#bts stomach ache | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dakusan · 22 days ago

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HOW SKZ ACT WHEN YOU'RE ON YOUR PERIOD

stray kids ot8 x reader | eight boys, one mission: defeat your uterus with snacks and affection

🌙 synopsis: In this emotionally feral docuseries of domestic chaos, witness eight men spiral between panic, pouty affection, and god-tier cuddling skills as they try to soothe your demon womb. Hormones? Fluctuating. Pain? Off the charts. Love? Disgustingly abundant. Because when you're bleeding, these boys are bleeding emotionally.

💌 a/n: hello bleeding babes 💋. this was written under the influence of one (1) rage cramp, two (2) emotional support chocolates, and the ghost of every ex who didn’t bring me a heating pad. every skz boy is ✨feral✨ in love here because you deserve nothing less than devotion when your insides are trying to kill you. take this as a reminder: you don’t have to be cute while suffering. you can be bloated, bitter, in socks that don’t match and still be the main character of someone’s romantic fever dream. p.s. reblogs = strawberry chocolate covered kisses p.p.s. take a nap. eat something. drink water. i will literally cry if you don’t

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎧 » Dimple — BTS « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬 domestic softness | clingy cuddles | emergency snack mission | intuitive caretaker

It starts around 2AM, when your cramps get so bad they actually wake you up.

You curl up tighter, hoping they’ll pass, but the wave hits harder this time—twisting, aching, blooming low in your stomach like something cruel. You let out a small whimper before you can stop it.

A pause. Then: Chan stirs beside you.

"Hey," his voice raspy, half-asleep, already worried. "Was that you?"

You nod into the pillow. “Mmhm. Cramps.”

He’s fully awake in seconds. No panic, no noise—just that quiet, laser-focused way he moves when it’s something important. You barely get a breath in before he’s rolling over, warm hand already on your waist.

“Babe,” he murmurs, soft and serious, “where’s your heating pad?”

You blink at him. “Living room. Under the couch. I think.”

“Okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He slips out of bed shirtless, in his boxers, feet padding across the cold floor like a man on a mission. You hear him fumbling in the dark, then the microwave, then some mild swearing when he stubs his toe on the table, and then—

He’s back. Holding a warm rice sock. And a small pack of chocolate-covered almonds. And a bottle of water.

You blink up at him, dazed. “...You brought snacks?”

Chan gives you the softest little smile, one hand brushing your hair off your face. “You always crave something sweet when it starts. I remember.”

He gently tucks the heating pad against your lower belly, adjusting it until you sigh in relief. He doesn’t crawl back under the covers right away—just watches your face with that puppy-eyed tenderness he saves for rare, quiet moments. Then—

“Can I hold you?”

You nod, and he pulls you into him slowly, like he’s scared to hurt you. One arm around your waist, the other beneath your neck, anchoring you against his chest.

You can feel his heartbeat.

He kisses your hair. “I hate that you’re in pain.”

“You’re making it better.”

“Good,” he whispers, breath warm against your ear. “That’s my whole job, you know.”

You smile tiredly into his chest. “I thought your job was being the leader of Stray Kids.”

Chan chuckles. “Nah. That’s just a side hustle. My real job is being yours.”

You groan and smack his chest, but it’s lazy, affectionate. He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. And then, quietly: “If it gets worse, or you need anything else—wake me up. Even if it’s just to cuddle, yeah?”

You hum sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect, Chris.”

Lee Know // 리노 soft grump mode activated | petty grocery store rampage | cat therapy squad | the quietest, most extra caregiver alive

You try to hide it at first. It’s not a big deal. Just some cramps. You’ve had worse. So when Minho walks in and sees you curled up on the couch, a pillow hugged to your stomach, blanket barely covering your legs, expression just slightly off—he narrows his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

You wave him off. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

Minho stares for another solid beat. Then, in the driest, most unimpressed tone imaginable: “Lie again and I’m feeding your emergency strawberry Pocky stash to Soonie.”

You squint. “...I’m on my period.”

A pause.

“Did you take meds yet?” “No.” “Heating pad?” “No.” “Water?” “...No.” Minho exhales. “Jesus Christ, babe.”

You blink at him, kind of amused. “Why do you look personally offended?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend, not a background actor. You’re not supposed to suffer in silence when I exist.” Before you can respond, he turns on his heel and disappears into the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, he’s back—with a full survival kit.

– Painkillers – A hot water bottle – Three kinds of snacks – Tea – A protein bar – A suspiciously aggressive amount of napkins

You stare at the spread. “Why do you look mad?”

“I’m not mad.” He sets everything down like he’s preparing a shrine. “I’m annoyed that you thought I wouldn’t want to do this for you.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Then: “…You’re so dramatic.”

“Correct,” he says, plopping down beside you. “But I’m also right. Now drink your tea.”

He doesn’t offer cuddles—not immediately. Minho’s love language is closeness, but it’s always on your terms. He lets you shuffle over to him first, curl into his side, blanket dragged over both of you.

A few minutes later, Dori hops up and makes himself at home on your lap. Then Doongie curls by your feet. Then Soonie pads over with the slow, quiet grace of a prince and lays directly on your stomach.

“…Ow,” you mutter.

Minho shrugs. “Cat therapy. He’s trying.”

You glance up. “You trained them to do this, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer (That’s a yes.). Eventually, when your eyelids start fluttering, he shifts beneath you, tucking your head against his shoulder, his voice low: “You get a pass today. From everything. I’ll handle food and chores. You just rest, okay?”

“Mmh.”

He kisses your temple. Doesn’t say I love you, but—“Try not to bleed on the couch. It was expensive.”

You snort. He grins.

Changbin // 창빈 gym bro but make it nurturing | snack-stocking menace | constant verbal reassurance | bear hug therapy

You don’t even say anything. Just shuffle into the kitchen with a pout and that one specific oversized hoodie you always wear when you’re crampy. Changbin looks up from where he’s meal-prepping chicken breast and protein muffins.

“…Oh no,” he says, immediately dropping the spatula like it offended him. “Is it…?”

You nod solemnly.

He gasps softly like it’s tragic news. “Not the cursed week…”

You give him a weak grin. “Yeah. It’s started.”

“Oh baby…” He sweeps across the kitchen in three steps and engulfs you in a warm, solid hug that smells like soap and cinnamon protein powder. He sways you gently side to side. “My poor little womb warrior.”

You muffle a laugh into his chest. “Did you just call me a womb warrior?”

“Yes. Because you’re strong. And scary. And currently bleeding from the inside.”

He lets go just long enough to grab your hand and lead you to the couch. “Sit. No, wait. Lay down. Actually, gimme a second—let me make you the Nest.”

The Nest, as he calls it, is a masterpiece of plush blankets, body pillows, and one of his giant hoodies stuffed like a plushie. You flop down into it like a marshmallow landing in hot cocoa.

He comes back in five minutes with: – A hot water bottle in a cute cover – Your comfort drink (the overpriced iced juice he always says is a scam but secretly buys for you anyway) – A bowl of hot rice with kimchi and a fried egg – A pack of sour gummies – His hand on your forehead like he’s checking for a fever

“You good?” he asks, brows furrowed in that classic Changbin worried but trying to stay cool way.

You nod. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Damn right I am. You’re my girl, and my girl doesn’t suffer alone.” Then, serious voice: “Tell me the pain scale. 1 to ‘rip my uterus out.’”

“Uhh... seven.”

He kisses your temple. “We’re going to war.”

You laugh, and he smirks like it was his life mission to make you do that.

Later, when you’re drowsy and curled into his side, he runs his fingers gently through your hair and whispers: “Next month, I’m buying you a little heating pad you can wear. One of those fancy ones. You deserve a luxury uterus experience.”

You glance up, barely holding in your giggle. “That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t care,” he says, dramatically pressing a hand over your stomach. “We’ll rebrand menstruation into an elite spa process.”

You snort.

And just before you drift off, you hear him mutter: "You're still the prettiest person alive, by the way. Even when you’re grumpy. Especially when you're grumpy."

Hyunjin // 현진 sensitive prince mode | soft-reading-voice therapy | bath prep connoisseur | cries because you cried

You don’t say much that morning. Just shuffle around the apartment with a sluggish pace, wrapped in one of Hyunjin’s big sweaters and hugging a warm water bottle like it’s your emotional support pet. Hyunjin notices instantly. You haven’t even finished your first sigh before he’s halfway across the room, one hand gently brushing your cheek.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

You hesitate, then mumble, “First day… cramps.”

His face crumples like you told him you’d just been hit by a truck. “Oh no. Oh, angel—come here.”

You’re pulled into his arms in seconds. He tucks your head under his chin, rocking you slowly like he’s trying to lull the pain out of you. Then he kisses the top of your head and says with complete, poetic Hyunjin™ sincerity: “If I could trade places with your uterus right now, I would. I’d fight it. With a sword.”

You choke on a laugh. “That’s not how uteruses work.”

“Don’t care. I’d challenge it to a duel.”

You try to tell him you’ll be fine, but he’s already deep into period care prince mode. The next thirty minutes are a flurry of whispered comforts and gentle commands:

“Lay down, my love. I’ll get your fuzzy socks.” “You’re not allowed to move unless it’s to kiss me or pee.” “I made your favourite tea with honey and a cinnamon stick because you’re precious.” “Do you want me to read to you? Or just hold you?”

Eventually, you find yourself nestled between his thighs, back to his chest, as he reads aloud from your favourite book in that soft, lilting voice of his. His fingers stroke your arm as he reads, each word slow and sweet like honey dripping into your brain.

When he feels you tense from another wave of cramps, he stops reading immediately. “Hey—breathe. You want me to rub your tummy?”

You nod weakly. He shifts, placing a warm hand gently over your lower belly, thumb stroking small circles through the fabric of your hoodie.

Then he goes quiet.

You glance back at him. Hyunjin has tears in his eyes. “…Are you crying?”

“I’m just—” he sniffs, “—you looked like you were in pain. And I love you. And your uterus is being evil. And I feel useless.”

You burst out laughing. It hurts, but you can’t help it. You twist around to cup his face, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. “You’re not useless. You’re literally being perfect.”

He smiles through it, sheepish and pink and glowing.

Later that night, he draws you a warm bath, lights candles (unscented, because strong smells make your nausea worse), and plays your favourite soft playlist. He even ties his hair up in a bun to match yours. You sit between his legs, soaking and sighing.

“You’re everything,” you murmur.

Hyunjin kisses your shoulder. “No. You are. I’m just your backup dancer.”

Han // 한 snack gremlin turned snack provider | panic researcher | dramatic empathy overload | “i gotchu baby” energy

You shoot him a warning text before he comes over.

"just a heads up: cramps. mood: possessed."

Jisung shows up thirty minutes later with:

a bag of snacks too big to be legal,

a heating pad still in the box (he bought a new one just in case),

your favourite hoodie,

and the most anxious but determined look on his face.

“Babe. I Googled things. I am ready.”

You’re half-laying, half-flopped on the couch, blanket over your head like a sad ghost. You peek out. “Google, huh?”

He nods furiously, plopping down next to you with his phone. “Listen. Did you know dark chocolate, bananas, and omega-3s can help? Also—massage, but not too hard or your uterus gets pissed.”

You blink at him. “How long were you researching?”

“Since your text. And also last month. I made a doc.”

“…You made a period doc?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You snort, already feeling better, but your stomach twists again and you wince. Jisung’s face falls like you just told him his puppy died. “Oh no no no. Come here.” He gently pulls you into his lap, wrapping you in the hoodie like a burrito. “C’mere, my angry little cinnamon bun. You wanna scream into my chest? I can take it.”

You do, in fact, scream into his chest. It helps.

He rubs slow circles into your lower back with one hand, the other holding a juice box to your mouth like a doting nursemaid. Occasionally he whispers things like:

“You’re so strong.” “I would absolutely fight your uterus in a 7/11 snack isle.” “I bet if we played sad songs, your cramps would get scared and leave.”

You’re half-laughing, half-dying, and he’s leaning into both roles like a professional clown slash life coach. Then, when you least expect it, he looks down at you—all softness and sincerity: “I know I can’t feel what you’re feeling, but… I hate seeing you hurt. I’d switch with you if I could.”

You melt. Fully. Into him. And he holds you like you’re made of glass and gold at the same time. Eventually, you fall asleep in his arms while he plays soft lo-fi beats from his phone and feeds you Pocky like a spoiled hamster.

And from the way he holds you all night, you just know—next month, he’s showing up again with a full annotated PDF and a playlist called “Period Pains Ain’t Shit (ft. me and snacks).”

Felix // 필릭스 literal cupcake with a god complex | affirmation factory | creates a healing shrine out of your bed | draws you a glitter bath

Felix notices before you even say a word. You shuffle out of the bedroom with a scrunched-up face and a bloated waddle, and he pauses mid-toast, blinking in slow realization.

“…it’s that time, isn’t it?”

You nod dramatically and collapse into the kitchen chair like a fallen soldier. “She has risen from the depths. My uterus is currently staging a revolution.”

Felix gasps like you’ve been personally attacked. “Not the inner apocalypse!!” he gasps, running to your side. “I knew I felt a disturbance in the force!” You start laughing and groaning at the same time while he holds your face like he’s cradling a wounded fairy. Then—

“Go lie down,” he says gently. “I’m turning our bedroom into a cloud.”

And he does. Twenty minutes later, you return to find:

— Your weighted blanket fluffed on top of fresh sheets — Two body pillows on either side like a pain-relief sandwich — A tray of tea, lemon water, and chocolate-covered strawberries — Mood lighting from the fairy lights he set to warm orange — And a soft playlist titled “you deserve the world (and also naps)”

You blink. “Felix what the hell—”

He beams. “Cloud.”

You stare. “You made me a healing shrine.”

“You deserve a healing shrine,” he says, dead serious, crawling onto the bed and patting his chest. “Now get in here. I’m gonna spoon the sadness out of you.”

You curl into him, head pressed to his cinnamon-sugar heartbeat.

But then you start to tear up and Felix notices immediately and pulls you closer, fingers stroking your back with a gentleness that makes your throat ache. "Hey hey hey, shhh—no tears, baby. You already bled enough today," he jokes softly, then immediately kisses your forehead like he’s apologizing to your soul.

Later, he insists on running you a bath—with lavender bubbles, flower petals (that he definitely plucked from your neighbour's garden), and gentle music. He even lights a tiny candle and sets it on the sink like it’s a spell. And when you emerge, cosy and flushed, he wraps you in a towel burrito and murmurs: “Next time, I'm writing a passive-aggressive letter to your ovaries.”

“…You know they don’t read fanmail, right?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write hate mail.”

You fall asleep giggling, cradled in his arms, full of chocolate and comfort and sunshine-boy magic.

Seungmin // 승민 sarcasm-flavoured care | savage but intuitive | cuddles like a weighted puppy | makes you laugh until it hurts less

It’s early afternoon. You’ve said nothing all day except for a grumbled “ow” while dramatically faceplanting into the couch. Seungmin, across the room eating cereal like it’s a military mission, just raises one eyebrow.

“…Again?”

You groan into the cushions. “Yes. Tell your ancestors to take it up with my uterus.”

He shrugs. “You should unionize your organs. Demand better working conditions.”

You crack a weak smile, and that’s all he needs—he gets up, puts down the cereal, and returns with his usual "pain protocol" like it’s just another Tuesday.

He doesn’t announce anything. No big gestures. Just quietly hands you: – A heat patch from the cupboard – A bottle of water already uncapped – A protein bar you always forget you need – And your favourite oversized hoodie that he always pretends not to like when you steal it

He says nothing. Just watches until you take it.

“…Thanks, Minnie.”

He finally sighs, dramatically plopping down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t serve and protect you from your own reproductive system?”

You pause. “A bad one.”

“Exactly.”

You shift closer. He adjusts the blanket over your shoulders with one hand and opens his phone with the other. A few seconds later, he’s playing one of your comfort shows—he remembered which episode you stopped on.

And then?

He lets you rest your head on his thigh while he lazily pets your hair like a spoiled cat. Occasionally, he comments on the show like nothing’s wrong.

“Wow, imagine being this emotionally unstable. Couldn’t be me.”

“You cried at a ramen commercial last week,” you mutter.

“Shh. You’re the one with pain hormones. I win.”

But then—quietly—he leans down and says: “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything. I don’t care. I’ll go to the store and buy you twelve types of pads and an emotional support donut if that’s what it takes.”

You look up at him, touched. “You’re actually sweet sometimes.”

He scoffs. “No I’m not.”

You smirk. “You are.”

“Lies.”

But later, when you wake up from a nap in his lap, you find your phone sitting next to you with a new lockscreen: A doodle of your uterus getting karate-kicked by a stick figure with puppy ears labelled “me.”

I.n // 아이엔 panicked rookie boyfriend vibes | clumsy cuddle pro | “i googled it” energy | buys everything he sees in the pharmacy aisle

It’s only been a few months since you started dating, so when your period hits full force mid-date night—Jeongin panics. You’re curled up in bed, hands on your stomach, face tight with pain. He’s sitting next to you looking so painfully concerned it’s almost cute.

“Are you dying? Is this a dying thing? Should I call someone?”

You squint up at him. “It’s just cramps, Innie.”

“…Are you sure?” he whispers, already holding his phone with the Emergency icon half-tapped.

You grab his sleeve and tug him down into a hug. “I’m sure.”

He melts immediately. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

Then: cue Jeongin’s Period Preparedness Panic Arc™. He disappears for forty-five minutes. You think he went to buy a snack or something.

No.

He returns with: – 3 different heating pads (“I didn’t know which one to get so I bought all of them.”) – A literal mountain of snacks (chocolate, gummies, ice cream, crackers, a random matcha cookie that looked ‘healing’) – A floral-scented candle that he regrets instantly (“It’s kinda… strong. We can throw it away.”) – And the softest stuffed alpaca you've ever seen (“She’s for emotional support. Her name is Princess Womb Slayer.”)

You blink. “Jeongin—”

“I panicked, okay?! You were hurting and I didn’t know what to do and the pharmacy lady told me ginger helps so I bought ginger tea and also ginger candy and gingerbread even though I hate gingerbread—”

You laugh. Hard. Which makes your stomach cramp more. You curl into a little ball again and he instantly shuts up, looking terrified.

“I—did I make it worse? Should I go back and get—”

“Innie,” you wheeze. “Come here.”

He carefully crawls into bed, cuddling you gently, like he’s afraid he’ll break you. Then, after a beat: “…You wanna watch penguin videos?”

You blink. “Penguins?”

“They’re cute. They waddle. You always say that makes you feel better.”

You grin and nod, and two minutes later, he’s got a compilation playing of baby penguins slipping on ice while you snuggle into his chest.

#skz #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #sunday softdrops

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tangerineastronaut · 5 months ago

Note

Can we get some fluff jongho takes care of reader on her period plsssss

soft 🐻 c.jongho

Let him take care of you. He insists.💕

Pairing: Jongho x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, Drabble, Texts + Written imagine Requested: Yes w.c. 780 Warnings: period cramps, reader is on her period, medicine (OTC pain meds) A/N: a jongho request? c'mere anon i'm gonna kiss you. I'm sorry this is short and sweet. I'd love more Jongho requests, I don't see enough content for our bear and I'd like to add to what we've got 😩 Anywho this hits home for me bc idk about y'all but my periods are HELL. I could definitely use a jongho 😭 This is my first time adding texts to a story, so I hope it's alright! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs

Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

You open one eye as someone knocks on your door, though quickly close it again as a swell of pain steals the air from your lungs. Your insides feel like mush, and everything below your belly button aches.

You feel something soft on your face, and when you open your eyes again, you’re embarrassed and incredibly relieved at the same time to find Jongho running his knuckles down your cheek.

“Jongho?” you ask weakly. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was on my way, didn’t you see my last text?” he asks. You realize he’s crouched in front of the couch, where you collapsed an hour ago and haven’t moved since. You shake your head.

“N-No, ‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay. What do you need?”

“A hysterectomy.”

“Funny. What else do you need? Have you taken anything?”

Jongho clicks his tongue as you shake your head. He leaves for a few moments, so you close your eyes again. But then you’re being urged to sit up, and your face crumples in pain.

“Here,” he says, sliding onto the sofa beside you. You take the glass of water he’s holding, sipping it down as he drops something in the palm of your hand. Two tylenol; you take them, finishing off the water.

“Why didn’t you take anything earlier?” he asks, lifting a hand to your cheek. His palm is warm and you lean into it. Your head hurts. Your face hurts. Your back, legs, stomach. All of you hurts.

“I just kind of curled up to die,” you admit, looking up at him. “Didn’t wanna move.”

Jongho sighs and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his firm chest. Your arms go around his neck as you bury yourself against him.

He’s soft and warm and smells so good; his cologne isn’t overwhelming, just a note of something that could only be described as “manly.” It's amazing how a person could make you feel safe with just a hug, but that was Jongho.

“What can I do for you, baby?” he asks, brushing hair away from your face. He presses a kiss to your temple, letting his lips rest there. You nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and inhale, making him chuckle.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Just be here.”

You open your eyes, blinking and rubbing at them. You're a little groggy and confused, but feel something firm and warm behind you. You tilt your head back, and Jongho kisses you below your ear.

"Hi," he hums softly. You groan, feeling a little more human but mostly still mush.

His fingers twitch and your face flushes—his large hand covers the softness of your lower belly, thumb gently brushing your skin. You were holding his wrist, very obviously not wanting him to move even in your sleep.

“What time is it?” you ask. You finally release him and move your hand to your stomach, resting it over his—still hurts, though not nearly as bad as before. Could’ve been the medicine, but you suspected it had to do with a certain someone as well.

You roll over so that you're facing him, squished together on your small couch. He doesn't seem to mind and wraps his arms securely around you, pulling you snug against his form.

“It’s close to 1 a.m., you haven’t been sleeping very long,” Jongho says, rubbing your arm. “How are you feeling? Need more medicine?”

You shake your head.

“It’s better now,” you say with a shy smile. Jongho smiles back, so cutely that you have to lean forward and kiss him. You move your hands to either side of his face.

He sighs against your mouth and hugs you tight, pulling back just enough that your noses are still touching.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asks, stealing another chaste kiss. He moves his hands down to your lower back, fingers firm yet gentle as he massages either side of your spine. You nearly melt with relief, moaning as you tuck yourself against him.

“No. Don’t wanna move. Feels good,” you mumble. Jongho hums a laugh. You rest for a few seconds until he begins to sit up. You grab his hoodie for purchase until he stands, smoothly lifting you up bridal style and adjusting you in his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him, pouting at the sudden disruption.

When you open your mouth to protest, he kisses you, using soft lips to steal whatever complaints you may have wanted to file.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheek as he speaks. “Let's go to bed."

"Can you hold me?" you ask quietly. Jongho nods.

"Of course, baby. That's why I'm here."

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champagnevi · 3 months ago

Text

˚. the fall of us —min yoongi ✧

PART 2 HERE

˚. [ about. you never expected to receive the most life-changing news followed by the biggest and painful realization of betrayal.]

★ :inc. swearing, you know who being a bitch. genre. angst, f!reader, idol!au, break-up

The email arrived at exactly 3:47 PM.

You had been staring at your laptop screen for so long that your vision had started to blur, the dull ache behind your eyes a constant reminder of the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks. But when you saw the subject line—Berlin Arts Fellowship: Final Decision—your heart nearly stopped.

For a moment, you just stared, barely breathing.

This was it.

With shaky hands, you clicked it open.

Dear (_______), We are pleased to inform you that after further review, you have been selected for the Berlin Arts Fellowship. We sincerely apologize for any confusion during the initial evaluation process and appreciate your patience while we reconsidered your application. We look forward to welcoming you to our program. Best regards,Berlin Arts Fellowship Committee

You reread the words once. Twice. A third time.

Then again.

And again.

They had reconsidered your application? But why? What confusion?

Your stomach twisted.

This was supposed to be a moment of triumph, of unfiltered joy, but instead, unease slithered through your veins, curling around your throat like a noose.

Because you knew deep down, in that quiet, terrifying place inside of you that always sensed when something was off—that something had happened behind the scenes. Something you weren’t aware of.

Something that made your initial rejection not a simple mistake, but something much worse.

Your hands trembled as you scrolled further down, scanning the thread of emails attached below. The correspondence between the fellowship committee, your university, and—

Your breath caught in your throat.

—your recommenders.

The first two recommendations were exactly what you expected.

Your mentor, Professor Han, had praised your talent, your unwavering work ethic, your dedication to your art. A renowned artist in the field, he had been your greatest supporter, the person who had urged you to take this leap in the first place.

The second was from an old collaborator, someone you had worked with on an international project.

But it was the third that made your blood run cold.

Because it wasn’t from Min Yoongi.

It was from Kim Namjoon.

Your eyes scanned the letter, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Namjoon had written about your time working with BTS as a creative consultant—your designs, your input, your artistic vision. He had written about your ability to capture emotions in your work, about how your art had transformed stages, concepts, and performances. He had called you extraordinary.

And it was because of this letter that Berlin had overturned their decision.

But it didn’t make sense.

Because Yoongi had promised.

You had asked him months ago if he would write you a letter of recommendation, knowing that his word carried weight, that having Min Yoongi, one of the most respected musicians in the industry, vouch for you would be invaluable.

And he had said yes.

He had shown you the letter.

You had seen it with your own eyes, neatly typed, his signature at the bottom.

So why wasn’t it here?

Your vision blurred as you scrolled further. There had to be some mistake. Maybe they had just used Namjoon’s instead. Maybe—

Then you saw it.

A forwarded message.

A direct email from Min Yoongi himself.

And as you read, the world tilted.

To Whom It May Concern, I would like to express my concerns regarding _____'s application for the Berlin Arts Fellowship. While I acknowledge her artistic talent, I have observed a pattern of inconsistency and an inability to handle high-pressure situations. As someone who has worked closely with her in professional settings, I worry that this opportunity may not be the right fit for her at this stage in her career. Min Yoongi

The words twisted into you like a serrated blade.

What?

You could barely breathe.

Your hands clenched into fists as your mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant. Yoongi had written this. He had sent this. Behind your back, without ever telling you. He had actively tried to sabotage you.

Yoongi had written to the committee.

Not to recommend you.

Not to support you.

But to sabotage you.

You felt yourself sinking, drowning in a sea of disbelief and betrayal.

He had lied.

He had promised you. He had shown you a letter of recommendation—one that didn’t exist.

And instead, behind your back, he had sent this.

A warning. A cautionary statement. A thinly veiled attempt to kill your chances before you ever got the opportunity to take flight.

The weight of it pressed down on your chest, suffocating, crushing, unbearable.

You felt sick.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of your desk, your nails digging into the wood as the realization slammed into you all at once.

Yoongi had never believed in you.

He had never wanted you to go.

And he had been willing to destroy your dream to keep you here.

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

Not yet.

A sudden need for answers surged through you, desperate and burning. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, your fingers fumbling as you dialed the number for the Berlin Arts Fellowship.

A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello, this is the Berlin Arts Fellowship office.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Hi, this is ____. I just received my acceptance email, and I wanted to confirm something about my application.”

A brief pause. “Of course,” the woman responded kindly. “Let me pull up your file.”

Seconds stretched into eternity.

“Ah, yes, I see it here. What would you like to confirm?”

“I… I saw that there were concerns about my recommendation letters,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can you tell me who submitted them?”

There was a pause. “Yes, of course. You initially had a recommendation from Professor Hang, and then a second one from Min Yoongi—”

Your fingers curled around the phone. “I noticed that the final recommendation on my file was from Kim Namjoon. But originally, I had asked Min Yoongi to write one. Could you tell me what happened?”

There was another pause—this one longer. Hesitant.

Then, in a careful tone, she said, “Min Yoongi had submitted concerns regarding your application,” she continued. “However, a third letter was sent later—one that countered those concerns and made a strong case for your acceptance.”

You felt your stomach drop.

The woman continued, unaware of the devastation settling into your bones.

“The additional letter from Mr. Kim, who spoke very highly of you. His recommendation was incredibly compelling, and after a thorough review of your work, we decided to reevaluate your application.”

You barely heard the rest.

Your ears were ringing, the world around you fading into static.

Yoongi had nearly cost you everything.

And Namjoon…

Namjoon had saved you.

It was because of him that you were still standing here, clutching this acceptance letter with trembling hands instead of watching your dream slip through your fingers.

Tears blurred your vision, this time unstoppable.

Not just from gratitude.

But from heartbreak.

From the staggering weight of knowing that the person you had trusted more than anyone in the world had looked you in the eyes, told you he loved you, and still driven a knife into your back.

You barely muttered a thank-you before ending the call.

Then, with shaking hands, you set your phone down on the desk and let the sobs wrack through you.

Because you had never felt so alone.

Because you had never felt so betrayed.

And because now, you knew exactly what you had to do.

The storm inside you had been brewing for hours.

By the time you reached the doors of HYBE, it was an unrelenting hurricane.

You stormed past the security desk, barely sparing a glance at the startled guard. You knew this building like the back of your hand—how could you not, after all the late nights spent waiting for Yoongi to finish working, curled up on the studio couch while he fine-tuned beats into the early hours of the morning?

Back when you still thought he loved you.

Now, that love felt like a noose around your neck.

The moment you reached the Genius Lab, you didn’t hesitate. You shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the wall, making the three men inside jolt in surprise.

Yoongi was sitting in his usual chair, a notebook in hand, headphones around his neck. Across from him, Namjoon and Hoseok sat on the couch, deep in conversation—until they saw you.

Silence crashed over the room like a tidal wave.

“You fucking bastard.”

The words left your mouth before you could think, raw and venomous.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “What—”

“How could you?” Your voice was shaking, your breath uneven, but you didn’t care. The hurt, the rage, the betrayal surged through you like wildfire, scorching everything in its path. “You sabotaged me. You fucking sabotaged me, Yoongi!”

Hoseok stiffened, his gaze flickering to Namjoon. Namjoon, who looked tired, like he already knew what this was about.

Yoongi sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “This isn’t something to freak out over—”

“Not something to—” A hysterical laugh tore from your throat, bitter and disbelieving. “You lied to me! You told me you sent a letter of recommendation—”

“I did.”

“No, you fucking didn’t!”

Your vision blurred with fury. “You sent them a letter telling them you doubted me. You made them question my integrity. You made them reject me. You almost ruined me, Yoongi. And you’re sitting here acting like it’s nothing?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. He stood up, his voice low, controlled. “I was trying to protect you.”

You flinched.

For a moment, you just stared at him, the weight of his words crushing the air from your lungs.

“Protect me?” you whispered.

His expression didn’t waver. “You weren’t ready. Berlin is too far, too demanding—”

Your breath hitched. “Who the fuck are you to decide that?”

Yoongi didn’t answer.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You were supposed to be the one person who believed in me. And instead, you—” You choked on the words, your voice breaking under the sheer weight of them. “You tried to take this from me.”

Namjoon exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing his temples. Hoseok shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you both.

You turned to Namjoon then, something hollow settling in your chest.

“Did you know?”

His face fell.

And then—slowly, painfully—he nodded.

Your throat closed up.

Namjoon, your friend. Namjoon, who had fought for you when Yoongi hadn’t. Namjoon, who had written the letter that had saved your dream.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice raw.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m proud of you.”

A fresh wave of emotions crashed into you, but you forced yourself to hold it together. You gave him a small, pained smile—one that barely reached your eyes. Then, without another word, Namjoon and Hoseok quietly gathered their things and left, closing the door behind them.

And then it was just you and Yoongi.

The silence was suffocating.

Yoongi’s hands were clenched into fists, his shoulders stiff as he exhaled shakily. “You don’t understand.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I understand perfectly.”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, his voice rising. His eyes were dark, desperate. “I couldn’t let you go. Do you get that? I couldn’t—”

Your stomach twisted.

“So you decided to fucking ruin me?”

“I wasn’t ruining you,” Yoongi argued, his voice pleading now. “I was—” He sighed harshly, running a hand through his hair. “I was trying to keep you here. With me.”

Your heart shattered.

“You selfish piece of shit.”

Yoongi flinched like you had physically struck him.

“I loved you.” Your voice was shaking, tears burning your eyes. “I fucking loved you so much I would’ve tried. I would’ve done long distance. I would’ve come back to you at the end of it all. Because you were home to me, Yoongi. You were everything to me.”

His eyes darkened, his lips parting. “I am home to you—”

“Not anymore.”

The words landed between you like a death sentence.

Yoongi’s entire body tensed. “No. Don’t—”

“I’m done, Yoongi.”

His breath caught. “You don’t mean that.”

You let out a bitter, broken laugh. “Oh, I do. I really, really do.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Baby—”

“Don’t call me that.”

His throat bobbed. “I love you.”

Tears spilled over your lashes.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply, his face twisting with pain. “You’re the love of my life. I can’t—”

Your voice cracked. “Then you shouldn’t have done this to me.”

Yoongi reached for you then—desperate, frantic—but you took a step back, out of his reach. His hands hovered in midair before they curled into trembling fists.

“I can fix this,” he begged. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right.”

You stared at him.

At the man you had once loved more than anything.

The man who had just broken you beyond repair.

“You can’t.”

A sob tore from Yoongi’s throat. He crumpled before you, his hands clutching his hair as his breath came out in broken gasps.

“I’m leaving.”

His head snapped up, his face streaked with tears. “No, don’t—”

Your heart was in ruins, but your voice was steady.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.”

And then you turned around and walked away, leaving behind the only person you had ever truly loved.

292 notes · View notes

winterzsurprise · 3 months ago

Text

Change My Mind [8]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.3k

hello, sorry for ghosting you all. I got busy with school and projects. This chapter is brought to you by my PCD because I saw hobi a few days ago and its kicking my ass. I think this chapter being focused (kinda) on Hoba says a lot so yeah. Not proofread, will fix and add more later. Any tips on recovering from pcd cause woahhh wth

please do tell me if ya'll want to be added to the taglist. pls leave a comment or my jk pcs will be sleeping outside my window

edit 16/04/25: fixed grammar mistakes, added new scenes during Hobi and Reader's interaction in his studio, and a couple of paragraphs here and there, that is all.

edit 02/06/25: added a convo with Reader's friends' at the end

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

________

When Seokjin came to consciousness, it wasn’t to the ear-shattering blares of Jungkook’s alarms a few doors down nor was it to someone shaking him awake.

For the first time in his life, he was instead woken up by the feeling of someone’s warm touch tracing the sharpness of his jaw.

His eyes flew open, heart jackhammering in his chest at the thought of someone climbing into his bed while he was at his most vulnerable state only to calm down at the sight of you looking down at him with the softest look in your eyes and the breath in his lungs was punched out.

Seokjin is not a poetic guy, that was Namjoon and Yoongi, but if he had a morsel of their creative minds, he would’ve waxed anthologies upon anthologies just to describe how your gaze, overflowing with the sweetness of love, had made his mind stutter and his heart skip a beat. He’d say how it can definitely make a man win a war all by himself and the heat of your love to keep him warm during the winters.

Realization came to him like a sudden flash of thunder, his brain becoming more aware of the haziness and the peculiarity of it all.

Your gaze, usually warm and friendly, is mellowed out and overflowing with the sweet, stickiness of love as if you’re looking at him with all the love that exists in the world. His fingers trembled when it reached out to touch your cheeks, scared that once he touched this image, this hallucination of his would fizzle out and he’d wake up with more longing than he’s already feeling.

This is a dream, it must be. You’ve never looked at him like that.

Yet. His mind whispered.

He was dreaming but the warmth of your cheeks and the softness of your skin brushing against his fingers felt so real it made him shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li-like what?”

He didn’t know if this dream was a nightmare or not, hearing your voice and feeling your fingers caressing his skin so softly . It was cruel how gentle you were handling him, how the heat of your hands when it cupped his cheeks had sent electric shocks throughout his body, stirring every part of him awake.

Then before the question could even leave his lips, you leaned down to press your lips on his and his brain short-circuits.

Your lips are as perfect as the rest of you, it slotted in between his so perfectly it ached. He felt breathless from the brief contact, stomach ticklish as his mind repeated the same sensations and memories over and over again. Suddenly, the cumulation of longing and withheld desires surfaces and his fingers twitch at where they laid on either side of your face.

It’s just a dream, you can do everything you ever wanted. A darker, greedier voice at the back of his head whispered and he almost let himself follow its whims.

“There you go again.” You said and his brewing thoughts faded into the background. “Stop looking so… sad.”

“I look… sad?”

“Like a kicked puppy,” You laughed, hand coming up to his cheeks and the smell of your sweet lotion invaded his senses. “I’m here with you now, stop looking so defeated.”

You kissed him again but this time it was in the spot in between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Seokjin didn’t know how greedy he could be, never knew how hungry he was until he felt your lips pressing against his skin.

It’s just a dream , the logical part of his brain whispered to him but it still felt wrong .

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be better than this. He needs to wake up before he completely lose himself in his own imagination.

This dream was toying with the already frayed thread holding his flimsily gathered self-control. It's like dangling a game in front of a predator who’s been starved for years. It’s so tempting to just lean in and kiss you, to pull you down and let his hands roam down the curves of your body.

“Jinnie.”

“Yes?”

“Stop holding back.” He takes a deep shuddering breath as his brain catches up on your words. “I want this. I want you.”

snip!

Suddenly overcome with the molten heat of desire lighting his skin, he surged up to capture your lips with his, hands cradling and pulling your face to him. With a yelp, you tip over to fall on top of him. Seokjin waited for you to push him away, to fight against his hold, to stand and walk away from him with a disgusted look on your face but none of those happened. Instead, your hands cradled his face and brought him closer for a kiss as breathtaking as you make him everyday.

Seokjin didn’t care that he was dreaming, his body burned with the intense desire he had tampered down for so long and if he didn't kiss you now he might actually combust.

How long has he longed to feel the heat of your skin against his? How long had he stirred restlessly at night wondering how comforting it would be to feel your weight on top of him and your body pressing against him? He couldn’t count how many nights had gone where he’d wake up sweaty, body electric from the rampant and unsatisfied need running in his veins, wishing he could expel the carnal hunger rooted deeply within him with you.

And he had tried, god knows how he tried to find someone else, to move on like you had done but his skin would crawl from their touch and his stomach would churn whenever they looked at him. Even staring at someone longer than what is appropriate felt like committing the biggest sin.

You had ruined him for any other woman without even doing much and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not.

Seokjin doesn’t dream often but when he does, it is never about you.

Until tonight.

You gasped into his mouth as his kisses grew hurried and his roaming hands grew more confident in its exploration, teasingly brushing the underside of your breasts before it would fall to and your fingers threads into his hair before tugging on them. The sting of his scalp immediately melted into hot pleasure that dripped down to his abdomen. He was undeniably hard, bursting at the seams from harmless kissing and if lust wasn’t clouding his mind, he would’ve been embarrassed.

He trailed kisses down your throat where your perfume smells the strongest and he groaned before beginning to lave his tongue over your skin and gently sucking on them, relishing in the soft sighs he’s reaping. You shifted under him, no doubt feverish with desire like he is, and your thigh brushed against him, making him tighten his hold onto your waist as a shuddering exhale left him.

Seokjin wasn’t pure, he’s had one or two experiences with women before you came into his life, still it was embarrassing how he had reacted from how you had nudged against him.

“Jinnie…” You sighed and his heart stuttered at how sweet his name sounded spilling out your lips. “Stop teasing me, I want you.”

He detached himself from your throat to take a look at his masterpiece, gently thumbing the small but purple bruises on your skin before daring to look up.

And god, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

With your hair strewn messily around your head, you looked like an absolute angel with a halo. Your lips are swollen red and your eyes are blown black as it stared back at him with the same exact amount of need itching his skin. Letting his eyes fall to your neck littered with his marks and the uncharted territories of your thighs, he swallowed hard as his pants grew tighter.

“Jinnie…”

Seokjin…

“You’re so pretty like this, baby.” He whispered.

God, he wanted to do a lot of things with you.

His head a mess trying to figure out what he should do first, fingers twitching as he figured out if he’ll start with shedding your top off—which he just noticed was one of his hoodies, holy fuck —or begin unbuttoning your denim shorts.

“Jinnie please...”

Seokjin…

All those years with only him and his pent-up frustrations whenever he’d see you wear your pretty dresses—the sensual floor-length maxi length dress you had worn for the luxury themed Christmas party with the high slit on the side of your thighs dangerously matched with a pair of red heels forever ingrained into his brain—finally resurfacing and all of a sudden, he’s insatiable, ravenous and one kiss away from his sanity snapping.

You were his to have, to hold and to revere.

God, he feels crazy just thinking about how you were his . He was descending into madness from the unbridled desire he's been holding back and now that he's got you within arms reach, he doesn't know what—

“SEOKJIN HYUNG!”

He shot up from his bed with a scream beyond what his parched throat could tolerate and he started coughing.

Mind immediately catching up on what was happening, he quickly pulled his blanket up to hide the painful tent in his pajamas. The surprise from having his name called out by a voice that belonged to someone else fades and irritation begins to burn his back.

Jungkook, who was the one who had woken him up, eyes half open and blinked blearily back at him, absolutely clueless of what he had just interrupted.

“Why did you wake me up?! Did your parents not tell you how rude it is to wake up someone so abruptly?!” Seokjin didn't really mean to scream that out so loud but he was frustrated.

Who wouldn't be in this situation?

“Why so grumpy? Was your dream really that good?” Seeing the blush spreading on his face, a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Was it about noona?”

“What do you want?” He asked, attempting to stir the conversation away.

“Namjoon hyung called me to wake you up, something about needing your voice at the studio to record a demo he had made this morning.”

Turning to the windows, he immediately noticed how the sun was barely even peaking through the horizon and groaned exasperatedly. Namjoon’s mind is usually a blessing but all he could think about was how he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for having an inspiration this early in the morning, interrupting the only pleasant dream he’s had in years.

Jungkook, although had woken him up due to an order, wasn't safe from the bubbling wrath at the pit of his stomach. How could the men he's supposed to be his brothers by heart do this to him?

If he slept in the car, would it—

“So… how was your dream with noona?”

“GET OUT!”

_______

To say his family was enthusiastic would be the understatement of the year.

The moment the news reached his mother’s ears, it quickly spread throughout the clan and everyone had demanded to hold a banquet, at least a week-long feast to celebrate their first ever tethered in the family.

While he understood their enthusiasm, his shared sentiment quickly soured when the excitement stretched over to the next week and it plunged into the negatives when his aunties began to demand him to discreetly arrange a soulbinding without the other members of the nexus knowing, reasoning that man is born greedy and having multiple men pine for one girl is not a good look.

They didn’t say it outloud but it was clear what they thought of the nexus connection and it pissed him off.

Despite the concept of soulmates existing since the dawn of time, those who are considered normal think of multiple connections as some kind of taboo, something that shouldn’t even exist and having seven men only tethered to one woman is contradicting what mankind deem is typical and expected in a relationship. The underlying judgment under the fake smiles of his aunts’ and the playful comments of his uncles about having to compete with six other men had spoiled his excitement faster than an unrefrigerated fish.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t judged a passing throuple before, he was guilty of once being a little unsettled when he had heard the five trainees a floor below them were all connected to each other. It was human nature to be unsure and frown upon the unnatural after all—not that he’s excusing his behavior from before.

But now that he’s found himself a part of a nexus, Hoseok had surprised himself when he realised how easily he had welcomed the idea of polyamory like a fish to water. Maybe it was the bond forged by sweat and tears he's had with the other guys had made it an easy pill to swallow but being a part of a nexus, he had understood why, despite being against what was considered normal and typical, those throuples and the five boys downstairs fearlessly flaunted each other despite the world's efforts to shame them all.

He eventually learned how to ignore their pestering calls and messages for the sake of his public image because he wouldn’t know what would fly off his mouth if he ever heard them utter another veiled remark about how impure and disgusting it is for one woman to entertain seven men.

Today, he finds himself confused by how Jin has been acting whenever you’re within a meter away from him, flinching back with his ears practically glowing with how red it has turned and stammering every word out like a flustered high schooler. Confusing because for as long as he knows, their oldest has long graduated from acting cute around his crush.

It was a fight between your determination to help him prepare for breakfast against his hyung’s easily embarrassed state brought by god-knows-what had transpired between yesterday and today.

Jungkook choking on his food from his constant laughter whenever they see the eldest fumble and stumble on air only stoked their curiosities further.

“What is it? Why do you keep on laughing?” Jimin asked, voice low and careful to not be caught by their eldest who is currently hissing, and bent over on one leg as he held onto his toe that he had just stubbed on the corner of the island counter.

“Let us in on the joke, come on.” Taehyung goaded on.

Jungkook, surprisingly, shook his head.

“Does all of those years mean nothing to you?”

“Where does your loyalty lie?!”

“Even if I want to tell you guys, Jin knows all the passwords to my accounts. I just hit Grandmaster rank there, I’m not risking it.” Jungkook replied before continuing to stuff his face with his breakfast.

This didn’t deter the two other maknaes, if anything, they grew more determined to uncover the secrets their youngest and eldest managed to gain in a short time. Silently, the rest of them cheered on Jimin and Taehyung, also eager to learn what the secret was but not having the energy to bother.

Almost a month since Jungkook’s birthday, the doctors had finally given you and Jimin the green light to continue work when he found out you both can now last an hour and a half without being in the same room.

It also meant that the tour could finally continue, the management had already informed them of their new schedules.

Days since he found out his tethered status, yet even with a very enthusiastic Taehyung’s help, Hoseok is yet to find what kind of soulmate link he has.

All they knew was that it can alter their appearances but they hadn’t specified what part of the body it’ll affect. There's a thousand possibilities and most of them involve being hurt, something he's not willing to do. He had to turn down a couple of Taehyung's suggestions in the fear of accidentally hurting you in the process.

It hurts him to reject Taehyung and seeing his excitement dull but who in their right minds would agree to his experimentations when all he could suggest was pinching him, cutting a small wound on his palm, shaving a patch of hair on his leg or arm, and finally, trying if baldness can also be inherited by the other.

Hoseok thinks the boy had momentarily forgotten they share the same soulmate.

He wasn't rushing to find out his soulmark anyways. Hoseok can wait, he has done so for two years, he can wait a couple days more.

Tossing all the stress of yesterday to the side, Hoseok found himself staring blankly at his monitor, an unfinished melody looping on his speakers, and wondering if there is a soulmate mark out there that can gather all of his thoughts and feelings to become a song he'd just randomly blurt out to help him.

He has a vision.

There’s an almost non-existent melody playing at the back of his head that had been tormenting him since the day he had found out his new status.

Ideas overflowed in his mind so much that he might as well have none because of how cramped and cluttered his brain had become. If he were to explain it, his mind was like a lottery ball machine that is teeming with so much it refuses to spill anything out.

Hoseok wanted to dedicate a song to you with a melody as sweet as your voice yet as sparkly and bright as the glint in your eyes. He wanted the word to know that he's been spoken for while barely revealing anything but his mind wasn't cooperating.

Maybe Yoongi can help me with this one...

A shrill sound of his phone shattered through his train of thoughts. Seeing his mother's name on the screen, he quickly picks it up but to his surprise it was Jiwoo who welcomed him.

“Hey, mom’s wondering if you guys plan on ever introducing her and her parents to us and the others?” His sister began, her head popping from the side and covering most of the screen while their mother’s body stood behind her.

Almost every member has complained about their parents wanting them to go through a soulbinding ceremony as soon as possible, claiming it was useless to drag it out.

While he does understand the benefits of being formally and spiritually bonded, everyone thought it was better to court you first.

A bit traditional and pointless as they're all tethered but dating and courting you with roses and fancy dinners has been at the back of everyone's mind. With their eldest insistent on doing so, the others had no choice but to follow.

There's also the North American tour they have to start. The management had made it known how important it is to continue their tour, saying it had been delayed for too long and ARMY were getting antsy so it was difficult to make room for a pre-bonding party and the soulbinding ceremony itself.

“We can't delay the tour any longer so we'll have it once we return home. Besides, the guys and I wanted to properly court her before any binding takes place.”

His mother made a disapproving sound. “I’m worried. You all know that not being formally binded means you guys are more susceptible to hyperactivity, right?”

“Of course we know, we all had a discussion a couple of days back but the tour’s just a couple of weeks. When we all return to Seoul, we'll finally seal the deal.”

“I'll ask the other moms for help arranging it so you guys won't stress about it during the tour, okay?”

“Do you even know how to woo a woman?” Jiwoo asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Obviously! What do you take me for?!”

“You buried yourself in work for years, I think I have a good reason to be suspicious of your ability to woo a woman.” Jiwoo retorted. “Your last relationship was back in high school and she dumped you for reasons you haven’t told me yet.”

“Because it's dumb and I’m not giving you more ammo than you already have.”

“Children, the both of you,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “Can I finally speak now?”

When she was answered by the ashamed silence from the both of them, she continued.

“What are you planning for your date? Where will you guys be when it's finally your time?”

Hoseok turned away from the intense stares he's receiving through the screen because for someone who had insisted he had plans earlier to his sister, he absolutely has no idea on how he'll take you on a date.

A food trip date around a city in disguise has been taken, a dinner on a yacht and a date on a fair got snatched away by their youngest before anyone could even start raising their ideas. A musical in New York is out of the equation too, a romantic night walk in Paris also.

Basically, almost all the date ideas he had were stolen by the others and he’s beginning to consider locking them all in their rooms and cut their charger cords.

“See? I can’t trust my baby brother to know how to woo a woman!”

“What does she like? We’ll help you.”

“The others got most of my ideas, except Jungkook. Nothing can make me ride rollercoasters.”

“Even if your soulmate asks you to?”

Hoseok pondered for a moment.

Does he love you more than he values his life?

“I don't need to anyways, she's got the other maknaes to ride it with her.”

“I mean—”

“What does she like? We need to give you ideas on how your date with her will go.” Their mother interrupts before they continue bantering. “Have you all decided on whose first and last?”

“Jungkook goes first, I don't know how that kid did it but he won against all of us in rock, paper, scissors.”

“You guys are losers.” Jiwoo sighed in the background. “The world's biggest boyband are dorks trapped in handsome bodies.”

“How about you?” His mother asked.

“Miraculously, I got second.”

“Where would you guys be at the time?”

“I can choose between Hamilton and Newark. Chicago is already reserved by someone else.”

“Stargazing?” Jiwoo suggested.

But before he could respond, a knock cut him off. Turning to face the door, his eyes met your concerned pairs as you entered with a plastic bag in hand and a styrofoam food package inside it.

You had your hair in a braid today matched with the most minimal makeup due to you waking up late compared to their usual schedule yet Hoseok thinks you the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on.

Moreso when you’re the one who’s bringing him food.

“Yoongi had me bring this up to you and to tell you to take a break.”

“Is it time for lunch time already? I think I just ate earlier.” He says, standing up to take the food from your hand and muttering a ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Stepping aside, he invites you into the studio and motioned his hand towards the sofa on the corner of the room. Instantly, you fall into its plush cushion comfortably with your feet hanging on the side and the rest of your body on the cushion.

You look absolutely cozy in your loose pants and oversized hoodie combo that he almost leaned down to fit himself into the space next to you and cuddle up to your side to see if you’re as comfortable as you looked.

Like the others, he had sometimes laid next to you, but he always maintained distance from your body. He wasn’t like the maknaes who had grown used to your hugs and cuddles. Whenever it does happen, he’d always freeze up and pull out his phone to distract him from the loud thuds of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Hoseok wouldn't lie and say he was never jealous of how easily the maknaes could saddle up next to you. It was something he had to learn to swallow or force to the back of his head every time its ugly face rears into his mind.

Seeing you strewn comfortably on his couch, he thinks that maybe he could finally muster up the courage to cozy up next to you.

“Aren't you a bit too comfortable lounging in my studio like this?” He jokingly said.

“We've been together for years, you should know how I act when I see a couch.”

“Still, it would be nice if you could have a bit of decorum.”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m your soulmate.”

It was astonishing how a word could evoke so much within him. Hearing the word ‘soulmate’ felt like a balm after years of stolen gazes and aching yearning to be yours. You were confirming and acknowledging the existence of the still undiscovered bond between you both, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever get, and it made his chest warm.

It was a bit hard at first to get you and Namjoon—who still couldn't believe the very subject he had dedicated a school paper to deny happened to him—to accept the bond but to be constantly exposed to each other at the dorm and be surrounded by the familiar joy from the days before the marks’ manifestation, the both of you grew to welcome the idea more comfortably with each passing day.

And today just happened to be the day where you had verbally acknowledged the bond.

He's sure the others would be ecstatic to hear that you're beginning to accept and see the link in a positive light.

“Were you talking to someone before I came with the food? I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” You asked, grounding his mind to focus on you.

“Just my mom and sister asking about the tour, don’t worr—”

“LIAR! We were teaching him how to woo yo—!” Jiwoo’s voice screamed from the phone before his mother’s reprimanding hushes took over.

“We’ll call you back later to continue our discussion, son. You both have a nice day, alright?”

“Bye mom!”

“See you, auntie.”

With his screen returning to Twitter’s homepage as the call drops, the pin drop silence in the room had reminded him how it's just you and him together.

Alone.

In his studio.

Never in his life did he think having you alone with him would be so daunting.

He stared at his chair in front of the unfinished melody on pause on his monitor then to you who had sat up to unfurl the knot on the plastic bag where two food containers, one rectangular and the other a deep cylinder, stuck between the decision to continuing his work before eventually settling next to you to uncover his food himself.

“So," He began but his voice sounded weaker than he wanted and he cleared his throat. "What did you and Jin have today?”

“We settled with a salad and chicken paired with a milkshake. Yoongi ordered our lunch from that new store by the intersection, you know, the one you pointed out on our way here.”

Leaning down to take a sniff of the biggest container, he then turned to you.

“What did you get me?”

“Guess.”

It doesn't take a genius to know what is inside the container and it made his chest warm at how his friends always remember if he’s craving for something. Yesterday during dinner, he had asked Yoongi if he ever plans on making beef bone broth anytime soon.

Said bone broth is now filling the cylinder container while kimchi fried rice and bulgogi filled the other.

“Did Yoongi order this? Because if he does, I will thank him with my forehead touching the ground.”

“Yeah but Namjoon was the one who brought it up.” You answered as you opened the lid of the big container while he brought the bone broth up to his lips for a couple of quick sips. “Also, the reason why I came here was because we need you down in the styling department. There’s changes made with the tour outfits and they wanted to see if it fits.”

“Now?” He asked before placing down the soup to start eating from the larger container.

“They’re busy with the maknaes now so eat slowly or you’ll choke.”

“But that means they'll have to wait for me.”

“You're paying us to wait for you, so don't worry much.” You said, waving him off.

“You know you don't have to worry about money or working, right?”

He knew not to bring up the matter of jobs and money, but he really couldn't help but be a bit disheartened at how you continue to refuse their offer to pay and buy you everything you'd ever need.

You might just be the only person he knows who'd vehemently deny being spoiled by seven billionaires who are already at her beck and call. Hoseok knew you liked working as their makeup artist but couldn't you still enjoy working for them while dressed in clothes and wearing jewelries they want to adorn you with?

If you were more accepting of their fortunes, you'd have all the diamonds and precious gems in the world filling the kitchen and lounging area of their dorm by tomorrow.

But unfortunately, he and the others have to hold back on spending ridiculous amounts on you.

“I know but sometimes I'd rather be Y/N the makeup artist.” You say, standing up to leave. “It can be a little exhausting being the Bangtan’s Soulmate Y/N.”

For a moment, he panicked. Shouldn't he have brought it up again? Had he set back the progress they had made since the day Jimin had told them what happened?

He almost broke down from how worried he was at your reaction, until you returned with a kombucha in your hand to offer him.

“Don't look so distressed you'd get wrinkles.” You teased.

“I was worried I messed up by saying that, the others would have my head if I had.”

“I'm not angry or annoyed. Surprisingly.” You fall to the space next to him with hands intertwined on your lap and your eyes staring a hole onto the ground. “Didn't know there'll come a day where I'd be more accepting of the fact.”

“Me too.”

_______

Ever since this morning, everyone in your department had been bugging you about your unexplained and sudden absences that spanned over for weeks. Your friends from other departments had jogged up to you in the cafeteria, asking if you felt better after catching a stomach bug.

Minhyuk had successfully spread the news that you got sick from drinking yourself dumb during Jungkook’s birthday with his expansive connection as a cover up and you were struggling with how careful you have to be with your words and keeping your answers as vague as possible.

But out of all the events of today, all you could think about was how Alexa’s gaze had eyed you skeptically and scanned you from head to toe as if she was searching for something. It lingered on your forearm when you had tugged your sleeves up to your elbows and you had subconsciously closed your hands to try and hide the musical note tattoo hidden between your fingers.

Who knew having soulmates could make you a little paranoid?

That being said, there’s been a new rotation for makeup noonas so you couldn’t accidentally activate your soulmarks with Taehyung and Jimin. Even then, everyone had been instructed to take Amoneuron before they leave the dorms to dull the body's sensitivity to the new bond and to somewhat slow the effect from having someone of the opposite gender touch you pre-binding. It would stall it long enough until you both activate your soulmate mark together.

You were assigned to those with the less noticeable soulmarks like Namjoon and Hoseok while Minhyuk and Nabi were assigned to Jimin and Yoongi, Saeyoung—one of the oldest make-up noonas—was lined to only assist Namjoon; which left Jihae and Alexa to tend to Taehyung and Jin

Minhyuk had the stinkiest grimace on his face when he heard.

It was Jihae’s honest mistake since the changes had been abrupt and the pairings were given out on-the-spot. It wasn’t until later did she realise her mistake.

“So you’re saying, the girl with the wild delusions about Jin being her soulmate will be handling Jin? How did that happen?” Hoseok asked, voice barely a whisper as you both dismount the elevator.

“Jihae, bless her old soul, made a mistake when she was matching us up.”

Hoseok’s eyes scanned your face, searching for something you don’t know yet before turning his attention back to the front.

“You and I both know who Jin loves right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Of course..? What are you getting at?”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he just smiled and said: “Good.”

"Hey, I'm not gonna be jealous. He's only got one soulmate and that's me."

A radiant smile splits his face as he lightly pinches your cheeks. "I'm glad you know."

The double doors to the correct styling room parts open and you both head in to see all the stylists and make-up noonas fluttering around in a somewhat organized chaos while the rest of the boys either sat in front of the mirror or stood still in the middle of the room as someone takes their measurements and hold up accessories to their faces.

Like second nature, Hoseok heads to the last available seat at the far left next to Yoongi and a standing Namjoon who’s scrolling through his phone while his stylist fetched a different top from the clothing rack.

“How’s the bone broth? Is it good?” Namjoon starts as the dancer sits down and you began to pull out the palettes and bottles from the rack in his shade.

“Our leader takes care of us so well, I loved it.”

“Why do you say it like he doesn’t care about us at all, Hoseok?” Yoongi instigated next to him with a blank expression as he scrolled through his phone.

“Oh come on, hyung. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Instead of replying, Yoongi just grinned.

Soon enough, Hoseok’s primary stylist approached you both and began to list down possible make-up looks to match the outfit he’ll be wearing in the US. Picking up the primer and twisting the lid off, you began to work as the stylist pulled up reference pictures of his past make-up looks and other idols faces for inspiration.

Spreading and patting the product onto his face, your heart began to pick up a pace as you grew hyper aware of how close you are to him. Being aware of the unknown soulbond connecting the two of you had changed how you perceive what you used to deem as normal and routinely.

Hoseok has always been stunning with his cute nose and a jaw sharper than the finest of blades but since when did he begin to look as radiant as he does right now? And why are you so nervous?

You take out the foundation bottle with shaky hands and try your best to collect your composure.

But having your brush glide gently down the slope of his nose and having to touch his chin to tilt his head up made the task almost impossible.

It didn’t help that instead of his usual routine of scrolling through his phone, Hoseok was openly staring up at you with an unreadable look. You felt the heat of his gaze as it roamed up to your eyebrows, down to the tip of your nose before it paused at your lips. It left a trailing blaze that instantly melted the wall you tried so hard to establish between you and your soulmates during work.

You were tempted to keep your brush resting on top of his eyelids just so your heart could rest a little.

Every time you sensed it lingering on your lips, your heart would soar. You don't dare to listen to the voice in your head that tells you to look up to meet the other pair of eyes trained on you.

You could see Namjoon staring at you from the edge of your eyes, no doubt hearing how fast your heartbeat is going. You try not to fluster under his gaze too and switch your brush to the other hand to shake the tremble off of your dominant hand.

When Aera, Hoseok’s stylist, had walked away to answer to the other stylist's call, you narrowed your eyes at the dancer.

“Stop looking at me like that and do your usual scrolling through Naver.” You whispered, resolution faltering as a grin splits through Hoseok's perfectly sculpted face.

“I left my phone on the makeup table though.”

Without skipping a beat, you turned to pick up his phone and pushed it into his hand.

“Please look away, you're distracting me.”

Then, as if his stage persona had possessed him, his smile sweetened into a flirty grin. Suddenly, you were faced with an immovable force that is Jung Hoseok. His eyes flit down to your lips and his entire demeanor takes a sharp turn when his gaze grows heavy with longing, deep, desiring red flashing across his eyes and for a moment, you thought he was going to lean in to devour your whole.

Your heart skipped a beat and this time, Namjoon had snapped his head to the both of you.

“Stop teasing her, Hoba. You don't distract your make-up artist when they're doing their job.” Their leader said in a low voice, careful of any eavesdroppers as he placed a hand on his shoulder in almost a warning.

“I've never seen you be flustered like this before, noona. It's a bit addicting to see you turn red for me…”

Namjoon sighed. “Please remain professional inside the BigHit building please. We agreed to not let our personal feelings affect our work, didn't we?”

You sent the man a silent thanks and continued to work. When Aera returns, Hoseok had begrudgingly returned to his usual programming with him scrolling through his phone. But it didn't mean that your heart had calmed down from the previous encounter.

“Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay?” The stylist, Aera asks, concern marring her face as she touches your forehead. “You’re a little red.”

“I-I'm fine, don't worry.”

Hearing this encounter, a proud smile grew on his face.

Doing the rest of his make-up passed by uneventfully, Hoseok had listened to their leader and kept up a professional facade in front of other observers with an ease and coldness of a perfectionist dance leader. Yet even then, you couldn't stop the tremble and the suddenly halts whenever his heady gaze flashes in your mind.

When it was Namjoon’s turn, Minhyuk had finally appeared after discussing with the other stylists, his bright presence immediately drove away the emotions from earlier.

“God, I know we should be professional and all that but I really hate seeing her doing Jin's make-up.” The other make-up artist whispered as soon as he arrived, his eyes trained at the girl behind you. “She looks so smug and it's making me want to scratch her face with a foundation spatula.”

“Isn't a foundation spatula blunt?” Namjoon asked, confused.

“You underestimate how much I hate her with my entire being, Namjoon. Even the bluntest, roundest edge can be turned into a weapon in the hand of a hater.” Minhyuk responded as he took the eyeshadow palette you were stretching out to him before reaching over the brush container for the correct one.

“I think you've just given me inspiration.”

“Well, I’ll be honoured to know that my random blabbering has helped the magnificent leader, RM of BTS.” Minhyuk then bowed his head exaggeratedly, making Namjoon chuckle.

With Minhyuk taking over Namjoon’s eye makeup, you looked over your shoulder to see what he was referring to and found yourself staring at what might just be the most uncomfortable look you've ever seen on Taehyung and Seokjin as Alexa made her preference for Seokjin obvious as she flutter around him, singing honeyed praises and touching his face longer than a staff should.

With Jihae busy bouncing ideas with the head of the styling and Saeyoung, Alexa was left unattended with all the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Irritation prickled your skin, not because you were jealous but because she was practically coaxing out a soulmate hyperactivity out of him with how long and often she's brushing against his face.

It wasn't like with Nabi who's careful not to touch your soulmates or Saeyoung and Jihae who are already married old women, Alexa has expressed her romantic intentions for Seokjin constantly, something that can still coax out a hyperactivity.

Granted the woman doesn't know your status but as someone destined for someone else, shouldn't she be focusing on that person instead of wasting time with someone who doesn't care about her?

Catching Taehyung’s gaze through his reflection in the mirror, he gave you a panicked look, his thoughts the same as yours.

Luckily, there hasn't been any rising dread or your senses being dialed up to the nines which means the medicine is working.

“That amount of touching would be dangerous, no? I think I should step in.”

But before Minhyuk could begin to march towards them, Seokjin turned to Alexa with the politest grin as he finally let her down slowly if the amusement in Taehyung's eyes were anything to go by.

Shocked and embarrassed by being rejected by the idol in presence of another, she hastily left the room to the confusion of the leaders and oldest women standing near the entrance. Turning to you and Minhyuk, Jihae raised an accusing eyebrow to which you both replied with a shrug. With a sigh, the woman excused herself from the conversation to tend to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Serves her right.” Minhyuk snorted before turning his attention back to you and ushering you away. "Go calm down the bond with your man. There's chocolate in my bag and go eat it with him."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, hyuk?"

"Only when you're drunk. Now go!"

Quickly retrieving the sweets from Minhyuk's bag, you jogged up to Jin and offered the chocolate to him.

With no second spared, he tore through the wrapper and tossed the small candy into his mouth. Its sugary taste bleeds into your tastebuds before the candy touched your tongue.

Despite not experiencing any hint of hyperactivity, there was still a rush of cold relief flushing through your body from having your soulmarks get activated together, as if it was glad to have the bond still intact. A resonating warmth soon replaced the coolness and Seokjin expelled out a long exhale.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Unsure of what to do in the eyes of the public, you had settled with placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a comforting squeeze. Taking a glimpse at the reflection of the crowded room, he shyly reached up a hand to clasp over yours in return.

_______

[Yesterday, 13:02] [13:02] The BADDEST: i cant laugh just yet in public rn but [13:02] The BADDEST: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA [13:02] The BADDEST: GOD IS REAL AND HE HAS FINALLY GAVE HER WHAT SHE DESERVED [13:02] The PRETTIEST: minhyuk you're so mean [13:02] The BADDEST: i saw you giggling to yourself earlier [13:02] The BADDEST: dont ever lie to me again [13:02] The MOTHER: please refrain from using your phones during work hours ladies [13:02] The MOTHER: @The BADDEST i can see you still typing, put that phone away [13:03] The PRETTIEST: hopefully that's the last time we'll see alexa being an annoying fruit fly around seokjin [13:03] The PRETTIEST: but between you guys, me and god? i doubt that [13:03] The BADDEST: she can try😤 [13:03] The BADDEST: i got years of unresolved anger issues I'll gladly unleash on her [13:03] The MOTHER: GO BACK TO WORK KIDS

_______

“Noona, have you packed everything you need?”

You huffed. “Of course I have. I've been doing this for years, you know?”

“Well, even if you forgot something, the others can bring it to you anyways.” Taehyung shrugged as he pushed open the doors of the van and stepped out, offering a hand to you as you followed him out with Jimin behind you.

“I'm starting to hate having idols for soulmates. Leaving the country at midnight to evade reporters and stalkers just isn't for me.”

“On the bright side, you'd never have to worry about money and losing your best friends.” Jimin replied as the three of you strolled into the hidden entrance of the airport. “Plus, you get to have handsome men with all that money and companionship.”

“Can't deny that…” You sighed as the two bodyguards assigned to the three of you guided you into the establishment and you yawned. “God, I'm so sleepy.”

Taehyung pats your back.

“We can sleep on the plane then you can choose between the two of us who you want more," Taehyung paused as he considered his words. "Or you can have both of us at the same time."

“Tae, you know how bad that sounded, right?”

“It's not my fault that you have a rotten mind, Jiminie. You know that I don't mean anything by that.”

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pars-ley · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Traces of you

Pairing: Jimin (BTS) x female oc

Summary: meeting your soulmate wasn't a problem in a world where your fated lover comes to you in your dreams, but finding them for real…that's a different story.

Genre(s): Soulmates au / strangers to lovers au / fantasy au / fated lovers / angst / smut /

Rating: Mature 18+ (NSFW) MINORS DNI

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you…you know the deal) / cream pie / oral f.recieving / nipple play / clit play / Jimin has a wet dream and cums in his pants

Word count: 2.2k

Banner: @shadowkoo thank you, you're a goddess

Moodboard: @anyamaris dreamy creation as, thank you!

Beta: @anyamaris and @hobeemin thank you for all your help and support with this

Author's notes: this is for the lapydiaries event ‘sad boys club’ and I used the prompt Ateez - Inception. I'm not used to writing in this person or from the male perspective but I enjoyed it and I hope you do too

Looking out at the expanse from his hotel balcony, his dark eyes scour the inky sky, pausing on each star as he surveys the view. His attention was stolen by the landmark, illuminating the thick blanket of night. The metal tower that led him to Paris in the first place.

Although it was not any historical beacon that held his interest on this night…it was you. He was so close he could hardly contain his excitement. He needed to tell you so many things, he needed to let you know he was here right now.

“I'll find you soon,” Jimin whispers into the soft nighttime breeze, hoping it'll grow wings and make its way to you.

He closes the balcony doors, the silence enveloping him instantly, and climbs into bed, pulling the plain white sheets tightly over him, hoping that sleep will follow.

He's too wired and jet-lagged to give in, but he must—he must be with you again. It's like a drug that he can't get enough of. Spending time with you in the dreamworld makes him feel at peace and loved beyond anything he could fantasize about. The softness of your touch is so gentle and caring, and the pure adoration in your eyes when you look at him sometimes takes his breath away.

His love. His soulmate.

He yearns to see your face; dreaming is the only way he can.

As he thinks of you, picturing your face behind his eyelids, he slowly starts to drift. Once he's pulled under the cloak of the surface of sleep, he meets you yet again.

“Jimin.” You breathe, sounding relieved, but there's something else in your voice, something he hasn't heard before.

“I'm here.” He whispers as you rush over to him, encasing him in your loving embrace. You swirl around him, trapping him in a cage of his own senses, one he will gladly surrender into. He breathes you in, a scent like no other that he will remember until the end of his days.

He pictures the Eiffel Tower view from his hotel room, showing you exactly what he means.

Your soft, little gasp as you look at the expanse behind him makes his stomach flutter, “you came?” You ask.

“Of course. How could I not?” He strokes the length of your cheek, and the smoothness of your skin against his fingertips sends shivers down his spine.

When you meet his eyes again, there's a heat he's never seen, sending his heart into a frantic pace. His body reacts instinctively, an erection growing rapidly before he can try to restrain it.

“Soon, I will be able to touch you for real.” You say, trailing a finger down his shirt and to the waist of his jeans. “But I don't want to wait that long.”

Your voice, low and thick, drips with lust as you speak, and Jimin can't help but bite his lip to try and stop the ache of his solid cock. When your fingertips linger at the button of his jeans, he has to restrain himself from thrusting against you; instead, he slides his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. The heat radiating from you makes it hard for him to think straight.

Gasping when you feel him pressed up against your clothed core, your fingers fumble as they frantically grapple at his trousers; yanking them down, he steps out and kicks them aside.

He grabs fistfuls of your top and pulls it quickly over your head, throwing it across the room. Marveling at your body, the sight before him better than anything he could have created in his tiny mind. You were glorious and he wanted to live in this moment with you, to explore every inch of your body, but time here was precious. It moves fast; before he knows it, it will be morning, and his eyes will be snapping open in disappointment again.

“Where are we?” you pant as you undo the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking with desperation as he walks you backward.

“My hotel room,” he whispers, his lips making a trail down the side of your throat as he undoes your bra, whipping it away from your body. The cool air hits you, puckering your nipples, and he quickly closes his mouth around them, licking, sucking, and relishing the taste of your skin.

Your moan fills the room, an erotic melody he could get lost in, and he would do anything to continue the song.

He guides you down onto the bed and sinks onto his knees, reaching up under your skirt, he pulls your underwear down. You stare at him in wonder, fascinated, and unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you.

Smiling up at you, he licks his lips, lips you've yet to taste. Pushing your thighs apart, he leans down and touches his mouth to you ever so lightly. His tongue comes out and licks a stripe up your centre, ending with a flick against your clit. When you twitch in response and call out his name, your hands snaking their way into his hair, he can't help but thrust his crotch against the side of the mattress, desperate for some of his own release.

“Say that again.” He pleads, looking up at you. Your pained expression and teeth embedded into your bottom lip is so sinful; he pictures what you would look like if he pushed himself so far into your mouth that you were full of him.

He continues his kisses against your sex, tasting every crevice of you, and it delights him when your back arches off the bed. His tongue makes gentle circles on your sensitive bud, and he catches the way your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

Your legs come up to clamp around his head, but he pushes them down. They fight against him as your body takes on a mind of its own, chasing its high. Grinding against his face and gasping for air, the only sound he's attuned himself to is his name, leaving your lips repeatedly. And god, could that sound make him lose all composure.

He hums against you, the vibration sending a delicious jolt through you, and it's all you need to tip you over the edge and have you falling down the cliff face of pleasure.

Continuing his motions, ensuring he absorbs every part of your release, a thirst for you that rivals the victims of the desert, and he does so until your body stills and the wave has subsided. But his desperation for you had not been sated at all, and he wastes no time in crawling up your body.

Your hands cling to his back as you push his boxers down with your feet; lining himself up, he slides inside you easily, enjoying the way you cry out. The feel of you wrapped around him, pulling him in further, and clenching around him sends a ripple of pleasure through him. You are so wet and warm and perfect, he wants to stay buried inside you forever. But he does not have the luxury of time tonight.

He finally captures your mouth in a hungry kiss, crashing his lips against yours. The two of you move perfectly in synchronisation, a dance only fated lovers know. Your hands grab his buttocks, guiding his speed, and he obeys.

With every thrust, you moan, and with every moan, he is one step closer to the edge. He strokes your hair as he leans over you, peppering urgent kisses down your throat when you tilt your head back.

“God, I love you.” you moan, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

“I love you.” He responds, smiling at how perfect you are and thanking all the gods for the gift of you.

You turn him, pushing him over until he's the one on his back; swinging your leg across, you slide right back onto him, grasping at your own breasts as you adjust to him inside you once again. The feel of your sex sucking him in has him writhing beneath you, desperate to feel you come undone around his cock.

Finally, you begin to move. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs, grabbing your hips, your breasts, before his thumb is gathering your slick and circling your clit. The more you move above him, the closer he is to release, and as desperate as he is for it, he will not relent until you do once more.

He can tell you are close when your cunt tightens around him, your breathing becomes erratic, and he uses his free hand on your hip to guide your movements against him. He angles himself upwards in rhythm with you, hitting that spot inside repeatedly; the sounds leaving you are as close to heavenly as he'll ever get, and just as he's wrapped up in every detail of you, your hot, wet sex spasms around him. He thrusts up into you as your movements become sloppy, and as you squeeze around him, he too comes undone, ropes of hot liquid lust decorating your insides; the thought alone only adds to his ecstasy. You collapse on top of him and pepper gentle kisses along his jaw. He's still inside you but yearns to be closer, his arms winding round your waist, holding you against him.

He can feel the rouse of consciousness stirring in the distance; he knows your time together is coming to an end, and judging by your pained expression, you do too.

As he takes one last look at your face, your eyes flitting desperately between his, the view changes to a quaint, little café.

“Find me here,” you say as the dream begins to fade, “Say it, say the name.”

He does, twice.

“I'll wait for you.” your voice echoes in the distance as he desperately clings to you but to no avail…

His eyes snap open, and he winces instantly at the bright morning sun streaming in through the windows. He should have drawn the curtains last night; maybe it would have delayed his separation from you. He rubs his eyes, fighting the haze of sleep when the image of the café appears like a snapshot in his mind. He says the name out loud, remembering what he needs to do. Fresh excitement blooms inside him, and he is ready for the new day ahead.

He will find you even if he has to wait at that café all day, every day.

He throws back the covers, unable to wait to start his day, knowing it could be today that he meets you in person. Oh, the thought of your skin under his fingertips and your lips pressed against his, the taste of you, so vivid and honest, he couldn't wait. But as he sits up, his attention is drawn down to his boxers, the discomfort is apparent…he'd ejaculated all over himself.

“Great.” He mumbles, rolling his eyes as he climbs carefully out of bed and retreats into the shower.

Nerves are flying rampant inside him, like a caged bird hitting against the bars, expecting to find an escape. He focuses on keeping his feet moving; the faster he gets there, the less time he has to spend agonising over finding you, and you can be together. He's mapped the journey and memorised the route to the café but has the location up on his phone just in case. It’s only a fifteen minute walk from his hotel. Some would say luck is behind this, but he knows fate better than that.

When he is simply a corner turn away, he picks up his pace, speed walking to his destination with blinders on. He pays no attention to the shops, the beautiful city surrounding him, or the landscape of the river beside him; the only sight he cares about is your face.

He comes to a halt when the shop front comes into view; the sign lit up like a beacon calling him home. There's a relief that moves through him briefly; he's here, and you will be there, whenever that may be. Crossing the street, he surveys inside, looking at every occupied table and examining their faces through the window. None of them are you, and sadness washes over him.

It's okay; he has time. He'll go in, order a coffee, and wait, knowing that every time the bell above the door rings, he'll hope he sees you.

“Jimin?” someone behind him says, and every muscle inside him freezes to a halt. He recognises your melodic voice, which sounds even more soulful and perfect in reality.

He turns slowly, his heart galloping like a racing horse at the sight of you. Pure perfection crafted to complete him. Your mouth stretches into a breathtaking smile, one he can't help but mirror as his hand reaches out instinctively for yours, and you do not hesitate to entwine with his. He pulls you closer, needing to feel your warmth and touch your skin, needing to know he's not dreaming.

And when he does, he sighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him as if you don't plan on letting go. He wouldn't mind that at all. Your scent swirls around him again, but it's real and even more intoxicating this time. You stay wrapped up in each other and finally break apart, leaving him missing your warmth and closeness instantly, but you take his hand and gently tug on him to follow. He does, as you lead him on his forever journey…with you by his side.

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honeyhaeya · 6 months ago

Text

🎮One Between Two🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: explicit content (18+): includes detailed smut, kissing, cuddling, soft domestic intimacy, polyamorous dynamic: reader x jeonghan x wonwoo in a consensual relationship, fluff overload: this is tooth-rottingly sweet, light teasing and humor between jeonghan and wonwoo, some light language (wonwoo’s deadpan sarcasm might slip in), and non-canon ending (i guess?) DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ smut warnings: kissing, threesome(?), oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (fictional! not ideal IRL), rough sex (explicitly described thrusting, intense actions), overstimulation, desperate kisses, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom), creampie (fictional context), consent (implied and verbal), emotional vulnerability (expressed through intimacy), body worship and attention to physical details, breath play (heavy breathing, audible reactions), dirty talk, descriptive sexual acts (explicit descriptions of genital stimulation), post-coital intimacy (gentle moments after sex). wc: 15,655 ♪ playlist ♪: falling for you (SEVENTEEN), euphoria (jungkook - BTS), lover (taylor swift), candy (baekhyun), everything (michael bublé), day 1 (HONNE), love me like that (sam kim). a/n: we finally reach the story at its peak ! thankyou for everyone who has been with me 'til the very end ! please enjoy the last chapter of the story :]

You hadn't seen Jeonghan all day, and while the ache of his coldness still lingered, Wonwoo's quiet comfort had been a balm to your frayed nerves. He'd texted you after work, insisting on taking you out for dinner, just something casual to lighten your mood.

"Pick whatever you want," Wonwoo said, sliding the menu toward you. His easy smile was like sunlight filtering through a storm, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relax.

The two of you settled into a quiet rhythm—small jokes, a few shared laughs, and the soft buzz of the diner around you. It was nice. Normal. But that fragile calm was shattered the moment you looked up and saw Jeonghan walking in.

He wasn't alone.

The woman on his arm was stunning, her laugh bright and effortless as she whispered something to him. Jeonghan's hand rested lightly on her waist, and his smile—sharp, confident, devastating—was one you hadn't seen in days. It was like watching a master at work, except now, the charm wasn't aimed at you.

Your heart sank, and you didn't realize you were gripping your fork too tightly until Wonwoo's voice pulled you back.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning forward, his eyes flicking between you and the new arrival. "You okay?"

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile, but you knew it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah. Totally fine."

Wonwoo glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Jeonghan and his date. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable. "We can leave if you want."

"No," you said firmly, your voice steadier than you felt. "We're staying."

It was a bold decision, one you regretted the second Jeonghan's gaze landed on you. His expression flickered for just a moment—surprise, maybe something else—but he quickly schooled his features into that same detached indifference you'd grown used to.

But what you hadn't prepared for was the deliberate way he led his date right past your table, pausing just long enough to acknowledge Wonwoo with a casual nod.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan said smoothly, his voice like silk stretched too thin. His eyes didn't even glance your way. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Jeonghan," Wonwoo replied evenly, his tone polite but laced with tension.

The air between them crackled, an unspoken challenge hanging in the space between their words. You could feel it, thick and suffocating, but Jeonghan seemed utterly unfazed as he turned to his date with that same dazzling smile.

"Let's grab a seat," he said to her, his voice softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

You watched them walk away, your appetite vanishing as quickly as your resolve. Wonwoo's hand found yours under the table, his grip firm and reassuring, but it did little to soothe the storm brewing inside you.

Later That Night

Wonwoo insisted on walking you home, and for once, you didn't argue. The quiet streets were a welcome reprieve from the chaos in your head, but the tension between you and Wonwoo was impossible to ignore.

"You don't have to pretend," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "I know seeing him hurt."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wonwoo's eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to lie to me," he said quietly. "I get it. I do. But you need to figure out what you really want—because this?" He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "I can't keep being your safe option."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. "That's not what this is," you protested, but even as you said it, doubt crept into your voice.

Wonwoo shook his head, his expression softening. "You don't have to explain. Just... think about it, okay?"

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

Jeonghan.

He stood a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his expression unreadable. For a moment, none of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on all of you.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jeonghan said finally, his tone cool but not unkind. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safe."

Wonwoo's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything, his gaze flicking between you and Jeonghan.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. The two men you cared about most in the world were standing in front of you, and for the first time, you realized just how impossible this situation had become.

Back in your apartment, the silence was deafening. You sat on the edge of your bed, your phone buzzing with unread messages, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at them.

Wonwoo had texted you first, something simple and kind: "Let me know if you're okay. I'll always be here."

Jeonghan's message came hours later, shorter and colder: "We need to talk."

You stared at the screen, your chest tight. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw your phone across the room and pretend none of this was happening. But instead, you just sat there, the weight of their words pulling you down like anchors.

The confrontation you'd been dreading didn't wait until the next morning. Jeonghan was waiting for you at your desk when you returned from a meeting, his suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, tie slightly loosened like he'd made himself at home.

You froze in the doorway, your hands tightening around the folder in your grip.

"Jeonghan," you said, unsure whether it was a greeting or a warning.

"Welcome back," he said smoothly, his smile disarming, but his eyes held that familiar glint of mischief. "Busy day?"

"Busy enough," you replied cautiously, stepping inside. "What are you doing here?"

He tilted his head, as if the answer was obvious. "Waiting for you, of course."

You set the folder down on the desk, keeping your movements deliberate. "If this is about work—"

"Close the door," he interrupted, his tone light yet leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make you comply. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room.

"I thought we didn't have anything to talk about," you said, forcing a casual tone even as your pulse quickened.

Jeonghan leaned back in the chair, his long fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Oh, we don't. But I was curious about something."

"Curious about what?"

"About you." He stood then, crossing the room in a few leisurely steps until he was leaning against the edge of the desk, his body too close for comfort. "And Wonwoo."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. "What about him?"

Jeonghan shrugged, his smile teasing but his eyes sharper than ever. "Just wondering why you get so defensive whenever he comes up."

"I'm not defensive," you said quickly—too quickly.

His smile widened, and he let out a soft laugh. "Sure you're not." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "So if there's really nothing going on, how about this—you and me. Dinner. Tonight."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Jeonghan straightened, feigning innocence as he smoothed his tie. "It's simple. If there's nothing between you and Wonwoo, then there's no reason you can't go out with me. Right?"

"Jeonghan..."

He held up a hand, cutting you off with a smile that was both charming and infuriating. "Relax, it's just a date. Unless..." His eyes sparkled with mock suspicion. "There is something you're not telling me?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The way he was looking at you—like he already knew the answer—made it impossible to find the right words.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're terrible at hiding things, you know that?"

His teasing tone stung more than you cared to admit. Before you could think, you blurted something out.

And before you knew it, you had said something you shouldn't have.

You hadn't planned to see Wonwoo that night. You hadn't planned anything, really—you just walked, trying to clear your head, until you found yourself at his door.

He opened it after the first knock, his brows furrowing in concern as he took in your disheveled state.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

You nodded, even though it wasn't true. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside without a word, letting you slip past him into the warmth of his apartment.

You sat on the couch, your hands twisting nervously in your lap as he joined you, sitting close enough for you to feel the heat of his body but not so close that it felt invasive.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

The words spilled out before you could stop them—a jumbled mess of apologies and explanations, of frustration and guilt and confusion. Wonwoo listened quietly, his expression unreadable, until you finally ran out of words.

When you looked at him, his gaze was steady, but there was something in his eyes that made your chest ache.

"You told him we're just... friends," he said slowly, his voice measured.

You froze, your stomach dropping. "Wonwoo, I didn't mean it like that—"

"But that's what you said," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. "Is that what you think we are?"

"No," you said quickly, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. "Of course not. I just... I panicked. I didn't know what else to say."

Wonwoo looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned back, his arms resting on the back of the couch as he regarded you.

"Friends with benefits, huh?" he said, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his lips. "That's all this is to you?"

"No," you said again, your voice trembling. "It's more than that. You know it is."

"Do I?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because it doesn't feel like it when you can't even admit it to him. Or to yourself."

You didn't know what to say. The truth was messy and complicated, and you were terrified of what it might cost you.

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. "Maybe that's all we should be," he said quietly. "If that's what you want."

His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm.

"Wonwoo, please," you whispered, your voice breaking.

He looked at you then, his gaze softening just enough to make your heart ache.

"Then tell me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what this is. What I am to you."

You stared at Wonwoo, the weight of his question pressing down on you like a vice. What was this? What were you to him? What was he to you? The answers tangled in your throat, too raw, too uncertain to speak.

But his eyes—god, his eyes—bore into yours, waiting, needing something real, something true.

"I—" you started, the words trembling on your lips. "You're..."

The pause stretched too long, and you saw the flicker of hurt cross his face before he masked it, leaning back just slightly, as if to protect himself.

"Forget it," he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a door closing.

"No," you said quickly, reaching for his hand before he could pull away completely. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out."

"Then say it," he said, his voice sharper now, frustration bleeding through. "Say something. Because I can't keep doing this—guessing how you feel, pretending I'm okay with whatever scraps you decide to give me."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and exposed. He was right. You'd been selfish, hiding behind your fear, letting the safety of ambiguity shield you from making a choice. But that safety was gone now, stripped away by the raw honesty in his voice.

"I care about you," you said finally, your voice shaking but resolute. "More than I should. More than I've let myself admit."

Wonwoo's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for the truth in your words.

"But I'm scared," you continued, the confession tumbling out like a broken dam. "I'm scared of what this means, of what I might lose. Of hurting you. Of hurting him."

The mention of Jeonghan made Wonwoo's jaw tighten, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"You're already hurting me," he said softly, his voice a painful mix of tenderness and resignation. "But I'd rather feel this than nothing at all."

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of his vulnerability crashing into you.

"Wonwoo, I—"

He didn't let you finish. His lips were on yours before you could form another thought, the kiss fierce and desperate, like he was pouring all his frustration, all his longing, into you.

And you let him.

You kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, trying to bridge the gap that had always been there between you.

But the moment didn't fade.

Instead, it deepened.

Wonwoo's hands slid down your sides, his touch firm but deep, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. He pressed you against the couch, his body warm and solid against yours, and you gasped into his mouth as the heat between you ignited, consuming every shred of hesitation you'd been clinging to.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with restraint, even as his fingers ghosted over the hem of your shirt.

You didn't answer. Instead, you tugged him closer, your actions speaking louder than words ever could.

The shift in his demeanor was immediate. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a hunger that matched your own. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you into his lap as his lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, leaving a blazing path in their wake.

"You drive me crazy," he breathed, his hands exploring your curves with a deep feeling that made your head spin. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your fingers tightened in his hair, a soft whimper escaping you as he nipped at the sensitive skin of your collarbone. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a promise—a confession of everything he felt but couldn't say.

He lifted your shirt over your arms as he started nipping on your breast, his hand on the other. Pampering you with his affection so he can distract you from the mess you were dealing with. If that helps, then he'd do anything to get things off your mind—even if it's just temporary. This isn't like Wonwoo at all.

It wasn't long until you're whimpering on his lap as his cock twitches inside of you.

You were moving, with him helping you hump on him.

Wonwoo always had a way of getting you all breathless and... Naked.

You shifted, your arms around his neck as you kiss him. Not long, you got exhausted and Wonwoo had to take over. He took you to his room, cock stilled inside you as he drops you onto his bed—gently but urgent. He moved his hips to yours, kissing your lips all the way as his tongue brushes against your soft breasts. He can never get enough of you.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, his name a plea, a prayer, as your bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, the tension between you showing in the most intimate of ways.

"You're fucking perfect..." He muttered as he moved a little rougher than he intended to, his cock swarming in and out of your cunt.

His hand supported the back of your head to make you feel less tired and assured as he kisses your lips. His kisses were possessive and fast as his tongue finds yours.

When the two of you meet the ends of bliss, he cums all over you, painting your walls as you followed soon after, creaming all over his cock.

And for a moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the tangled web of emotions you'd woven, not the uncertainty of what came next.

It was just you and him, lost in a world of your own making, where every touch was a revelation, and every kiss was a declaration of the feelings you'd both been too afraid to voice.

Wonwoo had that soft spot that only showed when it came to you. He was never like this with anyone. You were simply too precious for him that he's suddenly afraid of losing you—scared of getting you off his hands.

You had his heart locked up and you didn't even know it.

But now, having you in his arms while the two of you just stay in the hot waters of the tub he had in his house, everything suddenly felt temporary—at least for him.

You turned to face him with your face all steamy, and you looked breathtaking as ever. Your arms found his neck as you leaned closer to hug him. His heart almost melted.

He held you closer, as you whispered sweet nothings to him. But suddenly, he just couldn't find those sweet genuine smiles of yours. It was given as a reflection of how hard things have been going for you. And he'd die for you just so you can find yourself at peace again.

"Use me all you want," he broke the silence. "I'll always be here no matter what."

You almost cried, biting your lips it almost bled. You hugged him tightly, too tightly that he pulled you even closer. He reached for your cheeks, cupping it before crashing his lips onto yours again. It was urgent, hectic, and was messy. But that didn't stop him from doing anything else.

Days have passed. It has been gloomy for you that even your viewers noticed whenever you were streaming. But their concern was making your heart a little lighter.

Personal life has always been separated from your gaming life. But right now, your lips kept slipping, suddenly spilling a tea you shouldn't even say.

Recently, youve only been streaming with either Vernon, Seungkwan, Hoshi, or Mingyu.

Who knew things would change just because of the stupid context "Love"? You blamed all the human feelings for eveything that has happened.

It was a Thursday afternoon when it finally broke. You were sitting at your desk, staring at the screen in front of you, but not really seeing it. Your thoughts kept spiraling back to Jeonghan and Wonwoo, to what you were doing, to what you wanted to do, but couldn't.

The door to your office creaked open, and your stomach flipped as Jeonghan stepped inside. He didn't bother knocking—he never did—but the way he closed the door behind him with deliberate care made your heart race.

"What now?" you asked, unable to keep the irritation out of your voice.

Jeonghan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms and letting his gaze sweep over you like he was sizing you up. "You look stressed," he said finally, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I wonder why," you muttered, leaning back in your chair.

His smirk deepened. "Relax. I'm not here to scold you... much."

"Then why are you here?"

Jeonghan tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Oh, just wanted to see how my favorite coworker is doing."

You shot him a look, unimpressed. "Cut the small talk, Jeonghan. What do you want?"

He straightened, his playful demeanor softening into something more serious. "Fine. Let's skip to the point." He met your gaze, and there it was—that flicker of intensity that made it impossible to look away. "You and Wonwoo."

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. "What about us?"

Jeonghan's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained deceptively light. "You're not very good at hiding things, you know. The way you look at him, the way he looks at you... It's cute, really."

"Jeonghan—"

"Don't worry," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm not here to pry. In fact, I've got a proposal."

You blinked, caught off guard. "A proposal?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into that teasing, honeyed tone that always left you on edge. "If there's really nothing going on with him, how about you prove it?"

Your eyes narrowed. "Prove it how?"

"Go out with me."

The words hung in the air, and you stared at him like he'd just suggested robbing a bank. "What?"

Jeonghan grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You heard me. Dinner. Tonight."

"Jeonghan, this isn't—"

"Let me guess," he cut you off, his tone turning playfully accusatory. "You're about to come up with some excuse. Busy schedule? Too tired? Or maybe..." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "You're worried Wonwoo might not like it."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. His grin widened.

"Thought so," he said, stepping closer until he was leaning just slightly over you, his presence overwhelming. "So what's it going to be? Dinner with me, or another round of dodging questions you don't want to answer?"

You clenched your fists, your pride prickling at his audacity. "Fine," you snapped, standing abruptly. "Dinner it is. But only because I'm tired of you acting like you've got me all figured out."

Jeonghan's expression softened into something more genuine, though the smugness never fully left his face. "Looking forward to it." He stepped back, giving you space, but his voice turned teasing again as he reached for the door. "Oh, and wear something nice. I don't settle for half-effort, you know."

Before you could respond, he slipped out of the room, leaving you flustered, irritated, and strangely... intrigued.

The restaurant Jeonghan chose was exactly what you'd expect from him—classy but not overly extravagant, with dim lighting, soft music, and a menu that probably didn't have prices listed. You sat across from him, your fingers toying with the edge of your napkin as he ordered for the both of you, exuding the effortless charm that made people fall for him so easily.

"I could've ordered for myself, you know," you said, raising an eyebrow as the waiter walked away.

"I know," he replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "But I wanted to see if I got it right."

"And if you didn't?"

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Then I'd have something to tease you about for the rest of the night."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. The banter was easy, familiar, and you hated how quickly it chipped away at your defenses.

Dinner passed in a blur of conversation and subtle glances, the tension between you two growing with every lingering look and accidental brush of fingers. By the time you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool evening air felt charged, and you weren't sure if it was the wine or Jeonghan's presence that had your head spinning.

"You're quiet," Jeonghan said as he walked beside you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I'm just... thinking," you replied, looking ahead.

"Dangerous habit," he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours lightly. "What's on your mind?"

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to him. His expression was relaxed, but there was something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn't as nonchalant as he seemed.

"Why me?" you asked finally, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jeonghan stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "What do you mean?"

"You could've asked anyone to dinner. You didn't have to..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his intense gaze.

"I didn't have to what?" he prompted, his voice soft but insistent.

"Push this," you finished, gesturing between the two of you.

Jeonghan took a step closer, his hand brushing against yours. "Maybe I didn't want just anyone," he said simply.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart racing. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, he tilted his head toward the street.

"Come on," he said, his voice lighter. "Let's go."

"To where?"

"You'll see."

Jeonghan's home was exactly what you'd imagined: clean, stylish, and a little too perfect, like it had been lifted straight from an interior design magazine. You've been to his house before, but this one, it's a different one. You barely had time to take it all in before he was leading you to the living room, his hand resting lightly on your back.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, motioning to the couch.

You sat down, feeling all the suddenly uncharacteristically out of place. The air between you was heavy, and you weren't sure if it was the wine, the dim lighting, or the way Jeonghan was looking at you that made your skin tingle.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.

"I'm fine," you replied, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Jeonghan didn't say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was gentle, almost hesitant, and it made your breath catch.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You didn't. It always had to be like this.

The first kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, his hand cupped your cheek, and the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the couch, his body hovering over yours as his hands roamed, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every touch, every kiss felt like a question, and your answers came in the way you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck.

"Yes," you breathed, the word slipping out without hesitation.

And with that, the tension that had been building between you for what felt like forever finally snapped. Jeonghan was everywhere—his touch, his scent, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. He took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction, until you were completely undone and naked beneath him.

Jeonghan had laid you gently on the soft, white mattress as his kisses to your neck become more heated, leaving his love bites all over the sensitive skin as if he knows what and where to kiss.

His hands did the same, gripping your breasts, thighs, name every sensitive spot you know, and he knows it.

He slipped two fingers in and was surprised—impressed it slipped in easily. He loves how wet and open you are for him. "So wet, for me?" Jeonghan teases as he pulls in and out with you squirming underneath him. He loves you, the way your vulnerable under him, looking pretty as he messes you up.

You moan loudly, and that's how he loves it. Your hands grip his shirt too tightly he starts to unbutton and undress himself for you.

He kisses your lips as if taking a shot full of love. The way he swallowed your muffled moans was intoxicating. He takes his time exploring you like he has before. Every touch, kiss felt wrong. But Jeonghan's touches were enough to blur your thoughts, sending you back to the bitter but sweetest reality.

"I can't lose you," was what he whispered, and it was enough to send you shivers down your spine.

Jeonghan's fingers were dipped deep inside your cunt as you clench around him, and finally, you cum soak and hot through his fingers. He licks them before he aligns his cock on your pussy before entering you completely slowly but surely.

He snaps his hips onto yours as you scream out his name. Jeonghan pins your arms over your head, his fingers intertwined with your as his head falls on your shoulders, his thrusts increasing its speed.

You hold onto his hand, his cock entering you in and out in the most blissful way, enough to make you whimper his name.

The room was filled with your lustful cries and skin-to-skin contacts, making the night long and... Loud but sweetly slow.

When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together on the couch, the room silent except for the sound of your breathing. Jeonghan's fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, and for once, you didn't feel the weight of questions or doubts pressing down on you.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice softer this time.

"Yeah," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

Jeonghan smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

You hadn't expected things to move this fast, but when you woke up to a text from Wonwoo saying, "We need to talk. Tonight," your stomach twisted in anticipation. Wonwoo wasn't the type to be vague unless it really mattered.

The evening came too quickly. When you opened the door, Wonwoo stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing that casual but disarming look that always made your heart skip.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight you couldn't quite place.

You stepped aside, letting him in. The familiar scent of him wrapped around you as he passed by, but you noticed how he didn't meet your eyes right away.

"Talk," you said, leaning on the counter, trying to sound steady despite the knot in your chest.

Wonwoo hesitated, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you rarely saw. "I've been thinking a lot lately," he began, his voice lower than usual. "About streaming, about us... about everything."

You folded your arms, unsure where this was going. "And?"

He exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding it in for days. "I think I'm done with it. At least for now."

Your brows shot up in surprise. "Done? With streaming?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug, but his tone was anything but casual. "I've never liked all the attention anyway. I just wanted to play games, have fun... but now it feels like it's not mine anymore. It's everyone else's." He glanced at you, his eyes softening. "And I don't want that for you either. You're caught in the middle of this mess—me, Jeonghan, the fans... all of it. It's not fair to you."

"Wonwoo..." Your voice trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

He took a step closer, his hands brushing against yours. "I'm not saying I'm giving it up forever. But right now, I want to be here for you. No distractions. No streams. Just... us."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. This wasn't the teasing, sarcastic Wonwoo you were used to. This was him, raw and unfiltered, laying it all out.

"You don't have to do that," you whispered, your throat tight. "You've worked so hard for this."

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And I'm willing to work harder for what matters more."

You stared at him, speechless. There was no witty comeback, no sarcastic quip that could deflect the sincerity of his words. All you could do was nod, the lump in your throat refusing to go away.

Jeonghan wasn't distant. If anything, he was still Jeonghan—unpredictable, frustratingly charming, and always one step ahead. But he was careful, too. He knew how to give you space without making you feel abandoned. And somehow, that was worse.

He'd still show up at work with that easygoing smile, cracking jokes like nothing had changed. But his gaze lingered longer now, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

So when he showed up unannounced one night, leaning against your doorway with his hands in his pockets, it shouldn't have surprised you. But it did.

"Jeonghan?" you asked, blinking.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Expecting someone else?"

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. "What do you want?"

He walked in like he owned the place, his usual air of confidence making your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

"I've been thinking," he said, his tone light, but there was an edge to it. "About us."

You froze. "Jeonghan, I don't think—"

He cut you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Relax. I'm not here to pick a fight. I just..." He trailed off, his expression softening as he looked at you. "I just want to understand."

"Understand what?" you asked quietly.

"This," he said, gesturing between you. "You and me. You and Wonwoo. You're acting like you have to choose, but... I don't think you even know what you want."

His words stung because they were true.

"Jeonghan, it's not that simple," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It never is," he replied, stepping closer. "But I'm not going anywhere. I need you to know that. I'm here, whether you figure this out tomorrow, next week, or next year."

You stared at him, your chest tightening. "Why?"

He smiled then, that infuriatingly calm smile that made you want to scream and melt at the same time. "Because you're worth it."

His words hung between you, and for a moment, the world stopped. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. But Jeonghan didn't seem to mind. He just stood there, his presence a steady reminder that, no matter how messy things got, he wasn't giving up on you.

Not yet.

You weren't expecting the night to spiral the way it did. It started innocently enough—Seungkwan coaxed you into coming over with promises of a chill evening filled with karaoke and snacks, just like old times. But somewhere between the third glass of wine and a round of ill-advised shots, everything unraveled.

Seungkwan was tipsy but still his usual lively self, cracking jokes and commanding the mic. Hoshi, however, stayed seated off to the side, his eyes flicking to you every now and then with a quiet, worried intensity.

It wasn't like you to let loose this much. And Seungkwan wasn't one to miss the signs.

"Y/N," he called, his voice cutting through the haze of music and laughter. It was softer than usual, more serious. "What's going on? You've been... off lately. Talk to me."

You blinked at him, the alcohol buzzing in your veins making everything feel surreal. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"I'm falling apart, Seungkwan," you said, laughing bitterly. "And I don't think you even know half of it."

That got his attention. He leaned forward, setting his drink down as his playful expression melted into concern. "Then tell me," he urged. "We're not letting you sit there and spiral alone."

You hesitated, but the weight you'd been carrying was too much to hold back anymore.

"It's them," you admitted, your voice trembling. "Jeonghan and Wonwoo. One minute they act like I'm nothing, and the next, it's like I'm their whole world. I don't know how to keep up. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Seungkwan frowned, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. Hoshi, who had been silent until now, leaned in slightly, his sharp gaze softening.

"Then why are you letting them do this to you?" Seungkwan asked gently.

"I'm not letting them," you shot back, though your voice cracked. "I don't know how to stop it. I don't know if I even want to stop it. I—" You paused, shaking your head as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. "I love them both. And it's tearing me apart."

The room fell into a heavy silence, save for the faint hum of the karaoke machine. Seungkwan exchanged a quick look with Hoshi, one of those unspoken conversations that only close friends could have.

"Alright," Seungkwan said, breaking the quiet. "Let's settle this."

You blinked at him, confused. "Settle what?"

"Let's see who actually cares," he said, pulling out his phone. "I'll call Jeonghan. Hoshi can text Wonwoo. We'll see who shows up first. No excuses, no games."

"What?" You stared at him, horrified. "You're not seriously going to—"

"Oh, I absolutely am," he interrupted with a smirk, though his eyes held an edge of seriousness. "If they're worth your time, they'll come. And if they don't? Well, then you have your answer."

Before you could protest, Seungkwan had already pressed dial, and Hoshi was tapping away on his phone. Your stomach churned, the weight of what they were doing sinking in.

The ten minutes that followed felt like an eternity. The alcohol in your system dulled the edges of your anxiety, but it couldn't erase it. And then, the doorbell rang.

Seungkwan's face lit up with mischief as he sprang to his feet. "Contestant number one," he announced, heading for the door.

When he opened it, Jeonghan was standing there, his expression unreadable. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and something flickered in his gaze—concern, maybe even guilt. He stepped inside without a word.

"Y/N," he said quietly, crossing the room to crouch in front of you. "What happened?"

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm fine," you mumbled, though your voice betrayed you.

"You're not," he said, his tone softer now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Talk to me."

Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again.

Hoshi grinned as he glanced at his phone. "Wonwoo," he said simply.

When Wonwoo stepped inside, his gaze immediately found yours. His brow furrowed as he took in your tear-streaked face and Jeonghan's presence by your side. The tension in the room thickened.

"I'm here," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. "Are you okay?"

Jeonghan rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate as he turned to face Wonwoo. The air between them crackled with unspoken rivalry.

"She's fine," Jeonghan said coolly, though the way he hovered near you said otherwise.

Wonwoo's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Y/N, what's going on? Why are you like this?"

The weight of their stares was too much. You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you finally broke. "Because I love you both, okay? And I don't know what to do about it!"

The room fell deathly silent.

Jeonghan's usually composed demeanor faltered, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Wonwoo, on the other hand, looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I didn't want this," you continued, your voice trembling. "I didn't want to fall for both of you, but I did. And now I'm stuck. I don't know how to choose, and I'm scared—scared that if I pick one of you, I'll lose the other forever."

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N..." he began, but his voice trailed off. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.

Wonwoo stepped closer, his expression softening as he crouched beside you. "You don't have to figure this out tonight," he said quietly. "But you can't keep tearing yourself apart over this. Let us help you."

You looked between them, your heart aching. You wanted to believe his words, but deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

Seungkwan and Hoshi stood off to the side, watching silently. For once, even Seungkwan didn't have a joke to lighten the mood.

The night had started with laughter, but it ended with a truth none of you were ready to face.

After the bombshell of your drunken confession, a heavy silence settles over the room, stretching between you, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo. Seungkwan and Hoshi exchange uneasy glances, clearly sensing the gravity of the situation, but they wisely retreat, leaving the three of you alone to navigate the emotional fallout. The weight of your words lingers in the air like a storm cloud, thick and impossible to ignore.

You're not sure when the idea began to form in your mind. Perhaps it's the alcohol still coursing through your veins, or maybe it's the stark realization that you can't choose. You can't bear the thought of losing either Jeonghan or Wonwoo—not now, not ever. Deep down, your heart knows what you've been avoiding all along: it doesn't have to be just one.

Despite the tension crackling between the three of you, you somehow end up outside in the cool night air. Jeonghan leans casually against his car, his eyes closed as he takes a slow, measured breath. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in quiet thought. None of you speak at first, the silence stretching painfully long.

It's Wonwoo who finally breaks it, his voice quieter than usual but firm. "We need to figure this out."

Jeonghan's eyes flicker open, locking onto Wonwoo's. There's something unreadable in his gaze—hesitation, confusion, maybe even anger. But there's also a flicker of something dangerous, something bold. "I agree," Jeonghan says evenly. "But we're not treating this like a game."

Wonwoo's lips twitch into a smirk, though it carries a dark edge. "So what, then? We leave her alone to figure it out on her own? Pretend like none of this matters?"

Jeonghan's jaw tightens, and his voice sharpens. "That's not what I said. But I'm not rushing into something that could hurt her even more. She's confused—"

You take a step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm not confused," you interject, your voice trembling but resolute. "I'm scared. But I know what I want."

Both men turn to you, their gazes intense, waiting. The words catch in your throat, but you force them out. "I want you both. I can't pick. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Jeonghan pushes off the car, exhaling sharply. He glances at Wonwoo, a hint of disbelief coloring his features. "So, what now? Are you seriously suggesting we share her?"

Wonwoo doesn't flinch. "Why not?" he says simply. "You and I both care about her. She's not some prize to fight over, Jeonghan. She's part of both our lives, and we've been acting like we don't know it."

Jeonghan stares at him, his expression shifting from shock to something more thoughtful. A humorless chuckle escapes him. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Wonwoo's gaze doesn't waver. "I've been serious for a while. We've been dancing around this, and I'm tired of pretending. She wants us both, and I'm not going to act like that's not real."

For a moment, Jeonghan says nothing, his attention drifting to you. His gaze softens, though his words remain cautious. "This isn't how I imagined things... but maybe you're right. It's messy, but what choice do we have?"

The tentative understanding between the two men feels fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. But it's there, and for the first time, the tension seems to ease.

Jeonghan turns to you fully, his eyes sharp but tinged with vulnerability. "You really want this? Both of us?"

You nod, your voice steady despite the whirlwind inside you. "Yes. I know it's not fair, and it's not simple, but I want both of you. I can't choose. I won't."

Wonwoo steps closer, his voice dropping lower. "Then we need to make this work, but it has to be real. No more games, Y/N. No lies. We have to be honest with each other, all of us."

Jeonghan joins him, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence. "This isn't some fantasy," he says, his tone serious. "It's not going to be perfect. But if we're doing this, we're all in. No second-guessing, no turning back."

You swallow hard but nod. Relief washes over you, mingled with fear and hope. "I'm in this with you both. But I need to know... that you're both okay with this. That you're not doing it because you feel sorry for me."

Jeonghan's lips curve into a faint smirk, his familiar teasing edge returning. "What do you think, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo's gaze doesn't waver as he looks at you, his expression dark and unreadable. "I'm in," he says softly. "For you, Y/N. I'm all in."

Jeonghan places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm yet gentle. "Then we'll figure this out together. It won't be easy, but we'll make it work. Just... no more running, alright?"

You nod, tears pricking your eyes as a strange, fragile hope takes root in your chest. This wasn't what you had expected, but somehow, it feels like the start of something real—messy, complicated, and raw, but undeniably yours.

You wake up groggy but surprisingly refreshed. The events of last night come rushing back, and you half expect to be greeted with awkward silence or heavy stares. But instead, when you shuffle into the living room, still in Seungkwan's borrowed sweatshirt, you're met with the smell of coffee and the sight of Jeonghan and Wonwoo quietly talking.

Jeonghan looks up first, his smile soft but mischievous. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Wonwoo snorts, sliding a cup of coffee across the table toward you. "You were out like a light. We almost thought you'd never wake up."

You groan, plopping down onto the couch and cradling the mug. "Don't remind me. I'm never drinking that much again."

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "You say that every time, though."

You shoot him a look but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Shut up, Hannie."

Wonwoo leans back in his seat, his expression softer than usual. "We should talk," he says, his tone calm but sincere.

Your stomach flips, but before you can spiral into panic, Jeonghan chimes in, his voice surprisingly light. "Don't worry, no drama this time. We just want to make sure we're all... on the same page."

You nod slowly, taking a sip of your coffee to buy yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. "Okay," you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Wonwoo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We meant what we said last night. About making this work. But we also realized..." He hesitates, glancing at Jeonghan for support.

Jeonghan picks up where he left off, his voice unusually gentle. "We realized we haven't been making things any easier for you. If anything, we've been selfish—fighting over you instead of being there for you. And we want to change that."

You blink, your chest tightening at their words. "I... I don't know what to say," you admit.

Jeonghan smiles, that familiar spark of teasing returning to his eyes. "You don't have to say anything. Just... maybe don't get drunk and confess your love for us in front of Seungkwan and Hoshi again."

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Wonwoo chuckles quietly. "Oh my god, I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Absolutely not," Jeonghan says, his grin widening.

Wonwoo's expression softens again, his voice lowering. "But seriously... we're here for you. No matter what."

You peek out from behind your hands, meeting their gazes. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension is gone, replaced by something lighter. Something warmer.

And as the three of you sit there, laughing and teasing like old times, you can't help but feel a flicker of hope. It's not going to be easy, but maybe—just maybe—you can make this work after all.

It started innocently enough. Or so you thought.

When Seungkwan invited you over for a "relaxing game night," you foolishly believed him. Of course, he conveniently forgot to mention that Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon would also be there. By the time you arrived at his place, Hoshi was already setting up snacks, and the two men you were desperately trying not to think about were seated on opposite sides of the couch, a safe but glaringly obvious distance apart. Mingyu was lounging on the armchair, flipping through a magazine with the kind of carefree attitude only he could pull off. And Vernon? Well, he was eating snacks in the corner, casually looking like he had nothing to do with the chaos about to unfold.

"Ah, you're here!" Seungkwan beamed, practically dragging you inside. "Now the fun can really start."

You hesitated at the doorway, your gaze flickering between Jeonghan's easy smile and Wonwoo's quiet nod of acknowledgment. Something about their presence together felt... combustible, but you pushed the thought aside. You were here to have fun. Totally chill, non-dramatic fun. Right?

"Sit, sit!" Seungkwan ushered you onto the couch—right in the middle of Jeonghan and Wonwoo. You froze, hyperaware of how close their knees were to brushing yours.

Mingyu, sensing the awkward energy in the room, chimed in from his chair. "If you need a distraction, I've got a full buffet of snacks over here."

You gave him a grateful look, but it didn't help. You were already sitting too close to the two men who made your heart race in completely different ways.

Hoshi, sensing the awkward energy in the room, clapped his hands together. "Alright, first game: Charades!"

Charades started out harmless enough, with Hoshi miming a bird and Seungkwan pretending to be a dramatic fainting prince. But then Seungkwan upped the ante.

"Jeonghan, your turn!" he said, his grin far too mischievous for comfort. He handed Jeonghan a card, and you watched as the older man's eyes lit up with amusement.

Jeonghan stood, rolling his shoulders like an actor preparing for a big scene. Then he got down on one knee, placed a hand over his chest, and—with exaggerated flair—pretended to confess his love.

The room erupted in laughter, but your face burned as Jeonghan's gaze lingered on you just a second too long. "Did I nail it?" he asked, smirking as he returned to his seat.

"A little too convincing," Hoshi teased, elbowing you. "What do you think?"

You sputtered, "I-I mean, it was fine!"

Mingyu looked entirely too entertained. "Yeah, I think Jeonghan might've just volunteered for 'Best Actor.'"

Wonwoo, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. "Fine? I think he overdid it."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "Overdid it? Or are you just jealous you didn't get the card?"

"Jealous?" Wonwoo scoffed, leaning back with an infuriatingly calm expression. "Not really my style."

Vernon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, jumped in from his snack corner. "Oh, please. We all know Jeonghan would do anything for the spotlight."

Seungkwan clapped his hands before things could escalate further. "Okay, okay! Next round! Wonwoo, you're up!"

If Jeonghan's over-the-top confession wasn't bad enough, Seungkwan somehow convinced Wonwoo to serenade the group during Truth or Dare. And not just any song. A love song.

"Oh, come on," Wonwoo protested, but Seungkwan's relentless enthusiasm won out. Grumbling, Wonwoo picked up Hoshi's acoustic guitar and strummed a few hesitant chords before starting to sing. His voice, low and rich, filled the room, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine.

It was intimate, almost too much, as if the song was meant for you and you alone. By the time he finished, the room was dead silent.

"Well, damn," Jeonghan finally said, breaking the tension with a low whistle. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Vernon leaned in and whispered to Mingyu, "What do you think? Do we need to hire him for the next concert?"

Mingyu grinned. "I vote yes. But only if I get backup dancer status."

Wonwoo shrugged, his gaze flicking to you briefly before he set the guitar down. "It's just a song."

Just a song, sure. But the way your heart was pounding said otherwise.

The night wore on, filled with more games and Seungkwan's relentless teasing. But the final blow came when Seungkwan, clearly buzzed on soda and his own chaos, leaned forward and grinned wickedly.

"So," he said, his tone far too casual, "who's the better kisser? Jeonghan or Wonwoo?"

You choked on your drink, coughing violently as Hoshi burst out laughing. "Seungkwan, what the hell?!"

Jeonghan's eyes sparkled with amusement, while Wonwoo's expression darkened. "Really, Seungkwan?"

"What? It's a valid question!" Seungkwan said, feigning innocence. "We're all friends here, right?"

You buried your face in your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. "I am not answering that."

Jeonghan, ever the instigator, leaned closer. "You don't have to say it. I think we all know the answer."

Wonwoo's jaw tightened. "Do we? Because I'm pretty sure we don't."

Vernon, with his usual deadpan humor, spoke up. "Honestly, I think everyone just needs a cold shower."

Mingyu practically snorted from his chair. "You're not wrong, man."

Hoshi, practically in tears from laughing, waved his hands. "Okay, okay! Let's call it a night before someone actually dies."

You groaned, vowing to never let Seungkwan plan anything ever again. But as you glanced between Jeonghan and Wonwoo, both of whom were now glaring at each other, you couldn't help but wonder: how the hell did your life get this complicated?

That evening, after everyone had left you alone with both Jeonghan and Wonwoo, the atmosphere shifts. It's quieter, more intimate, as the three of you settle on the couch. You're sandwiched between them, their presence comforting but charged with unspoken tension.

Jeonghan's hand brushes against yours, his fingers lingering before he takes your hand fully. You glance up, meeting his eyes. They're soft but searching, as if he's trying to read every thought running through your mind.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches, but you nod. His lips are warm and familiar, moving against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. When he pulls back, you're left staring at him, your thoughts a whirlwind.

Then, you feel Wonwoo's hand on your back, steady and grounding. You turn to him, and his gaze holds a quiet intensity. He doesn't ask, but his hesitation is clear, giving you the choice. When you lean toward him, his lips meet yours in a kiss that's different but no less meaningful. It's slower, deeper, like he's pouring every unspoken word into it.

When you pull back, you realize you're holding both their hands. The moment is electric, filled with a newfound understanding. They're not competing anymore. Instead, they're focused entirely on you.

Jeonghan's arms are steady as he lifts you off the sofa, cradling you effortlessly. His gaze never leaves yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes as he carries you toward the bedroom. You barely notice Wonwoo following behind until you feel his hands on you, tugging at the hem of your shirt as soon as Jeonghan sets you down on the edge of the bed.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan murmurs, his tone half a warning and half amusement, but he doesn't stop him.

Wonwoo works with quiet precision, pulling your shirt over your head in one swift motion, leaving you bare to their hungry eyes. You shiver under the weight of their attention, but before you can feel self-conscious, Jeonghan is there, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your lips.

"You're perfect," he whispers against your mouth, his voice low and reverent, as if every word is a vow.

Wonwoo's hands glide over your shoulders, down your sides, his touch firmer, more deliberate. His lips trail along your neck, sending a jolt of heat through your body. "You're ours," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and possessive, making your pulse race.

Jeonghan pulls back just enough to catch your dazed expression, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Do you want this?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with a raw need.

You nod, breathless, your hands finding their way to Jeonghan's hair and Wonwoo's arm, pulling them closer. "Yes," you manage to say, the word barely above a whisper, but it's all they need.

Jeonghan smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips, before he leans in again, kissing you deeply. Meanwhile, Wonwoo's hands make quick work of the waistband of your pants, sliding them down with agonizing slowness, his fingertips leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The bed dips as Jeonghan pushes you gently back, his lips never leaving yours, while Wonwoo's hands and lips continue their exploration. Every touch, every kiss is unhurried, as if they're taking their time memorizing every inch of you.

"You're stunning," Wonwoo murmurs, his voice thick with admiration, as he shifts to press kisses lower, his hands spreading warmth wherever they touch.

Jeonghan's hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, drawing a gasp from your lips. "She's perfect," Jeonghan agrees, his voice soft but filled with awe as he glances at Wonwoo, a rare moment of unity passing between them.

Wonwoo was already eating you out, Jeonghan swallowing every moan coming out from those pretty lips of yours. Wonwoo's tongue entered you and it made you arche your back just a little until Jeonghan puts you in place. You were practically breathless as Jeonghan's lips travel to your neck to leave more marks on you.

Never in your life would you have expected such an outcome like this. But before you could even process anything, Wonwoo was overstimulating you. You squirmed, but Jeonghan made sure to keep you in place.

"W- wait..." You cried out as you squirt for the second time. But Wonwoo doesn't stop. Your head fell on the pillow behind you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you whine and whimper.

They work in tandem, their movements coordinated and seamless, as if they've silently agreed to worship every part of you together. Jeonghan's lips claim yours again, his kiss slow and consuming, while Wonwoo's mouth and hands draw moans from you, the tension in the room thick and electric.

When Wonwoo finally pulls away from your soaked cunt, he puts his fingers in before you can even have any time to catch your breath. Jeonghan pulls away and watches the younger mess you up and do all the work. With your swollen lips, messy hair, and having Wonwoo mess you up was quite the sight for him. He wouldn't imagine anyone else do you like this, but why is he rock hard on seeing you in a state like this.

Wonwoo wasn't very different from Jeonghan, you looked too hot and pretty being all vulnerable for them like this. It makes him want to give the whole world to you.

You pant as Wonwoo's fingers enter you in and out fast, Jeonghan smirks beside you, holding your hands and watching your every reaction. It didn't matter if you looked pathetic being watched, it was this moment that had you distracted from everything.

Wonwoo was first to have his dick inside of your cunt, with your back facing him, whimpering as he humps himself into you. You were arched down on the bed, Jeonghan's thumb grazed your lips as you opened your mouth for him. He slowly shoves his cock in you until it reached your throat, almost making you gag, but with Wonwoo's hard thrusts behind you, your moans vibrated on Jeonghan's cock, making him grunt to the feeling.

"Shit... She's fucking... Tight.." Wonwoo grunts as he feels your pussy clench around his cock. Jeonghan has his hand through your soft flocks, guiding your head, having you bob over him.

"Are you gonna cum?" Jeonghan manages to let out. Wonwoo huffed, muttered a messy 'yes' as he blows a one final thrust before cumming, painting your walls beautifully with his hot load mixing with yours.

Jeonghan follows right after, cumming into your mouth. You swallowed everything before falling down onto the bed, covering yourself up with the blanket nearby. Jeonghan holds his hand out to your head, brushing your hair with his fingers while Wonwoo grabbed a wet towel nearby.

The older tugged at the blanket you were holding but you were holding onto it too tight as if your life had depended on it. "Oh come on, princess, come out, we'll just clean you up."

Wonwoo smiled before sitting at your side. "Are you alright, Y/N?" It's his tone that made you want to be eaten by the bed right then and there.

You shifted, catching your breath before replying a stubborn "I'll clean myself."

Jeonghan sighs softly, brushing his fingers through your hair, his touch featherlight as he watches you bury your face in the pillow. "Alright, princess, take your time," he murmurs, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments ago. He doesn't push you, instead shifting to sit beside you while Wonwoo presses a damp towel against your shoulder, the warmth grounding you.

The silence between the three of you feels comfortable now, no longer heavy with hesitation. Wonwoo leans down, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers, "We'll take care of you. You don't have to do anything else."

His words, so quiet and sincere, stir something deep inside you. Slowly, you loosen your grip on the blanket, letting it slip down as Jeonghan and Wonwoo exchange soft smiles. They aren't in a hurry—there's no rush to shatter the fragile, vulnerable intimacy that lingers in the room.

Jeonghan is the first to move, his hands gently guiding you to sit up. He wraps the blanket loosely around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth before leaning in to press his lips to your forehead. "You're beautiful like this," he whispers, his eyes soft and tender as they meet yours.

Wonwoo nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving your face. "We'll make this night unforgettable for you," he promises, his voice steady and full of conviction.

They take their time, helping you clean up and settle against the pillows before climbing into bed on either side of you. Jeonghan props himself up on one elbow, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, while Wonwoo presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his warmth seeping into you.

"I think we broke her," Jeonghan teases lightly, his voice tinged with humor as he nudges you gently. The corners of his mouth curve into a smirk, but his eyes remain soft, a quiet adoration evident in his expression.

You manage a small laugh, the sound easing the tension in your chest. "You think?" you reply, your voice hoarse but laced with a teasing edge.

Wonwoo chuckles, his fingers finding yours and lacing them together. "Maybe we should slow down," he says, his tone warm and full of affection.

But Jeonghan shakes his head, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath against your cheek. "Not unless she tells us to," he murmurs, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth in a ghost of a kiss.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest, but not in a suffocating way. It's grounding, like they're anchoring you to them. You nod slowly, meeting their eyes. "I don't want this to end," you admit, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

Wonwoo smiles, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It won't," he promises softly.

Jeonghan presses a kiss to your temple, his voice a low murmur against your skin. "Then let us show you just how much you mean to us."

The night unfolds in a blur of soft whispers and lingering touches, their movements unhurried, as if they're memorizing every detail of this moment. There's no rush, no urgency—only the quiet, steady rhythm of shared breaths and the warmth of their bodies pressed against yours.

They take turns holding you, their touches soothing and reverent, as if you're something precious, too delicate to be rushed. Jeonghan's lips trace over your collarbone, his hands warm against your skin, while Wonwoo's fingers weave through your hair, his voice low and steady as he murmurs sweet nothings that make your heart ache in the best way.

Hours pass, but it doesn't feel like enough. By the time exhaustion pulls at you, your body relaxed and your mind hazy, you're nestled between them, their arms wrapped protectively around you. Jeonghan presses a kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. "Sleep, princess," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the room.

Wonwoo's hand rests over yours, his thumb brushing idly against your skin. "We're not going anywhere," he promises, his voice a soothing balm that eases you into sleep.

As you drift off, cocooned in their warmth, you realize that something has shifted—not just between them, but within you. There's no going back, but in this moment, you're not sure you'd want to.

The faint sound of keyboard clicks filled the cozy apartment, punctuated by the occasional hum of the game loading screen. You sat cross-legged on the couch, cradling a mug of tea as you watched Wonwoo focus intently on his monitor. His glasses rested low on his nose, and his hoodie sleeves were slightly pushed up, revealing the veins in his arms.

“Are you almost done?” you asked, your voice soft but impatient.

Wonwoo smirked without looking back. “Five minutes. I’m almost at the save point.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the cushions. “You’ve been ‘almost done’ for the last twenty minutes. If you’d told me this was going to turn into a date with your PC, I’d have stayed home.”

That earned a laugh from him, low and warm. “You are home,” he countered. “And besides, I remember someone saying they like watching me play.”

“I said I like playing with you,” you shot back. “Not being the third wheel to your Overwatch teammates.”

His head turned, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. “You know I can’t stream you. You’re too competitive. They’d think I was getting bullied live.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it mid-air, laughing as he finally shut his game down. Wonwoo stretched, his movements unhurried as he made his way to the couch. He slouched beside you, his head resting on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You want to play?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“No,” you replied, setting your mug down. “I want your undivided attention, gamer boy.”

“Undivided, huh?” He chuckled and shifted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. “You’re demanding tonight.”

“I get you for six hours tops,” you teased, though there was no bite in your tone. “I have to make the most of it before Jeonghan steals me away again tomorrow.”

Wonwoo’s smile softened at the mention of Jeonghan, but there was no jealousy in his eyes—just a quiet understanding. “That’s fair,” he murmured. “But for now, I’m not letting you go.”

The next morning, Jeonghan was already dressed and sipping his coffee when you arrived at his office. He glanced up from his phone, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

“You’re late,” he said, setting the phone down.

“I’m on time,” you corrected, placing the takeout bag on his desk. “And I brought breakfast, so maybe don’t start the day with complaints.”

Jeonghan opened the bag, his eyebrows raising at the sight of the pastries. “Fancy. Did Wonwoo pick these out?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s his favorite bakery,” Jeonghan replied with a shrug, biting into the croissant. “He’s got good taste. I can’t fault him for that.”

The playful edge in his tone made you squint at him. “What? No snarky comment about me spending the night there?”

“Why would I?” He leaned back in his chair, a casual air about him. “I got you all day. I’m not greedy.”

You raised a skeptical brow. “Not greedy? You called me three times yesterday to ‘check in.’”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, unrepentant. “What can I say? I miss you when you’re gone.” He reached across the desk, his fingers brushing yours. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Later that evening, as you headed home, you were caught off guard by Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s playful conversation in the group chat.

Jeonghan: She didn’t text me back last night, so I assume you hogged her attention? Wonwoo: You got her all day. Don’t be greedy, hyung. Jeonghan: Touché. But I did buy her coffee yesterday. So, you owe me. Wonwoo: I’ll send you my leftover ramen.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you read their messages. Despite their differences, there was an unspoken balance between the three of you—a connection that somehow worked without tipping into chaos

The hum of Jeonghan’s suitcase wheels rolling across the marble floor broke the silence in the apartment. He paused at the doorway, turning back to you with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” he asked, adjusting the cuff of his blazer with meticulous care. His tone was calm, almost nonchalant, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed his unease.

You crossed the room to him, your hands deftly straightening his tie. “I’ll be fine, Jeonghan. It’s just a couple of days. Plus, Wonwoo’s around, so I won’t be lonely.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, though his gaze lingered on yours. “I’m not worried about that,” he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of you before the distance set in. “I just hate leaving when things are good.”

“You act like you’re gone for months.” You smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but the look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Sometimes a few days is enough to miss what matters,” he replied softly. His words hung in the air, laced with meaning.

Your smile faltered for a moment before you pressed a kiss to his cheek, grounding the moment. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on your meetings, and I’ll focus on making sure Wonwoo doesn’t eat ramen every night.”

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, the crease in his brow finally easing. “Good luck with that. He’s stubborn.” He rolled his suitcase toward the door but stopped one last time, turning to face you.

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m back,” he promised, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking to himself as much as to you.

“Deal,” you said, watching as the door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment felt emptier in the silence that followed, the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingering in the air. You exhaled, pressing your palm to the closed door as a bittersweet ache settled in your chest. It wasn’t unusual for Jeonghan to leave, but the gaps he left behind always felt bigger than you expected.

The sound of your phone buzzing snapped you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it off the counter, smiling when Wonwoo’s name flashed on the screen.

Wonwoo: What time should I come over? You: now. i could use some company Wonwoo: On my way. Bring snacks? You: Obviously.

Half an hour later, you were curled up on the couch, a bag of chips balanced precariously between you and Wonwoo as he flipped through movie options on the TV.

“So,” he said, settling on an action flick, “Jeonghan’s off to be CEO of the year again?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. “It’s just a couple of days.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t like being away from you. Not that I blame him.”

The casual way he said it sent a flutter through your chest, but you rolled your eyes to play it off. “You’re not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?”

Wonwoo smirked, reaching over to steal a chip. “Not my style.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the movie filling the room. But as the night wore on, you found yourself leaning into Wonwoo’s shoulder, his warmth seeping into you like a quiet reassurance.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low, “he’s lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your lips quirking into a smile. “And why’s that?”

Wonwoo glanced down at you, his dark eyes holding a glimmer of something unreadable. “Because sharing isn’t easy. But I think it’s worth it—for you.”

Your breath hitched for a second, and you quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. Wonwoo didn’t push the moment, though. He simply adjusted the blanket over your legs and went back to watching the movie, leaving you to sit with the weight of his words.

A few nights later, the soft click of keys echoed through Wonwoo’s small office. He was seated at his desk, his brows furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his monitor illuminating his sharp features. The sight of him, so absorbed in his work, was oddly comforting—and yet you couldn’t help but feel the distance it created.

Leaning against the doorway, you crossed your arms with a playful smirk. “You know, I could’ve gone home if you were going to work all night.”

Wonwoo didn’t look up right away, his fingers still typing as he replied. “And let Jeonghan win? Not a chance.”

You laughed, stepping into the room. “It’s not a competition, Wonwoo.”

Finally, he glanced up, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Maybe not for you. But he gets you all day, and now I’m stuck with deadlines. Feels like the universe is playing favorites.”

Shaking your head, you placed a steaming cup of coffee next to his keyboard. “You’ll survive,” you teased, leaning down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “But since you’re so busy, maybe I should let Jeonghan take the next night shift.”

Wonwoo groaned, his hands darting out to grab your waist before you could escape. “Not so fast,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with mischief. In one fluid motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his arms locking firmly around you.

“Wonwoo!” you gasped, startled, but a laugh bubbled out as you found yourself face-to-face with him.

His dark eyes glimmered with amusement as he tilted his head, resting his forehead against yours. “If I’m losing time to work, at least let me make the most of the time I do get.”

The warmth in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands instinctively rested on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he countered, his voice softening as his fingers traced gentle circles against your lower back.

Your cheeks warmed under his attention, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, brushing your nose against his before capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

The first touch was light, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened as his hands tightened their hold on you. He kissed you like he’d been waiting all night for this moment—slow, deliberate, and unyielding.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, earning a quiet hum of approval from him. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet hum of his computer and the warmth of his embrace.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were slightly breathless. Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you, his lips quirking into that familiar, shy smile that always made your heart flutter.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You rested your forehead against his, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “I was planning to,” you murmured, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Good,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Because Jeonghan’s already winning too much.”

You laughed softly, settling into his embrace as his arms wrapped around you securely. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he teased, the exhaustion in his expression melting away as he held you close.

For the rest of the night, neither of you mentioned work, deadlines, or Jeonghan. Instead, you stayed curled up together, savoring the quiet moments that belonged only to the two of you.

The following night, Jeonghan returned from a late meeting, his steps heavy with exhaustion. As he entered the dimly lit apartment, the sight of you curled up on the couch instantly melted away the day’s stress. A soft blanket was pulled around your shoulders, your head resting against the cushions as the faint glow of the TV flickered across your peaceful face.

For a moment, Jeonghan simply stood in the doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his briefcase still in hand. His gaze softened as he took in the scene, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

Quietly, he set his briefcase down and slipped off his jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. He walked toward you, his footsteps light, and knelt beside you. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, feather-light, as if afraid to wake you.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with affection.

Your eyes fluttered open at his touch, and a sleepy smile graced your lips. “You work too much,” you murmured, your voice groggy yet teasing. You shifted slightly, making room for him on the couch.

Jeonghan sighed as he sat down beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, his scent familiar and grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “It’s not forever,” he promised in a quiet murmur. “Just a busy week. But I’m glad you’re here. It makes coming home… easier.”

You nestled closer against his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Wonwoo said the same thing last night,” you muttered sleepily, your words muffled against him.

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. “That guy gets you all night and still complains about deadlines.”

“He doesn’t complain,” you countered with a small laugh, your hand sliding across his chest to playfully nudge him. “He just… misses me.”

Jeonghan’s arms tightened around you slightly, his voice dropping to a low, tender murmur. “So do I.” He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your skin as he added, “But seeing you happy makes it worth it. Even if it means sharing.”

You tilted your head up, your nose brushing his cheek as you gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“Sweet?” Jeonghan echoed, his lips quirking into a playful smirk. “Don’t tell Wonwoo that. He already thinks I’m too soft.”

You laughed softly, your fingers reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “I like you soft,” you murmured, leaning in to press your lips against his.

The kiss was gentle at first, slow and unhurried, but it quickly deepened as Jeonghan’s hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, his touch firm yet tender. He kissed you as if he were pouring all the words he couldn’t say into the moment—his longing, his gratitude, and the way you made him feel complete even after the longest of days.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing softly, your foreheads resting against each other. Jeonghan’s hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, your fingers squeezing his hand lightly. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Jeonghan sighed in contentment, pulling the blanket around the both of you as he leaned back against the couch. With you in his arms, the weight of the day seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, undeniable joy of having you by his side.

Despite their contrasting schedules, both Jeonghan and Wonwoo seemed to adapt effortlessly to the arrangement. When Jeonghan’s workload picked up, he would send short but thoughtful texts throughout the day to remind you he was thinking of you.

Jeonghan (text): Boardroom’s a nightmare. I hope Wonwoo’s treating you right tonight. You (reply): he ordered pizza and fell asleep halfway through the movie. typical. Jeonghan: Figures. Save the fun stuff for me when I’m back.

On the other hand, when Wonwoo was busy with work or projects, he had his own ways of showing affection. Whether it was a handwritten note on the fridge saying, “Missed you today. Eat something before your stream.” or a curated playlist of cozy tracks for your downtime, he always found a way to make you smile.

Sometimes, he’d include you in his streams—just not as Kitsunya. Instead, you’d appear off-camera or only partially revealed, sparking curiosity among his fans.

Wonwoo (on stream): “So… I have a guest tonight. She’s helping me test out this co-op game. Don’t judge her skills too harshly.” Chat: OMG IS THAT HER??? IS THAT KITSUNYA? You (off-camera, laughing): “Don’t hype me up. I’m just here to lose gracefully.” Chat: She sounds adorable! SHOW HER FACE PLS!!! Wonwoo (grinning): “Relax, guys. She’s shy. And she’s definitely not Kitsunya. Nope. Not at all.”

The stream would continue with playful banter between the two of you, while the chat exploded with speculation. You’d intentionally play poorly at the game just to hear Wonwoo’s deadpan remarks.

You: “Did I just fall into the same trap again?” Wonwoo: “Twice, actually. Impressive consistency.” You: “I’m just giving the monsters a chance.” Chat: THE CHEMISTRY OMG

Little did his fans know, the so-called “guest” was indeed Kitsunya. But neither of you confirmed it, leaving the internet buzzing with theories and fan edits of your clipped voice interactions.

And when both Jeonghan and Wonwoo were free? Those moments felt like a rare treat. Jeonghan would whisk you away for a rooftop dinner under the stars, taking his time to make you feel like the center of his world. Meanwhile, Wonwoo would spend an entire night curled up with you, teaching you how to play his favorite game—and stealing kisses whenever you "accidentally" paused.

In one particularly heart-fluttering moment, Wonwoo pulled you onto his lap mid-stream after you jokingly complained about how bad you were at his game.

You (laughing): “I give up. I’m hopeless. Just leave me here to fail in peace.” Wonwoo (pulling you closer): “Hopeless? Never. Just distracted.” His voice softened, meant only for your ears, as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

His viewers, of course, went wild.

Chat: DID HE JUST—??? WHAT IS HAPPENING??? Wonwoo (smirking at the camera): “Alright, enough distractions for tonight. Back to the game.”

Later, when the stream ended, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, his kisses slower and deeper as he murmured against your lips, “You’re my favorite player, no matter how bad you think you are.”

Jeonghan, ever the charmer, never seemed to mind the nights you spent with Wonwoo. He’d tease about it during the day when he wasn’t buried in meetings or reviewing contracts.

Jeonghan (texting): He didn’t hog you all night, did he? You need beauty sleep for our rooftop plans tomorrow. You: define “hog.” we mightve shared pizza and stayed up too late gaming Jeonghan: Tsk. I’ll forgive you this time. But only because you’re cute.

The balance wasn’t always perfect, but the unspoken understanding between the three of you made it work. For Jeonghan and Wonwoo, seeing you happy—whether laughing during a rooftop dinner or snuggled up during a co-op game—was worth every compromise.

While Jeonghan’s schedule often kept him busy, he made up for it with the most thoughtful and deliberate gestures. To him, every moment with you was an opportunity to make you feel cherished, whether it was during work or on your precious dates together.

When Jeonghan had a free afternoon, he would whisk you away from the office for lunch, insisting on a charming café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. He always pulled out your chair, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he leaned down to murmur, “Don’t tell anyone, but this is the highlight of my day.”

After a few bites, his foot would nudge yours playfully under the table, and his eyes would soften as he watched you sip your drink.

“You’ve got something here,” he’d say with a teasing smile, pointing to the corner of his lips. Before you could react, he’d reach over to gently swipe his thumb along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight. “Got it,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Jeonghan was also a master of quiet intimacy. On days when the office workload wasn’t too demanding, he’d make excuses to linger near your desk. “I just need to review this,” he’d claim, pulling up a chair beside you. But the truth was, he simply liked being close to you, sneaking glances at your face when you were focused.

Sometimes, when no one was around, he’d lean in and press a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re too pretty to be working this hard,” he’d tease, brushing your hair back with a fond smile.

When Jeonghan planned a date, it was always an event. He’d show up to your place dressed impeccably, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and press a kiss to your cheek as he handed them to you.

“For the prettiest girl I know,” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes brimming with adoration.

That evening, he’d take you to a rooftop restaurant, the city lights twinkling below as soft music played in the background. Jeonghan’s attention was wholly on you, his phone tucked away, as he leaned forward on his elbows, his gaze never leaving your face.

“Tell me everything about your day,” he’d urge, his voice warm and inviting. And when you spoke, he’d listen intently, his smile growing with every word.

At some point during dinner, he’d reach across the table to hold your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You know,” he’d begin, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I think I’m a little jealous of Wonwoo.”

You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“He gets to keep you all to himself at night,” Jeonghan murmured, his smile softening. “Meanwhile, I have to share you with the rest of the world during the day. Not very fair, is it?”

But there was no bitterness in his tone—only gentle affection and a touch of playful possessiveness.

Every now and then, when Jeonghan wasn’t swamped with meetings or traveling for work, he’d invite you over to his place for a quiet evening. Those nights felt like a bubble of warmth and safety, just the two of you curled up on the couch.

Jeonghan would insist on cooking dinner, even though his skills were… questionable at best.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked, peeking into the kitchen.

He turned to you with a wooden spoon in hand, a smudge of sauce on his cheek. “Absolutely not. You sit there and look pretty. This is my time to shine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but when dinner was finally ready, it turned out to be surprisingly delicious. Jeonghan smirked as you took a bite, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Told you I’m full of surprises.”

After dinner, he pulled you onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around both of you as he scrolled through movie options. But halfway through the film, he turned to you, his hand gently cradling your face.

“I’m not watching a single second of this,” he admitted, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “You’re too distracting.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours in a kiss so sweet and lingering it made your heart race. He pulled you closer, his hands tangling in your hair as he whispered between kisses, “You’re my favorite part of every day, you know that?”

Later, when you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, Jeonghan pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his voice soft and drowsy. “I’ll make us breakfast in the morning… or attempt to, at least.”

Jeonghan leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him until you were nestled comfortably against his chest. His hands found your waist, gently guiding you to straddle his lap.

“You look so perfect like this,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. His eyes were soft as they roamed your face, lingering on your lips. “I can’t decide if I want to kiss you or just stare at you forever.”

Your cheeks flushed, and before you could respond, Jeonghan leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours. It started sweet and slow, his hands resting gently on your waist, grounding you in the moment. But as you kissed him back, his grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer.

His fingers trailed up your back, leaving a warmth in their wake, until one hand found its way to your hair. He tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate tenderness that made your heart race.

When you pulled back slightly to catch your breath, Jeonghan’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering open. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “You make me forget about everything else—meetings, work, the world. It’s just you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, cupping his face in your hands. “Good,” you teased, running your thumb along his jawline. “You deserve a break from being Yoon Jeonghan, the ever-busy CEO.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest against your lower back, his touch warm and soothing. “And you deserve all my attention,” he murmured, kissing you again, this time with a little more urgency.

His lips moved against yours like he was savoring every second, his hands exploring your back in soft, languid strokes. When you shifted in his lap, you felt him smile against your mouth.

“Careful,” he teased, his voice playful but laced with something deeper. “You’re making it hard to focus on being a gentleman right now.”

You laughed softly, leaning back just enough to look into his eyes. “When have you ever been a gentleman?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m always a gentleman.” But the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I’ll prove it,” he said, lifting you effortlessly as he stood up.

“Jeonghan!” you squealed, clinging to his shoulders.

He carried you to the bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed before crawling in beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know I’m completely whipped for you, right?” he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate.

You smiled, burying your face in his chest. “I might have noticed.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you both settled into the comfort of each other’s presence. The kisses continued, each one sweet and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, with Jeonghan’s arms around you and his lips brushing against yours, it felt like you truly did.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of something… burning. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and followed the noise coming from the kitchen.

Jeonghan stood at the stove, wearing an apron over his pajama pants, waving a dish towel at a slightly charred pancake.

“I told you I’d make breakfast,” he said sheepishly when he noticed you. “I didn’t say it would be edible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, walking over to wrap your arms around his waist from behind. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Jeonghan turned in your arms, his smile as bright as the morning sun. “And you’re lucky I’m hopelessly in love with you,” he replied, stealing a quick kiss before you could roll your eyes at him.

Jeonghan leaned casually against the kitchen counter, phone in hand as he scrolled through his contacts. You were perched on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, flipping through a magazine, completely unaware of his plan.

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan said with a smirk as the call connected, “what are you doing tonight?”

On the other end, Wonwoo’s voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Nothing much. Just reading. Why?”

“Come over,” Jeonghan said smoothly, glancing at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve got someone here who’s been missing you.”

You looked up at him, furrowing your brows. “Who are you calling?”

Jeonghan gave you an innocent smile. “Oh, just someone who deserves to see you as much as I do.”

The knock on the door was soft, almost hesitant. Jeonghan opened it to reveal Wonwoo standing there, his usual calm demeanor masking the slight confusion on his face.

“You didn’t tell me she was here,” Wonwoo said, stepping inside and slipping off his coat.

Jeonghan smirked. “I thought I’d surprise you. Go on, she’s in the living room.”

When Wonwoo walked in, you froze for a second before your face lit up. “Wonwoo!” you said, scrambling off the couch to greet him.

He opened his arms just in time for you to crash into his chest, laughing softly as he wrapped you in a warm hug. “I missed you too,” he murmured, resting his chin on your head.

Jeonghan watched from the doorway, arms crossed and a fond smile on his lips. “Alright, don’t hog her all to yourself,” he teased, walking over to join you both.

Wonwoo chuckled, reluctantly letting you go. “I didn’t realize this was a group cuddle invitation.”

“Always is,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, pulling you back into his arms as he sat on the couch. “Now sit. We’re having a cozy night, and you’re not getting out of it.”

Oh my gosh, the perfect conclusion! Let’s make it as heart-melting as possible—soft, cozy, and full of love. 🥹 Here’s how it unfolds:

The three of you ended up tangled together on the couch, a big fluffy blanket draped over all of you. Jeonghan was leaning against the armrest with you curled up against his side, while Wonwoo sat at the other end, your legs draped over his lap.

The room was filled with quiet laughter and the occasional teasing remark. Jeonghan playfully poked at Wonwoo’s serious expression, and Wonwoo fired back with dry humor that made you giggle uncontrollably.

“Why do I feel like I’m the third wheel here?” Wonwoo teased, glancing at you and Jeonghan.

“Third wheel? Please,” Jeonghan said, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. “We’re a perfectly balanced triangle.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into a small smile. “If you say so, hyung.”

You looked between the two of them, your heart swelling with warmth. “I think it’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the love you felt for them both.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently take your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

Jeonghan leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “Couldn’t agree more.”

At some point during the night, the teasing subsided, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. Wonwoo’s hand rested on your ankle as Jeonghan’s arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, both of them relaxed and at ease.

You tilted your head up to look at Jeonghan, who met your gaze with a soft smile before leaning down to kiss you gently. The kiss was slow and tender, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

When you pulled away, you turned to Wonwoo, who was watching with a quiet intensity. He reached for you, his fingers brushing your jaw as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips were warm and firm, his touch grounding you as your heart fluttered.

Jeonghan chuckled softly when you broke the kiss. “Alright, don’t get too carried away,” he said, though there was no jealousy in his tone—just a playful fondness.

You laughed, resting your head on Jeonghan’s chest as you reached out to take Wonwoo’s hand again. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you two,” you said quietly.

“Actually,” Wonwoo said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “we’re the lucky ones.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, his lips pressing against your hair. “Yeah. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.”

And with that, the three of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other, the love you shared filling every corner of the room.

a/n: wtf !!! lol writing this, my heart actually melted. lmao this took me months to finish and i guess i can say im just overly proud of myself for reaching the conclusion. honestly, i didnt know what and how to make them all end up together (since that's what the majority wants) but i've actually done it and i've never been prouder. maybe i'm going to make a bonus chapter if you guys like it. what makes you happy makes me happy as well :].

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere

@lovrchl @codeinebelle @httpnamu-u @httpnamjoonie94 @6nadia9

@jjonghaniee @ateez-atiny380 @squishysquishjimin @jeonghaniya @thelost-soul

@foulcolorclodoaf-blog @133456789000000000000 @sunshinewonu @forsoonie @fyvubub

@soleihea @seuncheolcherrybaby @sigxx123 @hjs953012 @caratochan

@smileflawerr @indianmiss @kunfused0101 @jades-archive @i69flora

@whore-anghae @fyvubub @bemysolaces @09yyeol @kaepjjangiya

@fairyhyunggu @hophophlop @itsjustmeagurlthatsveryinlove @kddddddddddddd @wonsivq

@readingcucumber @yueqai @yangtyunhannie @butterflydemons

@yoongznme @cookiearmy

thankyou for sticking with me 'til the end. iloveyouguyss :)) <3

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btsgirlypop · 1 month ago

Text

THE NEW MANAGER

Pairing - MYG x Reader, Rockstar!Yoongi x Manager!Reader, HardDom!Yoongi x Virgin!Reader

Genre - Hardcore smut

WARNING(s) - DUBCON, NONCON, FORCED SEX, ROUGH SEX , MANIPULATION , DEGRADATION, HUMILIATION, CONTROLLING,FEAR KINK,POWERPLAY, DOMINANT/ SUBMISSIVE, SPIT KINK, CHOCKING, DRUGGING, COMPLETE SUBMISSION,DARK FUCKED UP SHIT.THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT BTS OR OUR BABY YOONGI IN ANY WAY. BOTH OF YOU ARE LEGAL IN THIS.

CONTAINS DARK THEMES!!

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

again - not edited so kindly ignore minor mistakes.

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BLURB - Fresh out of university, you landed your first job – BTS's new manager. Although most of the members were kind and welcoming, Yoongi particularly seemed to dislike you. Calling you an immature little girl, making sarcastic comments at your slightest mistake. The others tried to make you feel better, but it still hurt. Especially because, deep down, you had a big crush on him.

At the afterparty celebrating a major win, your seniors unexpectedly assign you to take a very drunk Yoongi home. A drunk yoongi was even scarier than the usual one—but to your surprise, he cooperates, even seems a bit sobered up when you both reach his apartment. He invites you in and you hesitate. But one look from him, and your feet carry you inside. Locking the door behind him, he suddenly holds your waist sniffing your hair "hmmm..... I always wanted to do that." You freeze but don't tell him no. He took you by your hands and makes you sit on the couch, offering a glass of water to calm you down, unknown to you slipping a pill inside.

You start to fell dizzy while he caresses your arm, not refusing his touches. He leans closer, his tongue licking your cheek, leaving a trail of whiskey and saliva in his wake. His other hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him as he whispers "I can feel how much you want this, baby girl, how much you need me to take control and show you your place."

"mmmm..... stop it, yoongi" you protest lightly as he pulls you towards the bedroom and throws you on the bed.

He rips open your blouse, and immediately starts squeezing and slapping your tits as he pulls your nipples. "You've got such a hot little body, don't you, baby? I bet you're just aching for me to fuck you hard and raw, to claim this tight cunt as my own personal fuck toy."

His other hand slides down under the hem of your skirt, pulling your panties up making the lace of the fabric rub against your soaking slit roughly while laughing at your weak form. Grinding your pussy in the fabric, he suddenly pushes your panties aside as he plunges his fingers into your pussy.

"Fuck.....no no please st-opp." You scream in pain.

he groans as he feels your wetness on his fingertips. "Fuck, you're soaked, you horny girl. I knew you wanted this, wanted me to bend you over and fuck you like the dumb little slut you are." He spins you around, making you lay on your stomach, and removes your skirt and panties in a single move. Removing his clothes off, he admires your naked body, beautifully spread on his bed. You feel his body crushing you with his full weight, as he teases the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

"Last chance to back out, baby doll," he taunts, knowing he never gave you a choice. "But I think we both know you're not going to. You need my cock too badly, don't you? Beg for it, you little whore. Beg me to fuck you hard and raw, to ruin this tight slutty cunt for anyone else."

Unable to move your body, you try to speak "s-toppp , stoppp it, I'm a v-irginnn, plee-ase...."

He pauses for a second, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at this new revelation as a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. "A virgin, huh? Well, well, well... looks like it's my lucky day then. I've always loved breaking in fresh, untouched pussy. You don't have to worry, babywhore. I'll make sure your first time is unforgettable....Mmmmm..... fuck, look you made my dick so hard. I'm gonna be the one to ruin you for all the other men, you filthy bitch. You'll be daddy's cumwhore for the rest of your life" He grinds his hips slowly, his hard cock sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing you. He reaches around to rub your clit furiously with his fingers as he teases your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock, as his other hand wraps around your neck.

"Beg for it, virgin slut. Beg me to take your innocence, to claim this tight little cunt as my own personal fuck hole. I want to hear you scream for my cock as I tear and breed your virgin pussy. BEG" he yells.

"Plea-see don't" you struggle to move your drugged body, trapped under his heavy weight.

Hearing your small no's, his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his cold, unhinged eyes. "You're even dumber than you look, bitch. I'm gonna fuck you, fucking dumb virgin bitch, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me. So stop fighting it and accept your fate." He slams his hips forward, burying his thick, hard cock balls-deep into your pussy in one brutal thrust. He groans, pulling himself up to look at the blood on his cock, again pushing his dick harshly in your cunt.

"Ahhhh......"

"You're mine now, baby girl," his tongue licks your spine, before biting down hard on your neck. "Ahhh....yes yes, fucking dumb slut. Look at your bleeding pussy, from now on, you're my property, you don't need to work. Ahhhh..... just focus on pleasing your daddy by being stupid little cumslut for me.....cockwarming me whenever and wherever I want.....Ahhhhh...fuck yes, whore." The obscene sounds of skin slapping drowns your painful whimpers and his grunts of pleasure.

"You want to act like a big girl, huh... baby? Then you're gonna have to take my dick like a big girl. I think you need a fucking reminder of who's really your boss, your master, your daddy, your god..... ahhhh......yes.... you stupid fucking slut" pulling your hair, he forcefully turns your head as he kisses you violently, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, plunging his tongue deep in your mouth as metallic taste fills his mouth. He pulls your mouth off, by pulling your hair, spitting bloody saliva in your mouth and again kisses you as you remain unresponsive, dominating you completely.

"Fuck, you're a stubborn little bitch, aren't you? But I like that. I like a challenge. And I'm gonna enjoy breaking my innocent fuckwhore, making you my perfect little pussy." he slams his hips violently into you, pushing your face on the bed, pushing your head with both hands.

"stop s-top please" your voice muffled and body struggling painfully.

"Stop? Now why would I do that, you little teasing whore? You've got me all worked up, stopping your tiny little slutty body in front of me since you came and I'm not gonna let you go until I breed you. Stop fighting it, you dumb cockwhore. I can feel how much your tight little cunt is loving this. Ahhhh.... Yes fuck....this whorish pussy belongs to me now." he smirks knowing that despite your protests, your body is responding to his touch.

"Mmmm.....mmmm"

"That's it, baby girl. Let go and give in to the pleasure. Stop being such a fucking prude and remember the feeling of my cock splitting your tiny smelly pussy becoming my own personal fuck hole. C'mon, be my cocksleeve, and you won't have to work a day "he says while laughing at your pathetic naked body, enjoying his cock.

"yes.... Yess.... I am your cocksleeve..... daddy" you finally surrender.

He flips you, now laying you on your back and pulls you to the edge of bed with your ankles. Without giving you a minute, he again pushes himself inside with a single hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your virgin heat, his nails scratching from your tits, to bruised hips. He bites your right nipple, pulling it with his mouth while his hand gropes your left tit. "fuck this what I like, fucking tiny little clueless bitches like you" he laughs sadistically as he slaps your cheeks and pulls you up by your nipples and dropping you again on the bed.

"Mmmmmm.....yes yes-ss, daddy-yy" you thrash your head from side to side, back arching off the bed as you push your bruised tits towards his face, trying to escape the overwhelming stimulation.

But he just chuckles darkly, his hot breath tickling your bouncing tits. "Fucking love breaking in tight little prudes like you. Where do you think you're going, baby? You're not going anywhere until I say so. I'm not done playing with my favorite cockslut yet"

"Mmmmm....." you mumble incoherently.

He touches your tits gently while pounding into you brutally..."Look at these pretty little tits, so perfect and untouched. I'm gonna enjoy marking them up, leaving my brand all over this abused creamy skin. Everyone will know you belong to me when they see my bites and bruises all over your body." he smirks cruelly, like a predator trapping you under him as he enjoys your fucked out face, still thrusting wildly.

"Fuck, this cunt is gripping me so tightly. You think you can survive out there on your own, baby doll? A pretty little thing like you, with no one to protect you?" he chuckles darkly, "answer me.... whore" His hand chocking your throat, forcing your drunk red eyes to meet his piercing gaze as he speaks possessively.

"mmmm.....mmmmm"

"You can't even speak, bitch. Look at you getting yourself fucked forcefully. You need someone like me, sweetheart. I can protect you from the scumbags out there who would love nothing more than to take advantage of a sweet, innocent thing like you."

"really??? you'd sav-ee mee????"you speak while crying, starting to lose your mind.

"Aww, there there, baby doll. Don't cry, sweetheart. Of course daddy will save you. You just need to follow daddy" he speaks tenderly while thrusting his dick like an animal, abusing your already swollen red pussy, making you feel dizzy from his continuous assault.

"Listen up, you dirty little slut," he slaps your cheeks and tits continuously, jerking you awake. "No one else will ever want a fucked-out whore like you. They'll take one look at this used up cunt and turn their noses up in disgust. Be mine, baby doll. I'll keep you safe and warm and always filled with my dick, like the perfect little cock slut you were always meant to be. Isn't that what you want, sweetheart?"

"Yes yes yes..... daddy I do. Please daddy fuck me, use me, ruin me, break me... just ple-ase don't leave me"

He spits on your tits, smearing his saliva all over your body. "That's right, scream, cry for me, you dirty little fuck doll. Let me hear those pretty little whorish cries sobs as I ruin this virgin cunt Ahhhh.....fuck fuck.... so tight for me, horny slut. Such a needy little whore, aren't you? Begging me to fuck this virgin pussy like a disgusting desperate slut you are. I fucking own this dirty used-up pussy. You're mine now, my personal fuck toy, my sex slave and I'm going to use you whenever and however I want."

He licks your tears as he traps your thrashing body tightly under his weight, not letting you escape his cock. He grabs a marker from the bedside table, and with a wicked grin, he starts to write filthy, degrading words over your limp bruised body, 'Yoongi's Fucktoy' in block letters across your collarbones, 'Slut' on the forehead and 'Cock Sleeve' in a circle around your nipples. He traces the marker down your stomach, pressing his hands over the bulge as you cry, pausing to slap your left tit hard before writing 'Whore' in bold letters across your pubic bone.

"These dirty words on your skin will be a constant reminder of who you belong to. And every time you look in the mirror, you'll remember who owns this pussy. That this body is mine to use as I see fit."

"Ye-ss yess... daddy" he senses you're in subspace, realizing that your past abuse has left you vulnerable. "Yes, that's right, baby whore. Give yourself to me completely. I'm your daddy now, I know all those other boys just wanted to use you, to fuck this slutty little pussy raw and leave you pregnant and alone. They didn't care about you, sweetheart. They only wanted to use you like a cumdump and toss you aside like trash," He realizes he can easily manipulate you when he sees the desperate hope on your ruined swollen face.

"Ahhh..... dadd-yyy pleas-ee don't leave-eee meee" you beg him, far gone in subspace.

"I'm not like those other boys, baby. Of course, I won't leave my sweet girl. But you must understand, baby doll that you brought this upon yourself. You came to me, begged me to make you my free use slut, to ruin you, to fuck you in ways you'd never been fucked before." He puts his weight on you, grinding his hips against your swollen clit as he whispers on your crying face as you try to breathe under him, confusing and manipulating you.

"You wanted this, sweetheart. You wanted to be daddy's cumwhore, to be owned, to be fucked so hard that you'd forget your own name. And now that daddy has given his dumb slut what she desperately needed, you can't blame daddy for forcing you." He sees a flicker of doubt in your face.

"but daddy....."

He slaps your face, pulling his cock out and sitting upright on the edge of bed dragging your weak body, and impaling you on his cock, thrusting upwards deep inside your pussy "You wanted this, you attention whore. Don't try to deny it. You came to me, throwing yourself at me like a bitch in heat, begging to be mounted and bred like the desperate little fuckhole you are."

You flinch, tears streaming down your face" im sor-rryyy, dadd-yy, sorr-yyy", craving your daddy's love.

He pulls you down, tightly wrapping his arms around your small body, pounding his hard dick harshly in your cheap broken cunt "You wanted to be raped, didn't you? To be used like a cheap, disposable fleshlight by a famous man like me, who would take what he wanted and leave you broken and dripping in the aftermath." He chuckles darkly, pushing you back still holding your both arms, before slapping and spitting on your face. "Well, congratulations, sweetheart. You've found your man. And now that I have you I'm going to use this tight little cunt until you can't even remember your own fucking name."

"sorr-yy daddy... I forgot everythin-gg. i'ts my faul-tt, daddy. Im sor-rry im sorr-yyy"

He looks at you with awe, realizing how lucky he is and smirks triumphantly as he realizes he has completely broken you, molding you into his perfect, obedient plaything. He kisses you brutally and you respond with the same passion.

"yes, yes, ahhhh....that's right, baby doll. It's all your fault," he snarls, mocking you as he pulls back from the kiss. Before you can even catch your breath, he brings his hand up and delivers a stinging slap to your left tit, bruising your whole body in red. He grins as he sees you flinch and cry out, cumming hard on his cock, back arching off and pushing your bruised tits towards his face, triggering his own orgasm.

"Sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry for being such a bad girl. I'm sorry for wanting to be raped by you, thank you for punishing me and making me your slave, daddy."

He pulls out of your abused cunt, smirking and looking at your destroyed face, makeup smudged, red and full of tears and his spit as he speaks mockingly. "Forgive you? Oh, baby doll, you don't get to be forgiven, not for being the filthy little slut you are. No, what you need is to be fucked, humiliated and punished, until you understand that you'll always be inferior than me. My pretty little slave."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO BE CONTINUED

Part 2 contains darker themes (more than this one)- so consider this a trigger warning

I'M NEW TO THIS SO PLEASE FOLLOW MY WATTPAD & TUMBLR ACCOUNTS!!!! WOULD LOVE TO CHAT WITH ALL OF YOU SO MSG ME!!!!!!

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sweetdreams1994 · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter One: The Final Evaluation

Summary

As a hardworking trainee, you’ve spent years pushing yourself to debut. When the final evaluation comes, you’re chosen as the sole candidate—but what you don’t realize is that your fate was already sealed. BTS, the seven men you idolized, manipulated everything to make sure you were theirs.

At first, their attention feels like a blessing to aid you as a trainee. Then, it becomes suffocating. Their possessiveness turns them against each other, each one willing to destroy the others just to have you alone.

⚠️ Content Warnings: ⚠️

Intense competition & high pressure, Verbal & emotional manipulation, Psychological stress & anxiety, Mild violence & aggression (dragged by security), Favoritism & corruption, Strong language, smut, y/n is 18+

The air in the HYBE practice room was thick with tension, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as dozens of trainees lined up against the mirrored walls. Your heart pounded as you stared at the polished wooden floor beneath your feet, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

This was it—the final evaluation.

As you watched the other trainees complete their evaluations with effortless precision, a sinking feeling of nervousness mixed with terror settled in your stomach. Months—years—of grueling training had led to this moment. The instructors stood at the front, their expressions unreadable as they flipped through their clipboards. Some of the trainees beside you whispered prayers under their breath; others stood frozen, their gazes fixed forward like soldiers awaiting judgment.

A deep voice murmured your name.

You inhaled. Then exhaled.

*This is it. Your chance to cement your dreams into reality. To prove that every sleepless night, every injury, every sacrifice—meant something. *

You stepped forward, waiting for the music to start. The moment the beat dropped, your body moved instinctively, each motion executed with precision. Your voice never wavered as it blended seamlessly with the melody. Every note, every step, every practiced smile—this was what you had trained for.

As the backtrack came to a halt, you held your final pose, a fake smile masking the storm raging in your mind. The room was silent, save for the faint scribbling of pens against paper.

Then—

“Next.”

The word was cold. Detached.

Your heart clenched, but you quickly bowed, gathered your things from the side of the training room, and hurried out.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of dark eyes lingered on your retreating figure—a quiet fixation taking root.

The next few hours passed in a haze as you sat in the trainee common area, chatting with other girls, your nerves gnawing at you like a relentless ache. Every so often, the doors to the training room would swing open, revealing girls in tears or others brimming with unshaken confidence.

One of them was Ya-rin.

She was someone you weren’t particularly fond of.

“So, Y/N,” she purred, sliding into the seat beside you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Your final performance wasn’t what I was expecting… The judges seemed so stone-faced, didn’t they?”

The words were sugar-coated, but the malice behind them was unmistakable.

Ya-rin had always been at the top. Her beauty, charm, and undeniable talent made her a favorite among both the trainers and the public. But when the cameras were off, and the facades were dropped, she was ruthless. She knew her worth and made sure everyone else did too.

She never let you forget that she was meant to debut.

And honestly, you had to admit—she wasn’t wrong.

“Everyone to the training room!”

A staff member’s voice rang through the common area, and the room shifted instantly. Conversations halted. Chairs scraped against the floor as girls rushed toward the door.

Your pulse quickened.

As you followed the crowd, you caught a glimpse of Ya-rin’s expression. For the first time, her smirk faltered.

Only ten of you remained.

You swallowed thickly, standing among the last few girls left. Despite the slight relief that you had made it this far, you refused to let your hopes rise.

Even if I don’t make it… I’ll go to university. I’ll have a normal life. I’ll be okay.

But some part of you—the part that had spent years clawing your way to this moment—knew you’d hate yourself for it.

The room stilled as the instructor stepped forward.

“This year, we are selecting one trainee for debut.”

Silence.

The air grew suffocating.

One.

That was impossible. Every evaluation had been preparing for a group debut. There were supposed to be five of you.

Not one.

The instructor glanced down at his clipboard.

“Ji-won, Hae-won, Hana, Seulgi, Jisoo, Dani, Nari, and Ye-won. Please exit the training room. You were not selected.”

A sharp inhale.

You barely registered the girls around you breaking down—tears slipping silently down their faces, whispers of disbelief filling the air.

You stood frozen, staring at the clipboard in the instructor’s hands as if you could decipher your fate through sheer willpower. Beside you, you felt Ya-rin tense.

The instructor met her gaze.

“Miss Ya-rin, you have not been selected to debut. Please exit the room.”

Your head snapped toward her.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her eyes, wide and glistening, darkened with fury.

“ARE YOU JOKING? THAT SHOULD BE ME!” she shrieked, stepping forward. “There were supposed to be five of us! I did everything you fucking asked! You pieces of shit, I swear one day you’ll get your karma, I’ll—”

A security guard grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the door as she thrashed violently, her voice rising in sheer desperation.

The other girls trickled out slowly, their silent sobs echoing in your ears.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The realization hit you like a freight train.

You were going to debut.

As a soloist.

You had won.

But how?

How had you won?

You weren’t stupid. Even though you despised Ya-rin, you knew talent when you saw it. She was supposed to debut. The way the trainers had always favored her, the way she outshined the other trainees—it didn’t make sense.

Something wasn’t right.

But who were you to question it?

You were the last one standing.

And you’d be damned if you let anyone take this from you.

#bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts ot7 #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #kpop trainee #idol au #yandere #tw stalking #kpop #bts army #chapter 1 #series

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dambaepuff · 1 year ago

Text

Morning Wood (hyung line)

☆Pairing: BTS!HyungLine x GN!Reader

☆Genre: reactions, smut

☆Warnings: male anatomy, reader’s gender/anatomy is unspecified, descriptions of sex, mature rating

☆Word count: 1.5k

☆Summary: The hyung line reacting to waking up with morning wood.

☆A/N: yabadabadoo

Kim Seokjin

Seokjin had been lying awake for what felt like hours now (it’s only been a few minutes) trying to ignore the aching hardness in his boxers

He kept on tossing and turning in bed, trying to get comfortable, but failing

All of that shuffling had awoken you, your voice startling him “What’s wrong Jin?”

He looked away from you in embarrassment, the tips of his ears turning red

He mumbled something with shame lacing his voice

You asked him to repeat himself

“I’m hard.” He mumbled again, this time a bit louder

With a smirk on your face you wasted no time and started palming him through his clothes, to which he let out a sigh of relief

Kissing and nibbling on his collarbone slowly you pulled out his cock

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better you made your way down between his legs

You laid down on your stomach, nuzzling his inner thigh

Leisurely you licked the tip of his dick, trailing teasing kisses down to the base

One of his hands came down to caress your face before tangling into your hair

He propped himself up onto his elbow so he could fully see everything you were doing to him

Pulling his underwear down a bit more you let his balls free as well

Spitting into your hand you fondled his balls while doing your best to take his entire length into your throat

Seokjin was never shy about letting you know how he feels, and lord he felt so good right now

He made no effort to contain all the lewd noises that escaped his throat

Still a bit hazy from sleep, you couldn’t find it in you to even try being neat, saliva dripping everywhere while you messily throated his dick and played with his balls

With the sounds and visuals of you choking on his cock Seokjin soon felt his entire body tense

With a lazy thrust into your throat he came hard

You did your best to swallow down everything and released him with a wet pop, tucking his dick back into his boxers and coming back up to cuddle with him

Min Yoongi

The moment he gained enough consciousness to realize what was happening he felt mortified

Not because he was ashamed of the way his body worked, but rather because it was your first time spending the night at his place and if you found out he got a boner from simply sleeping next to you, he’d have to dig his own grave on the spot

He quickly shuffled out of bed, sneaking over to the bedroom door and taking one last peek at you before leaving the room

Deciding to take a shower and clear his mind, Yoongi made his was to the bathroom

When he took of his pajamas, he looked down at his hard cock in his boxers

Unintentionally his thoughts wandered off to you, being unable to resist he brought his hand up to his bulge and lightly palmed himself through his underwear

In a swift motion he took off his last article of clothing and stepped into the shower, adjusting the heat of the water to not shock him so soon after waking up

His hand returned to his dick, this time on his bare skin

He took a step under the water, letting it flow down his body as he closed his eyes and started slowly jerking himself off

Running his other hand through his now soaked hair, he tried to imitate the way your hands would roam down his throat and chest when you’d make out

The gentle caress of your soft hands always got him so turned on and desperate, his cock twitching in his underwear each time without fail

With the steady pace on his cock and the ghost of your touch still on his skin, Yoongi could already feel his orgasm approaching

“Ah, fuck (Y/N), baby…” he groaned, hoping the running water was covering the sounds he was making

As he felt his stomach tighten he sped up his hand, his hips faintly moving up into his palm

He came with a low moan, standing there in silence for a moment before grabbing his body wash

Kim Namjoon

When he woke up in your shared bed after a wet dream with an uncomfortable tightness in his boxers he had no idea what to do

Looking over at your sleeping form he didn’t want to disturb you, so he opted for rubbing one out while you slept

He reached over into his night stand and grabbed some lube

Pulling out his hard cock he slathered a generous amount of it onto the sensitive skin

He thought of the dream he had

In it you were laying on your back, taking all of him while you whispered sweet nothings into his ear

He started off slow, just like in the dream, but soon enough he couldn’t contain himself

His hand sped up, his hips bucking up into it softly

In an effort to contain his grunts he bit onto the sleeve of his shirt, pressing his arm onto his face

When he felt you stirring by his side he froze in place, squeezing his eyes shut

After a moment of silence he determined you to be asleep and continued jerking off

His eyes remained shut, blissfully unaware of your gaze burning into his tensed form

One of your hands snuck up onto his stomach, pushing his shirt up so you could caress the soft flesh

He jolted upright at the sensation, his heart pumping wildly in his chest from both the fear and excitement of being caught

Wordlessly your hand traveled down to his cock, replacing his touch with your own

You squeezed his shaft lightly, before starting to pump him at a slower pace than he had been using previously

He humped up into your hand, trying to match your rhythm with his hips

When you started twisting your hand around him and sped up your motions he stopped trying to contain his groans and grunts

“Shit, just like that.” He mumbled, his voice deeper than usual from sleep

Once you started kissing his neck it didn’t take long for him to finish

His cum went all over your hand, messily dripping onto his lower abdomen

Going back to sleep you heard him curse as he tried to clean up

Jung Hoseok

You felt two warm hands shake you awake

Towering above you was Hoseok, his hair messy and his eyes still swollen from sleep

“What is it?” You grumbled, your voice laced with sleep

“I’m horny.” He simply responded as his hands started wondering around your body, lightly groping his favorite spots

“Lay down on your stomach.” He said as he gently guided you to turn around

Once your face was pressed against your pillow he grabbed your hips and pulled them up so your ass was pressed against his clothes erection

He pulled your pants down together with your underwear, fishing out his cock

You heard a wet noise, knowing it was him lubricating his fingers with saliva you arched your back into him

His now wet fingers came down to prod at your hole, stretching you open lightly

Letting all you muscles relax you let out a hum as the head of his cock nudged inside of you

He slowly bottomed out, letting a groan slip from his throat at the feeling of your walls around him

One of his hands groped your ass before sliding down to your lower back

He brought it back up to hold onto your hips as he began to thrust into you

Just as you were about to adjust to his dick, he sped up

You whined at the new pace, feeling his cock already abusing that one specific spot inside of you

His ruthless pace made your hole burn, the pain and pleasure mixing together making your eyes roll back

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, your fingers gripping onto your pillow for dear life

He bent down to place a kiss onto your shoulder

His head stayed resting on it

Just as he was getting close he bit down into your skin

The sensation caused an orgasm to flood through you, the twitching and squeezing of your walls pushing him over the edge es well

#bts fanfic #bts x gender neutral reader #bts x reader #bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts reactions

646 notes · View notes

forlix · 2 years ago

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

2K notes · View notes

btescape · 19 days ago

Text

Unbound X - (BTS x Reader)

↳index

T/W: Bullying, discrimination

Pairing: Reader x Taehyung, Reader x Jungkook (and a tiny bit of ot7),

A/N: This time I wanted to focus more on rumors, and what it does to 'reader'. They'll be petty, the usual school drama, but luckily there are people who have your back.

And it was also time for me to give Jungkook a little bit of attention. (next chapter you will be seeing more of him, just to remind you that Tae isn't the only LI hehe).

** Credits for line divider by strangergraphics-archive

Word count: 5774

Previous ∘•···•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•···• Next

Chapter X - Sparks and Scandals

When Wednesday evening settles in, the first stars scatter around a velvet blue sky.

By now, the Academy's corridors are silent, save for the distant sound of the dining bell fading into silence. Most students have already retreated to their dormitories, their voices barely audible through the thick, stone walls of the arena grounds. Only the stubborn and the driven remain.

And, of course, yours truly.

Driven, or stupid. The line between those is thinner than you'd like to admit.

Professor Kwon's stern voice cuts through the air. “Again.”

Your muscles are burning with fatigue, sleeves damp with sweat and a cold breeze whispers through the colonnade beyond. Despite it all, you steady your stance and plant both boots wide on the stone ground.

“Do not mistake Evocation for brute force,” Kwon continues. His hands are folded behind his back as he paces a circle around you and his worn leather gloves glow faintly beneath the arena's lanterns. “You have to will it through intent. Magic listens to thought, not to panic.”

“I'm not panicking.” You mutter under your breath, though a quiver in your voice begs to differ. A familiar heat spreads through your palms as you call the flames to life once more.

Kwon's mouth twitches in what could almost be described as amusement, though his eyes narrow. “Then stop thinking like a mercenary from the slums.” He states. Your shoulders stiffen at his words. He means no insult, you're aware of that. It's the truth.

During your training sessions, you've learned that much about him. Kwon Jiyong neither flatters nor softens his observations.

Centering your breath again, you feel the familiar pull of Evocation flutter beneath your skin. You gather the flame carefully this time, without forcing it too much.

“Focus,” Professor Kwon says. “Breathe in, then release it.”

This time, the hurl of fire that leaps from your fingertips is narrow and clean—a streak of crimson red strikes the warded dummy in its chest. The wood turns black in an instant, then collapses in on itself, leaving behind only a scorch mark and smoke twining upwards.

That receives a single nod from him. “That's better,” He acknowledges. Coming from him, that's high praise, but he leaves you no time to bask in it. “Again.”

By the time the bell chimes the late hour through the arena, you are barely able to lift your arms from the strain. The last remnants of your conjured ward quiver beneath trembling fingers. Even your thoughts feel hazy, so when Kwon finally lowers his hands, you feel relief curling through your stomach.

“That's enough for tonight,” Kwon says finally.

Slowly, you straighten. Every muscle in your body aches, the bruises appearing beneath your sleeves throb with each minor movement. The exhaustion seeps deep through your bones, and thoughts alike.

“You've made progress in only four lessons.” Kwon praises as he moves toward the center of the space and he settles his gaze on you. “But your control fractures under pressure. Especially when you are tired.”

Nodding in understanding, you resist the urge to retort. There's no point in arguing when he's right. Not when you barely manage to stand straight.

“So, you will need more than solo drills,” He adds, his voice contemplative now. His footsteps echo against the stone as he paces. “Perhaps a sparring partner. One who can challenge your instincts. Force you to refine..”

At that, you raise a brow.

A partner? Already?

You open your mouth to protest instinctively, but he cuts it off with a single flick of his fingers. “Very well, I will arrange it,” He states simply as if the matter is already sealed and there is no room for negotiation. Then, he gestures toward the door. “Rest. You're no use to me half-dead.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath while rolling your eyes. Still, you follow his instructions with an incline of your head, before you turn around and stride toward the arched exit.

As you step into the open colonnade, the cold night air bites your skin. Lanterns light the path ahead, yet they do not offer any warmth tonight. You pull your cloak tighter around your body, Kwon's words echoing through your mind.

A sparring partner.

Just what you need. Another pair of eyes to watch you struggle through barely-contained fireballs and wards that are too broad. Maybe they'd sell tickets next. You could probably fund a lunch in the Capital that way.

You are lost in that charming thought when you round one of the marble pillars and slam straight into wall of solid muscle.

You freeze mid-step. So does the figure before you.

When you finally tilt your head up to face them, you meet a pair of cold, dark brown eyes and mutter a string of curses under your breath.

What was it with this man and constantly bumping into him?

Jungkook regards you with stillness, though a different emotion stirs behind his eyes. His posture is relaxed, there are no folds in his perfectly ironed robes, but there's an unusual tension hiding beneath his polished surface.

You do not question it. Yet.

“When will you finally learn to watch where you're going?” The frustration in the tone of his voice is clear and the man doesn't wait for you to reply. “Why are you out so late?”

Resisting the urge to cross your arms under his scrutiny, you bite back the insults already laid out on your tongue. “Training.”

He raises a brow. “Alone?”

“Last time I checked, we're allowed to use the training grounds by ourselves.” You counter.

“I suppose some of us need more practice than others.” He mutters, voice deceptively mild.

You simply snort, feeling too exhausted to be properly irritated. “And some of us need better hobbies than lurking in corners of corridors. Surely you have other admirers to terrorize tonight?”

Jungkook remains quiet with his gaze locked on yours and you're unsure whether he is insulted or impressed. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head, his voice drops to a softer tone, yet it is still laced with a certain edge. “I might, but they don’t talk back nearly as much.”

“Are you saying I should feel honored?”

He exhales, almost through a scoff. “I’m saying most people know when to keep their distance.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Jeon,” you quip smoothly. “Because for someone so bothered by me, you don’t seem to do much staying away.”

That finally earn a shift in his expression. “Don't flatter yourself,” His features tighten just slightly. Then, almost as if he's turning the thought over himself, he adds quietly, “I didn’t expect you to be the type to overreach.”

Arching a brow, the weariness in your features is replaced by grim amusement. “I thought you'd already decided what type I was.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, but despite the chill it sends down your spine, you press on in a light voice. “Don't worry, I'm not foolish enough to think a few controlled flames make me your equal.”

“You've been acting otherwise.” He states, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, acting a certain way and feeling aren't always the same thing.” A sigh escapes your lips. “If it helps, I wasn't trying to impress you. Or anyone else.”

“You didn't.” He says slightly too fast.

You study his face, noticing something beneath his composure. There's unease, perhaps. Or the same frustration you can still taste in your own mouth.

He can't stop thinking about the duel, you remind yourself. Half the Academy can't. Neither can you. But tonight, it's not your problem.

“Look, Jeon.. Whatever you think of me, I know the duel didn't exactly win me any favors. Least of all with you,” His gaze sharpens at your words. “So, consider this an apology,” You say evenly, head lifting despite the nerves going through your body. “Not that I expect you to care.”

This time, the silence is longer. Jungkook's fingers move once at his sleeve and when he speaks, his voice sounds low and tense. “Don't waste your breath apologizing.”

“Consider it wasted, then.”

Something flickers in his gaze again. Then, with a deep breath, he steps back. “Don’t get used to this,” he says softly. “Or to thinking you’ve earned a place here.”

Before you can answer, he moves past you and walks away.

Your pulse hammers faster now, tension prickling beneath your skin. You force your legs to move forward, pace swift despite the ache clawing at your limbs. “Focus,” you scold yourself under your breath. “Kwon’s right—you’ve got more work ahead than dodging Elite tempers.”

Yet even as you walk and your footsteps echo through the hallway—an unwelcome thought lingers.

Who will he choose?

And worse—why does it matter?

Whilst Jungkook's figure vanishes around the corner, unseen by you, he stops his pace and mumbles, “Damn it.”

You don't remember falling asleep that night.

At some point between dragging your bruised limbs to your dormitory and collapsing face-first onto your mattress, exhaustion must have won. Fragments of restless dreams offer no memory of the night before, but when the faint chime of the morning bell echoes through the dormitory, your body responds with a protest so sharp it draws a loud groan from your throat.

Every muscle aches and your limbs feel as if they are on fire. It reminds you much of the feeling when you woke up in the infirmary after the trials. At least this time, it wasn't the result of barely surviving a fight against three creatures. Instead, there was just one. And his name is Kwon Jiyong.

When you finally force yourself upright, the blankets slip off to reveal bruises painting your arms. Lovely souvenirs from relentless training.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you wince slightly when your bare feet hit the icy floor.

Gods, you think, rolling your shoulders once and gritting your teeth at the tension burning through your joints. Kwon wasn't just training me. He was tenderizing me.

By the time you step into the corridor, pale sunlight filters through the arched windows. In the distance, the voices and footsteps of early-risers fill the hallway. You brace yourself for another long day of lectures, but something feels off far before you reach the spiraling stairwell.

It isn't the cold morning breeze nor the ache coiling through your limbs. And it isn't quite like the way you felt in the library or just before the trials.. This time it's in the way conversations dim as you pass and in the glances that linger for a moment too long.

Near the Eastern stairs, a group of students are huddled beneath a stone arch. Two girls and a boy you haven't seen before; nobles who learned from a young age how to use words like daggers. You catch fragments of their hushed conversation.

“... said she saw her with Jeon at the training grounds last night.” One of the girls say.

Ah, it never ceases to amaze how fast rumors spread in the Academy.

“Jungkook would never train with slum-borns,” The boy replies knowingly. “Unless she has found.. another way to make herself useful.”

“They say Kim Taehyung’s caught too. What’s the phrase? One foot in two beds?” Another girl chimes in. The chuckles that follows are instant.

You resist the temptation to turn around and plant a few questionable choices of words between their perfect teeth. Instead, you swallow them down.

Wonderful, you've gone up from 'slum-rat' to 'midnight amusement for Elites'.

Jimin's warnings echo in your mind. “They will come for you in ways you won’t expect. Not fire and lightning, but reputation. Doubt. They’ll whisper you out of existence if they can.”

Guess that memo made the rounds.

When you reach the classroom for Principles of Evocation, you slide into your seat well before the other students file in. This morning would be without friends, only first-years you barely know repeating whatever court of gossip flows their way.

As more students enter in groups, most of their voices dip only slightly, their eyes cutting toward you with barely concealed interest.

You ignore it, keeping your gaze fixated on the front of the room where Professor Park Jinyoung's voice rambles on about ice shaping and magical resistance. Your hands are neatly folded atop your desk. From the outside, you seem perfectly composed. From the inside? Well enough. You've had worse mornings. Worse fights. Worse company. This is merely noise.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

It doesn’t take long for someone to test your patience.

It happens when Professor Park grants the class a ten minute break— just enough for fresh ink, new parchment and petty schemes.

From the corner of your eye, you see a group of students approach.

Only when a shadow falls across your desk, do you look up. Three figures stand before you. The first girl has sleek hair dyed rose-gold, you know her as Kazuha from House Nakamura. Beside her stands Yunjin from House Huh, her hair is tied in a braid and pink stained lips are curled in cruel amusement.

The boy you do not know, he's round-faced and broad-shouldered and wears golden accessories around his neck and fingers as if he's trying to convince himself more than others that he's nobility.

“Hi there,” Huh Yunjin's honey-sweet voice drawls. “We thought we’d come congratulate you.”

Your face is blank as you look at them. “Congratulate me? For surviving class?”

Kazuha follows, “For climbing so high,” She slightly tilts her head, folding her arms across her chest. “From the slums to plaything for the Golden Boys. We were wondering how exhausting it must be for you.. juggling your new admirers.”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. “Ah, yes. My busy schedule of public duels and scandalous dates. Truly, I don’t even know how I manage.”

The boy smirks, eyes sweeping you with condescension. “No need to be modest. You've clearly mastered the art of.. persuasion.”

“Persuasion, huh?” You murmur as your elbow rests on the table and your head is propped in the palm of your hand. “Here I thought I was accepted due to my talent.. Not because of mattress diplomacy.”

Yunjin draws a sharp breath. “You’d best be careful,” She hisses now, mask slipping. “You may be a novelty now, but Elites don’t like sharing their toys. And no one likes a filthy little upstart who thinks she belongs.”

You lean back slightly, letting your gaze sweep across all three of them. “You’re right. I don’t belong to any of them,” you say softly. “Which must make it all the more frustrating for you that I got their attention without lifting a finger, while you're still badly craving it.”

Their faces tighten, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Before any of them can recover, Professor Park’s voice cuts across the room once more. “Break is over. Back to your seats.”

The trio lingers for a second longer, hatred filled in their eyes, but they move away with the rest of the class' attention as the lecture resumes.

The headache that's been threatening since this morning has finally arrived in full.

After Transmutation Theory, the final class of the day, finally ends, you trail behind the last wave of first-years exiting the classroom. Your fingers ache from taking notes, brain swimming in formulas and mass-to-mana ratios. You rub your temples frustratedly, half-wishing for a minor healing potion and half-wishing for unconsciousness.

The day has been excruciatingly long.

The worst part isn't even the schoolwork, although the assignments are piled high enough to crush any student. The worst part are the whispers that seem to fill every classroom, each corridor.

They follow you wherever you go.

If there was ever any doubt, it is gone now. Jimin was correct. Entirely, painfully correct. The nobles were coming at you with gossip and sharp tongues.

You lost count of how many times you caught eyes lingering on you, how many conversations halted mid-sentence when you passed. Some were more blatant than others—a few first-years had even smirked openly when you entered the library, no doubt already imagining themselves superior to the "slum-born necromancer clawing her way up through seduction."

Apparently, slum-born girls don’t get attention unless they’re offering something in return.

When you heard that one, you had laughed. Loud enough for those spreading it to flinch. But after the fifth time you heard it—and the seventh—you started laughing a little less. And now, as you near the Grand Hall, the edges of your composure are beginning to fray.

Once you enter, the warmth of the hall hits you in an instant— twin rows of glowing crystal chandeliers cast light across the area, their reflections shimmering faintly in the polished floor. Long rectangular tables stretch from one end of the hall to the other packed with students draped in the shades of the Academy's robes.

Every head turns to you.

Lifting your head, your steps remain even. You will not shrink; you won't give them the satisfaction.

Across the room, you find them— your friends, seated at their usual table, already halfway through dinner. Yuqi waves at you and relief crosses her face when your eyes meet hers. She gestures to the empty seat beside her and you head straight for it, ignoring the trail of whispers that follow you.

The moment you sit down, Shuhua already leans in. Her eyes are alight with familiar mischief. “So,” she begins, voice filled with curiosity. “Why does half the school think you've tamed two of the most impossible men in the Academy?”

You sigh, tipping your head back against the chair-rest. “I’d rather face Kwon again than have this conversation.”

“That bad, huh?” Soyeon asks, arching a brow.

“Worse,” you mutter. “It followed me through every single class. I couldn’t take three steps without someone assuming I’d invited Jungkook and Taehyung into my bed.”

Yuqi’s smile falters, her teasing look softening in an instant. “You know none of us believe that, right?”

Shuhua nods quickly and the playful tone in her voice disappears. “Obviously. You’re not the type to bother with that kind of nonsense. Not when you have a far more thrilling relationship with life itself.”

“Besides,” Soyeon adds, “anyone who actually knows you would laugh themselves sick at the thought of you swooning over nobles.”

Their words ease the nerves in your stomach if only slightly. You hadn't realized how much you needed to hear that. “Thank you.” you murmur softly.

Yuqi reaches out under the table, giving your wrist a quick squeeze. “Don’t let them get in your head. They’re just jealous. They can’t stand that someone like you is standing at the same level they’re so desperate to protect.”

“At least you have Taehyung on your side.” She adds with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh goddess.” you mutter.

Shuhua grins and seizes the opportunity. “He did wink at you in the market. You can’t deny that.”

“Maybe he had something in his eye.”

“Maybe you were in his eye. Like you are right now.”

You nearly choke on your water. “Stop.”

The other girls chuckle, and despite the exhale leaving you, you cannot help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

From across the room, the unmistakable presence of the Elite Table draws your attention.. You don’t mean to look—but your eyes move upward before you can stop them.

There, beneath the arched stained-glass window, five of them are seated.

Jung Hoseok is the first to come into view— the usual grin on his face is replaced by something more thoughtful. Beside him sits Min Yoongi, colder eyes than Jungkook's flicking lazily over the hall without betraying a hint of emotion. Kim Seokjin leans back with the kind of arrogance that would infuriate you if it didn't fit him so well. And Park Jimin looks the most relaxed, though there's an edge beneath his languid posture as his fingers drum lightly against the edge of his goblet.

And then there is Taehyung.

He sits slightly apart from the others, elbow propped on the table, fingers tapping a slow, idle rhythm against his chin. His eyes meet yours almost instantly—as if he’d been waiting for the chance. There’s no smirk this time.

You glance away swiftly, heart skipping once against your will.

He must have heard. He'd have to be deaf not to. And I doubt Jennie would let it rest until he did.

That thought pulls your gaze sideways—where the devil herself sits like royalty presiding over the court.

Jennie is seated upright. Her crimson lips are curved into a smile too sharp for pleasantries. Lisa lounges next to her, one boot crossed over her knee whilst her eyes are disinterested, though her lips twitch faintly at something Rose says. Jisoo's expression, as always, is carved from ice and she, too, listens to her friend speak.

Jennie's gaze lock onto yours. And if looks could kill, you'd already be sprawled across the marble table. Not the most awful way to die, you'd always expected it to be in the gutter somewhere in the Iron Quarters where nobody could find your body. Sorry. Too grim.

Forcing your eyes down to your plate, your hand curl unconsciously around the edges. The words you've repeated to yourself all day echo through your mind again—you’re stronger than this, don’t let them win. But right now, they don't sound very convincing.

You can’t do this right now.

Without another word, you shove back from the table, rising abruptly.

“Hey,” Yuqi says quickly, reaching out. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply curtly. The crack in your voice is too obvious, to your dismay. You swallow and try again. “I just need air.”

Soyeon studies your face for a short second, her usual sharp gaze softening just slightly.

“Do you need one of us to come with you?” Shuhua asks softly, all traces of teasing gone now.

You manage a thin smile—gratitude too big for words in this moment. But you shake your head lightly, turn around and leave the Grand Hall, with each step being faster than the last.

The moment the doors close behind you, the knot in your chest loosens just barely enough to let you breathe.

From the far end of the hall, crystal goblets are filled with imported wine, porcelain cutlery cuts through meals too beautiful to touch and a lazy laughter curls through the Elite table.

At the center of it all, Jennie is seated with her chin propped elegantly on her hand as she absentmindedly plays with a slice of sugared plum on her plate. Her half-lidded gaze is alert, but she doesn’t need to hear the words to recognize the shift is in her favor.

“She didn't even finish her food,” Lisa remarks, slowly swirling the goblet in her hand. “She looked like she might throw up..”

A smug smirk crosses Jennie's face. “Would you stay if every student was whispering about whose bed you crawled into last night?”

Taehyung, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet at the end of the table, finally looks up. He glances at the two girls and raises a brow in confusion. “So the rumors are true?”

“They’re rumors. Truth is optional.” Jennie muses.

Taehyung's expression doesn't change, but the tone of his voice drops. “That’s not what I asked.”

Before she can answer, Seokjin speaks up from across the table, lounging like this is just another theater play he’s barely paying attention to. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? She was seen near the practice yard with Jungkook. That’s more than enough to get people talking.”

A colder edge slips into Taehyung's gaze. “That doesn’t mean anything happened.”

“She disappeared for hours yesterday,” Rose chimes in, idly twirling a loose strand of hair around one finger. “And now both you and Jungkook are hovering. It’s not like we made it up from nothing.”

“So you're the one who started this?” Taehyung’s voice is too calm as he looks at Jennie— the kind of calm that is more threatening than raised voices would ever be.

Jennie’s shoulders stiffen. “It wasn’t just me,” she says quickly, lips pursed into a thin line. “Seokjin suggested it during morning lecture. Lisa helped spreading it through the Conservatory girls. And Yoongi…” she gestures loosely to where he sits with one arm propped against the table, only half-listening, “said it would die out in a few days.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. He lifts his glass with the same casual grace he always does and simply says, “And you'll see that I'm right.”

Lisa shrugs, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand. “You’re acting like we started a war. It’s just a few rumors. And anyway, it’s not like it will affect you.”

Taehyung just stares at them. “You made her the center of a scandal. And for what?”

Jennie scoffs lightly, though there’s a slight crack under the sound. “Don’t act like you care.. You've heard the nobles talk about it and now, all of a sudden you want to act like we personally offended you?”

“I figured it was just some petty nobles making up some dumb rumors,” Taehyung answers tightly. “Anyway, she has done nothing to deserve that, but all of you sat here, tearing her apart like she’s entertainment.”

“She’s from the slums,” Seokjin mutters, his voice laced with disdain. “And she caught the eye of two Elites. It’s laughable. This is just the world reminding her where she stands.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. “She never asked for anyone’s attention.”

Lisa lets out a soft sigh. “You don’t have to defend her, you know. You’re not the one they’re tearing down. Men never suffer the consequences for rumors such as this one. She's the only one who will get branded. You will not.”

There’s a long silence, followed by the scrape of a chair. Taehyung stands up. “This is pathetic,” he mutters. His disappointed gaze sweeps across the others. “All this power, and this is how you use it.”

Jennie straightens abruptly, voice raised. “Where are you going?”

“Away from this.” His eyes don’t turn to her. “You all sound like bored children.”

He’s gone a second later, cloak rustling softly behind him as he disappears through the doors. Jennie stares after him with her jaw clenched. Her hands, perfectly still before, are now clenched beneath the table. “He always walks away when things get inconvenient,” she says under her breath.

Lisa leans in closer, resting her arm lightly around Jennie's shoulder. “He’s just in one of his moods again,” she reassures calmly, brushing a speck of dust from Jennie’s sleeve with a flick of her fingers. “You know how he is. In a bad mood one moment, then charming the next. He’ll get over it.”

Jennie doesn’t answer. Her gaze is still fixed on the doors Taehyung disappeared through.

Seokjin exhales a long breath and reclines deeper into his chair. “Let him throw his little tantrum. He'll remember exactly why slum-born girls don't survive in our world sooner or later.”

Across from them, Jimin has been silent through the entire ordeal. Now, his gaze drifts from one speaker to the next. His fingers tap once against his goblet. His lips part slightly—as if a thought hovered—but he ended up not saying anything.

Some battles were not worth joining yet.

But Hoseok chuckles softly. He tips his goblet back with a smooth, lazy grace and sets it down. “Well,” he drawls in amusement. “whatever she may be, the girl certainly knows how to draw a room’s attention and a little chaos in this place… that I do enjoy.”

Seokjin arches a brow. “Seriously? Even you can’t charm your way out of that one, Hoseok.”

“I never said I would,” Hoseok replies, smile tilting. “But watching it unfold? I wouldn’t miss it.”

After leaving the Grand Hall, you don't head back to the dorms.

Instead, you follow the winding path between torchlit hedges and stone archways as exhaustion still tugs at your limbs. The voices are still stuck in your head; their laughter cutting in all the right places. Pity hidden behind tight smiles and side glances.. None of them dared say your name out loud.

Your fingers tighten slightly in the folds of your sleeve. You know better than to let words get under your skin. It's not the first time people have whispered nasty rumors behind your back. It's not the first time they've tried to make you feel small and shameful.

And yet, somehow, this time the hurt is worse.

You try not to hate the nobles— those born into marble towers and taught to sneer from birth, but it's difficult not to let the loathing seep in when their eyes look at you like you're mud dragged into their perfectly polished world. As if the mere idea of someone like you breathing the same air is offensive.

But then you remember Namjoon standing in that narrow alleyway in the Capital, watching over a small boy as if kindness was second nature to him. Something had changed your view then, you had been nearly hopeful.

So maybe not Namjoon..

And maybe not Taehyung either.

There’s still something about him you haven’t figured out. He had looked at you like he saw something. Whether it was curiosity or something more dangerous, you’re still uncertain. But he had never mocked you. Not like the others do when they think you're not listening. Certainly not like Jennie and Jungkook had done.

And then there’s Jimin. Cryptic Jimin. Who never says much unless he wants it to matter. You don’t know why he warned you back then, but his words echo louder now than they did when he first said them: They’ll come for you in ways you won’t expect. He wasn’t wrong, and in a way, he had prepared you for what was to come.

Still... there were other things to worry about besides petty noble drama.

The rumors hurt, yes—but they don’t curl around your ribs at night. They don’t follow you into sleep like the nightmares do.

You haven’t seen anything strange in the past few days—no flickers at the corner of your eye, no phantom footsteps behind you. But that doesn’t mean the dread is gone. You still remember the way the shadows writhed in your sleep. The burn of violet flames, a voice too ancient to belong to anything human. You remember the red gleam between the shelves in the library. That split-second of certainty that something had been watching you.

And you knew that silence doesn’t mean safety. It just means it’s waiting.

By the time you reach the Academy’s eastern wing, the world around you is quiet. Torches flicker along the marbled pillars, casting faint light through the arches. The training yard looms ahead.

Tugging your cloak tighter around you, you step inside, but the sharp crack of lightning stops you in your tracks.

The unmistakable form of Jungkook is already there and he hasn't noticed you yet.

His stance is focused, every movement he makes is deliberate and quick. His coat is discarded to the side, sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled arms and sweat gleams across his temple. You watch, unsure whether to turn away or step forward and disrupt his training, but something about the scene captivates you.

With a precise sweep of his arm, a spear materializes—conjured mid-motion—and just as it takes form, lightning coils around it in a blaze of crackling light. He twists, hurls it forward, and the weapon slams into the enchanted barrier with a thunderous snap. Energy arcs in every direction, illuminating the outline of his body in gold-blue for just a second.

You’ve seen power before. You’ve even tasted it. But this is different.

It’s beautiful.

And for a moment you forget the whispers, the rumors, the ache still tucked behind your ribs. You just watch.

Until he turns around.

His eyes lock onto yours and, for a mere second, surprise flickers across his face. It's gone as fast as it had appeared, hidden beneath the same, cold wall he always wears.

His voice cuts through the air. “Are you lost?”

Opening your mouth to say something, the words get lost in your throat. Instead, you stammer a: “I- No.. I was just..”

“What—are you following me now?”

You lift your chin slightly, though the words don’t come as fast as they usually do.

His eyes narrow at your silence, and the conjured lance disappears with a flick of his hand, leaving only a trail of smoke and a loud crackle behind.

“Well?” He prompts. “If you’ve come to gawk, don’t bother pretending it’s for training.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you finally manage to say, “I just needed some air.”

You don’t know what makes you say it.

Perhaps it's the frustration from the whispers and stares still burning in your chest. Or perhaps it's the way your hands still itch for something to fight that isn't rumor or silence. Or maybe.. it's the way he moved, each strike quick and without hesitation —like the entire world could fall apart and he’d somehow still land on his feet.

“Fight me.”

“Excuse me?”

For a moment, you hesitate whether to continue. This wasn't how you imagined saying it, if you ever did. There's no sarcasm on your tongue, no brilliant retort.

“I want to spar,” you say again, more evenly this time. “With you.”

His gaze sweeps over you once, “You want to fight me?”

There’s something in his voice that isn’t quite disbelief. More like... suspicion.

You nod sternly. “Yes.”

Jungkook lets out a scoff, dragging a hand through his hair as if the sheer absurdity of the idea irritates him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

A pause follows, one filled with tension and something that feels strangely like curiosity. He studies you as though trying to find the punchline. When he doesn’t, he lets out a sigh. “You’re not ready. What if you lose control again?”

“I won't let it get that far,” You say. “If I can't handle it, I'll surrender.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, though the expression in his face shifts slightly. “This is a waste of time.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you let your steady stance speak for you. He watches you a moment longer, then finally gives the smallest of nods.

“Fine. But don't think I'll go easy on you.”

Excitedly, you nod. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

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