doing something scary and brave—or extremely idiotic, depending on who you ask—but you still care about your pride, at least a little bit.

The station’s email slows down considerably. Nothing new from your penpal, either. You figure they’re gearing up for the same thing. You hadn’t specified when you were going to reach out, but you both seem to have come to the same natural conclusion. There’s just something inspiring about New Year’s Eve.

However, what you’ve lost in written, electronic communication, you make up for in Hoseok and Jeongguk.

“You’re really gonna text your ex?” Jeongguk asks, his ass perched on the corner of your desk as he litters it with cracker crumbs. You sweep them into your hand and dump them on his jeans.

As he squawks indignantly, Hoseok tacks on, “Damn, do you think I should text my ex, too?”

“No,” you and Jeongguk say in unison.

“Wow. Why do you get to text your ex and I don’t?”

Jeongguk throws a grape at him. It pegs him in the forehead and falls pitifully to the floor. “Because your ex stole your dog, dude.”

“And your identity,” you add.

Jeongguk nods. “And, like, half the shit in your kitchen. You got your stove stolen, bro. Who the fuck steals a stove?”

“Hobi’s ex, apparently.”

He chuckles awkwardly, voice high and strained. “Hey, come on now, I’m feeling a little targeted here.”

“Her ex,” Jeongguk begins, pointing at you, “is, like, a whole ass doctor. Your ex is a thief. A good one, I’ll admit, because how the fuck do you even get the stove out of a third-floor apartment, but a thief nonetheless. Incomparable.”

That’s how it goes for four days.

And you want to be upset about it, the prodding and unsolicited advice (“Just send him nudes,” Jeongguk suggests at least six times a day) but it helps to settle your nerves. They settle even more when Jeongguk gives up on your ex and focuses all of his attention on Hoseok’s, if your work chat is any indication of his current hyperfixations.

Jeon Jeongguk > did u know hobi’s ex also stole all the tubing for his washer and dryer lmao

Jeon Jeongguk > he had to use the laundromat for 2 months

Jeon Jeongguk > jimin just told me hobi’s ex also stole an entire window

Jeon Jeongguk > who tf did this guy date

You > why is jimin telling you this stuff? doesn’t hr have some patient-doctor confidentiality or whatever

Jeon Jeongguk > ??? jimin loves me, he’d never keep secrets from me

You > pretty sure that’s not how that works

You > …find out more about that window though. the curiosity is gonna kill me.

Jeon Jeongguk > k

Jeon Jeongguk > according to jimin

Jeon Jeongguk > it was his bedroom window

Jeon Jeongguk > landlord was pissed lmao

 Park Jimin > You better not speak a word of this to anyone

You > i’m not scared of you jimin

Park Jimin > What

Park Jimin > Why not :(

You > ???

By the 29th, you’re ready to come out of your skin. The anxiety alone has you in such a chokehold that you’re sure any moment your heart is going to beat right out of your chest, that you’ll get fabric burns on your palms with how often you have to wipe them on your thighs, that Hoseok will pop his head over your cubicle divider and find you face-down on your keyboard, dead.

(Jeongguk promises he’ll take care of your dog if this happens, and just the thought of your pure, innocent baby being tainted by his influence has you surviving on pure spite alone.)

On the 30th, you spend your lunch break in your car. Seat reclined, radio off, staring up at the cloudless sky through your sunroof. You should not be this anxious, you tell yourself. It’s just a text message. The worst that can happen is, quite literally, nothing—and at least that’ll give you an answer. Namjoon doesn’t owe you anything, especially not after two years of silence, so the anxiety makes sense. No matter how you spin it, it’s a pretty selfish thing you’re gonna do. It’s not Namjoon’s problem that you have some regrets, some lingering guilt. For all you know, he’s spent the last two years getting his shit together and moving on, and who are you to interrupt that?

You nearly call your mother for all that Facebook intel she’d been so eager to tell you before.

This is a bad idea, you tell yourself over and over. He doesn’t want to hear from you. Right? If he’d wanted any kind of contact, he’s had two years to reach out. A non-answer is still an answer. Silence, sometimes, is loud and clear.

When you return to your desk, there’s a massive box sitting atop it, wrapped in ridiculous paper with a bow. Seokjin stands to the side with a smug look on his face that only twists your stomach more.

“I got you a gift,” he says, gesturing at the box.

You blink owlishly. “Yeah, I-I can see that.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“Be pretty rude not to,” you answer, fingers popping a seam along the top. “You wrapped this? It looks way too neat to be your work.”

Seokjin scoffs but his ears turn red nonetheless. “Wow, that’s a really fucked up thing to say someone who just gave you a gift.” You just stare. “Anyway.” He coughs. “Hoseok wrapped it.”

It’s a microwave.

Seokjin gives you a fucking microwave.

“Are you serious.”

“Figured it was about time I got you that second microwave,” he replies easily. Shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocks back on his heels. “It’s voice-activated. Very fancy.” At your hesitant look, Seokjin tacks on, “And Jeongguk is not allowed to use it.”

You open your mouth to say something—a thank you, a why did you give me a microwave five days after Christmas, anything—but nothing comes out. You’d just been on the verge of a mental break, so it’s all a bit overwhelming. Feels like too much, even though you’ve been harassing the poor man for a second microwave for eons.

But Seokjin sees the open-shut-open-shut of your jaw and knows. Says, “Speaking of Jeongguk, he’s going to fill in for you tomorrow. Take the day off.”

“What?” you manage to choke out. “No, Seokjin, don’t be ridiculous, I can—”

He holds his hand up, silencing you. “Not up for debate,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You should’ve gone to work.

You need the distraction. You need something to think about that’s not Namjoon. You’ve already deep-cleaned your apartment and sorted through your closet. Made DONATE and TRASH piles. You give the dog a bath even though he’s not dirty, but he always fights you on the nail trim so it eats up an entire hour of your afternoon. You call your brother and finally ask if you’re going to be an aunt because you can’t stop wondering.

(You are. You cry a little. So does your brother.)

When two-o’clock rolls around, you tune into the station on your phone and listen to Hoseok and Jeongguk. They’re an absolute trainwreck together, absolutely no finesse or chemistry, and you laugh so hard you cry. Seokjin texts you at 2:03 and asks what he’s done, if it’s too late for you to come in. You thank him for the day off and laugh some more.

You eat a late lunch; something light, because even if you’re less anxious than before, you’re still not confident your stomach can handle anything heavier. You watch a few episodes of trashy daytime TV. Take a nap on the couch, the dog curled up at your feet, and hope you’ll wake up just before midnight.

Nine is close enough. You walk the dog before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe you can’t scrub away the doubt trickling in, but you can exfoliate the hell out of your skin. You can use your overpriced deep conditioner on your hair and shave your legs and use the fancy lotion you’d stolen from your mother the last time you visited. You can put on fuzzy socks and make yourself feel good like this, on the outside, even when you don’t feel nearly as good inside.

Candle lit, you crawl into bed and try to read a book. Some self-help bullshit your father had sent you passive-aggressively, because it’s been two years and he still thinks you’re an idiot for leaving your cushy hospital job to work at a radio station. Because of a breakup? he’d asked incredulously, because he didn’t understand. All he’s ever known is your mother, so now he sends books instead of patronizing you out loud. Your mom had given him hell the last time he’d done it, and maybe he doesn’t mind pissing you off, hurting your feelings, but your mother’s exempt.

You stare at the cover. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, it reads. If that’s not a dig, you’re not sure what is. You wonder what your dad would think about mono-dot-persona at Gmail dot com. Then you wonder why you even give a shit what your father thinks about anything.

Eleven-thirty rolls around before you’re ready. Quarter to midnight comes even quicker. You unlock your phone and create a blank text message. Start typing Nam— because you’d deleted all his texts after the breakup. God, you hadn’t even taken that stupid crab emoji out of his contact name, so there it sits, just Namjoonie with a little crab that makes your chest hurt.

Maybe you are an idiot; maybe your father’s right.

Then you just stare, thumbs hovering. There’s a lot you want to say and even less you think you’ll be able to. Twenty years wouldn’t be enough time to talk yourself up for this. You can’t get the image of Namjoon out of your head, sitting on his couch, arm thrown around someone else. Smiling into their neck, their hair, as they count down the seconds until midnight and share a kiss. He won’t even hear his phone vibrate. Won’t see your text until much later when his brows knit together, confused, and he shakes his head as he deletes it.

A shaky exhale. You back out of your texts and thumb to your email.

Maybe I can be brave, too.

I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope.

There’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

Your phone vibrates in your hand.

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: good luck broski

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: just remember if it goes bad it’s never too late to send nudes

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: hobi is already wasted but he says good luck too

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: i had to hang out with him tonight to make sure he doesnt drunk text his ex. low key hoping he does so i can put it on tiktok

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: ill let u know what happens

Yeah, you’re going to be fine.

Hi, Joon, you type. Delete immediately because it sounds too familiar. Are you still allowed to call him Joon? Hi, Namjoon, you write instead. Blank on what comes next, those two words seemingly taking all your brainpower. Maybe they’ll be enough. Reaching out is the hardest part, right? It’s probably better to keep it simple, anyway; gives you less space to say something incriminating and stupid you can’t take back.

At the last second, you start to tack on an apology. Sorry for texting out of the blue, you want to say. But you’re halfway through when your phone vibrates in your hand again, startling you, so what you wind up sending is—

You [11:59pm]: Hi, Namjoon. Sorry for tecgt

—and you kind of wanna die a little. A lot.

You’re going to murder Jeongguk for two reasons: one, you assume the text is from him, updating you on the developing situation with Hoseok’s ex; and two, Jeongguk is usually to blame for anything that goes amiss in your life these days. But when you thumb backwards, there’s nothing new from him.

There is, however, a little blue dot next to Namjoon’s name, the hint of a response. And then several more.

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’m so sorry for reaching out like this. Please tell me to fuck off if you want, I just… if you’re open to it, I really like to talk to you? God, that sounds so lame. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking lately and holy shit did you also just text me

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Oh my god you did

Namjoon [11:59pm]: At the same?? Time??

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Sorry for the triple text, this is just doing my head in right now

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’ve been trying to talk myself into doing this for months now and you just… texted me at the exact same time?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Happy New Year (sent with fireworks)

Namjoon [12:00am]: Can I call you? Is that weird?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Of course that’s weird, you haven’t even replied

Namjoon [12:00am]: Oh my god I am so sorry

You [12:07am]: You can call me

Your hands are shaking so bad you can barely swipe across the screen to answer the call. Two years. You haven’t spoken to Namjoon in two years, haven’t heard his voice. Will he sound familiar to you, or will he sound like a stranger? Will his voice sound like returning home after a long time away, or will it settle in your gut like deja vu—something you can place if you think hard enough, but ultimately slips through your fingers like sand?

“He-hello?”

A sharp intake greets you. “Hi. Wow. Shit, hi—”

“Namjoon.”

Both of you are stunned into silence. His voice soothes over you like a balm; you’ll never be able to forget the sound of it. You’re a fool to think you could. The same voice that made you hushed promises, detailed how loved you were; the same voice that cracked when everything fell apart, that spoke apologies around lips wet with tears.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” he says. “I—Happy New Year? God, this is so crazy.”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat. “You’re telling me,” you say, voice thick. “How are—how have you been? Are you—you said you’ve wanted to for… months?”

“Yeah. This is gonna sound stupid, probably, but I… I wrote into this radio show? I don’t even know what it’s about, Yoongi listens to it around the holidays sometimes, and I wasn’t expecting a reply. But someone answered, and—I don’t know, I just… spilled my heart out. Whoever answered was basically going through the same thing—”

You can’t breathe. “Namjoon.”

“—and we made this, like… pact? That sounds dumb. But I guess we both had a lot of things we left unsaid—”

“Namjoon.”

He pauses. “Yeah?”

“Namjoon,” you say again, vision blurred from the tears stuck to your lash line. “Namjoon, that was me. Fuck. What the fuck? Fuck—holy shit, Namjoon, you were talking to me.”

A long silence stretches between you. “What.”

“That was me.”

“Yeah, I heard you, I just… what? Why are you answering emails for some radio station?”

“I work there. After the—after we broke up, I quit my job. I was so stressed and burnt out and I just couldn’t do it anymore. You know some crazy-high percentage of nurses quit within the first five years? I just… quit. Moved even farther away from the city to some even smaller town and applied for whatever jobs were open and adopted a dog—”

“You got a dog?”

You laugh. “Yeah. He’s an American Eskimo. His name is Doug.”

“Doug? What kind of name is Doug?”

“The shelter gave it to him. It kind of suits him. He acts like a Doug sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Wait—how did you even—you heard the show? I thought you moved for your residency?”

Namjoon clears his throat. “Yeah, I was going to, but I stayed here. Did one a little closer. Leaving didn’t feel right, you know? Like, the thought of losing you and leaving the house… I couldn’t do it.”

Your stomach knots and roils. “You’ve been here the whole time?” you whisper.

“Yeah, I have. That was really you, though? On the email?” You hum. “What the fuck. This is really nuts.”

“Are you upset?”

“No,” Namjoon insists, “not at all. Baby, no, I’m not upset. Everything I said was true, so it saves me so much talking. Which—thank god, honestly, because I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I was just so scared, you know? Of so many things. Mostly I was terrified for you to actually know how much I still miss you. Is that wrong? Am I being selfish? Overstepping?”

All those tears spill over, unbidden. “No, Joon. I—me too. I miss you, too. So much.”

You can hear Namjoon’s smile when he exhales, breathy and soft. Unburdened. An entire universe stretches out before the two of you and you have your pick of what comes next. Words are just words—you’re not naive enough to think this solves anything, that there aren’t countless conversations you and Namjoon have to have. But, for right now, this is enough. It’s security, and that’s all you can really ask for.

The knowledge that, a long time ago, you’d given your heart to someone that’s still keeping it safe.

Of all the decisions you’ve made, that’s the one you’d gotten right. And it’s one you’d make a million more times and never choose differently.

“Hey,” Namjoon says after a while, “how about that coffee?”

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

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