#calixwrites

[here4theheartbreak]

Rest, Relaxation... And Exploration

AO3 Link Here!

Collaboration with: @i-live-so-i-love Relationships: Junkook x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5k

Tags: smut, friends to lovers, Nephilim Jungkook, monster/human Romance, mutual masturbation, handjobs, first kiss, getting together, tentacle monster, tentacles as erogenous spots

Summary: Jungkook knows that Yoongi needs a break, and wants to help him relax. He just hadn't planned on THAT kind of relaxing.

A/N: Written for @calixwrites - hope you enjoy!!

“Why are we doing this again?” Yoongi grumped, getting out of the car and squinting at the sunlight. 

Jungkook twisted and stretched as he stood up, trying to wake himself after the long drive. The day was almost warmer than he’d prefer but it was perfect for what he had planned. 

“Because you have been working too much in that tiny studio with no windows, no sunlight, and no fresh air for too long. You need some outdoor time,” Jungkook reminded him. 

“I’m allergic to sun and fresh air,” Yoongi deadpanned. 

Jungkook was used to Yoongi’s dry humor. He’d known him for years. Ever since he’d accidentally walked in on Jungkook in full Nephilim mode; all thirteen eyes and six tentacle-esque wings on display. Jungkook rarely had them out, even in private, but he’d been in a public bathroom trying to get his clothes and hair perfect for a date. And frankly, sometimes it was just easier with six extra appendages. 

He had been able to keep Yoongi from screaming and convinced him he wasn’t crazy. Originally, Jungkook had only meant to keep tabs on him so he didn’t try to run to the authorities, but somehow, he’d gotten a close friend out of it. A friend that, right now, desperately needed some fresh air and a good meal. 

“Hush and help me unpack,” Jungkook scolded.

Together they lugged it all up the stone steps in one go. (Tentacles really could be handy sometimes.) The beach house that Jungkook rented for cheap from a friend of a friend was small and tidy. One room served as the kitchen, dining room, and living room, plus a bathroom and a tiny bedroom. It would do for a night. The real benefit of the place was that it came with a quarter mile of private sandy beach. 

“I thought the point of this was to get me out of a tiny room?” Yoongi teased after they finished looking around. 

“it is. Which is why we’re going to lay out in the sun. Put some swim trunks on.” Jungkook beamed at his horrified expression. 

“I’ll burn to a crisp! We don’t all have your magical immunity to the sun, you know.”

“I packed you sunscreen. The strongest I could find. You’ll be just fine. And you get to do one your favorite things. Just with fresh air and sunlight.” 

Yoongi continued to look skeptical. Jungkook pouted. “Just give it a chance?”

Yoongi’s expression softened; Jungkook knew it would. The human couldn’t resist a good pout. 

“Fine.”

The two of them changed and made their way across the hot sand. About halfway between the house and waves Jungkook stopped.

“The perfect spot!” He announced, setting down the bag and rummaging through it. Yoongi looked around.

“What makes this spot any different than anywhere else?”

Jungkook shook a large blue and white striped towel and laid it across the sand. He flopped onto it dramatically, the ground giving a satisfying thunk at his bulk. “Because this spot has a towel.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Jungkook reached out, fishing through the bag for a second towel. He threw it to Yoongi, smirking when it smacked the other square in his grumpy face. 

Yoongi set it out, his expression decidedly softer. He settled onto the blanket and paused before kicking his sandals off and tugging his t-shirt over his head. He rolled onto his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms. He wiggled a little, making a spot for himself in the soft sand. “This isn’t so bad,” he hummed.

Jungkook tried not to stare. It’s not that he’d never seen Yoongi without his shirt on. There had been occasions over the course of their friendship where he’d spilled something on himself, or it was just somehow more convenient, but admittedly it wasn’t often. Jungkook hadn’t actually expected him to take it off. But there he was, his broad back looking far paler in the sunlight. 

They were just friends. But, that didn’t stop Jungkook from having eyes. And Yoongi was an attractive human even by human standards. Yoongi had his eyes closed; the soft curve of his lashes and the resting pout of his lips drew Jungkook’s attention next. He really, truly was achingly beautiful. 

Jungkook dug around in the bag and dropped a bottle of sunscreen next to Yoongi’s head. 

“There you go, potato chip.”

Yoongi grunted and opened his eyes. 

“Were you already half asleep?” He asked, rummaging through the bag for a snack.

“Maybe. Did you just call me a potato chip?”

Jungkook pulled a bag of actual potato chips from and popped it open. He smirked. “Yeah. You said you were going to get crispy. And you’re already plenty salty.” He tossed a few of the ships into his mouth. 

Yoongi ignored your joke and squeezed a dollop of the lotion onto his hand. He began to rub it into his arms and face methodically. It was a little unnerving to watch his features slowly be obscured by the sunblock. He glanced up at Jungkook and cocked a brow. 

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, aware he’d been caught staring in an entirely creepy way. He offered Yoongi the bag of chips in an apology. Yoongi reached for them, but paused, both his hands covered in the gloopy lotion. He shrugged and held his mouth open like a baby bird instead. With an affectionate shake of his head, Jungkook dropped a chip into his mouth. Yoongi chewed and swallowed, and demanded yet another with an open mouther. 

“Too greedy,” Jungkook scolded through a laugh, dropping another chip into his mouth. 

He was actively ignoring the fact that it felt a little coupley to be hand feeding him chips. It wasn’t that he’d never considered a romantic relationship with Yoongi. He just knew it would never happen. They both had busy lives and, not to mention, Yoongi was so far out of Jungkook’s league it was nearly laughable. So, any crush that may have tried to bloom was quickly uprooted; Jungkook valued their friendship far too much. 

After the third chip, Jungkook tossed Yoongi something to wipe his hands with. He laid back to enjoy the sun, feeling much of his stress being chased away. 

“Hey, can you do my back?” Yoongi asked, popping the bubble of relaxation Jungkook had been drifting away into. He sighed and sat up, taking the bottle from Yoongi. 

“You have such pretty markings, it’s a shame to cover them,” Jungkook commented casually as he began to rub the lotion into Yoongi’s back. The lines that arched over his shoulder blade and along his spine were nearly symmetrical. As Jungkook worked lower, he wondered what the markings further extension would look like. Humans often had more complex designs in that area, but Jungkook had never seen Yoongi’s. With how shapely Yoongi was though… Jungkook could only imagine they would be just as pleasing. 

“Huh?” Yoongi asked softly. “What markings?”

“These,” Jungkook traced one line that dipped along Yoongi’s spine, still faintly visible through the metallic speckled UV reflecting lotion. 

Yoongi squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” Jungkook asked, repeating the action. 

Yoongi grunted, wiggling away from his fingers. “I will put so much spice in dinner tonight that you won’t be able to taste anything for a month,” he threatened, laughter in his deep voice. 

“Oh fine,” Jungkook held up his hands, relenting. “Now hold still so I can finish.”

“Hey, I was holding still. You started it.”

Jungkook smiled at his pout and set back to work. Just as he finished up, Yoongi spoke again.

“Really though, what markings? Do I have scars or freckles that I don’t know about?”

“No, your stripes,” Jungkook explained hurriedly, hearing the worry in Yoongi’s voice. 

Yoongi craned his neck back to see Jungkook over his shoulder. “I don’t have stripes.” 

It was then that Jungkook remembered. “Oh! Duh. I forgot. You must not have the right ocularity to see them.” 

He was normally so careful around humans. His parents had drilled into him how important it was that people didn’t ever know about his differences. He almost never brought up the things he knew humans couldn’t see with their limited visual range. But Yoongi made him feel so normal. Aside from his initial freak out, he’d never acted like Jungkook’s abilities were anything more than a unique curiosity or a party trick. His expression now remained puzzled. Jungkook closed all but two of his eyes, limiting his vision to what a human would have. He couldn’t help but frown at the way Yoongi saw himself. It was so plain, like a rainbow in black and white for a human. Yoongi was still gorgeous, but that spark was missing. A human’s markings and colorings told Jungkook so much about them than their visible light ever could. Yoongi’s were particularly stunning from day one. 

“In your visible light spectrum, they aren’t there,” he further explained.

“Ocularity? That sounds like a word Namjoon would know. Some obscure thing.”

“It means the number of eyes you have normally. Though I suppose in this case it’s more about spectral frequency than actual number of physical eyes…”

“And in your eyes, I have stripes?” Yoongi looked down at himself, curious. “I must look so weird to you.” He laughed lightly.

“Not at all,” Jungkook said. “You’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Yoongi cocked his head and grinned. 

Jungkook could feel his cheeks heat but tried to ignore it. “Yes, beautiful. You can’t tell me you aren’t aware of how stunning you are and how many people find you attractive.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi conceded. “But I didn’t think you did.”

Jungkook’s blush deepened. He tried to ignore it, but thought his cheeks rivaled the sun’s heat at that very moment. “Anyone with eyes thinks you’re gorgeous. So yeah, that includes me. Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re an annoying troublemaker who worries his friends by overworking thought,” Jungkook stuck his tongue out and turned away, hoping Yoongi would let it go after the riff. 

“So,” Yoongi continued much to Jungkook’s disappointment, “if you have more than the usual number of eyes, and more than the usual amount of uhh… Ocularity… Does that mean you find me more than the usual amount of beautiful?”

Jungkook sighed heavily. “Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I guess. I just always thought you were good looking. I never realized you thought the same about me.” 

Jungkook scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sure the glowing eyes and tentacle wings are super sexy to a human.” Jungkook could hear the bitterness in his voice, but it had always bugged him. Any partner he’d ever had had only seen a part of him, nobody ever saw him completely, for what he truly was. They’d call him a monster. 

When Yoongi remained silent, Jungkook figured his question had been answered. But Yoongi finally responded, “it is to this human.”

Jungkook snapped his head up to look at Yoongi then laughed. There’s no way that could be true. “You’re just being nice,” Jungkook said. “I appreciate it. But… Let’s just go back to enjoying the sun, eh?” He rolled onto his back on the blanket and closed his eyes, letting his skin soak up the warm rays. 

Yoongi laid back on his stomach fully, silent for the moment. Jungkook could feel him watching him, but didn’t mind. It was a comforting feeling. 

“I’ve always wondered. Can you feel your wings like that? Aren’t they on your back?”

“I can, and they are. But they also aren’t. I can still feel them and move them. You’re used to thinking in three dimensions, as a human. But when I hide my wings or other parts of me, it’s like…” Jungkook frowned as he tried to find an analogy Yoongi would comprehend. “Like taking pants off a paper doll. They both still exist to you, but for the doll, it doesn’t have pants anymore.”

“So hiding your wings is like taking your pants off?” Yoongi chuckled. When Jungkook glanced over, Yoongi winked suggestively. Jungkook’s brows furrowed, confused about what had gotten into his friend today. “No, not really,” Jungkook sighed, opting to ignore the flirtation… If that’s what it was. “It’s not a perfect metaphor.”

“Do you keep them hidden because they’re private? Or so you don’t scare people?”

“I’m pretty sure people would run screaming or try to lock me up and do horrible tests on me if I just walked down the street with glowing tentacle wings and thirteen eyes,” Jungkook deadpanned. 

“You know I wouldn’t thought. But you still almost always keep them hidden from me too. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were private.” 

“Oh…” Jungkook pauses to consider. “I guess it’s just habit,” he finally settled on. Even home alone he rarely brought them out. Only when he needed the extra appendage to flick a light switch off across the room or carry things. There was another long pause as Jungkook thought about Yoongi’s question, and Yoongi, apparently, was thinking as well. 

“Can I see them?”

“Why so curious all of a sudden?” Jungkook asked. His tone was gentle. He sat up and wiggled his shoulders a little to pull his wings into this dimension. 

“Wow.” Yoongi sat up and looked over Jungkook’s shoulder, his eyes tracing the long, golden, glowing tentacles. They shifted subtly in his perception, never entirely free from the currents of the fourth dimension. “I forgot how beautiful they are.” His gaze darted over to Jungkook’s face and he frowned. “What about your eyes?”

Jungkook hesitated. “You sure? I mean glowy wings might be tolerable… But thirteen eyes…”

“I’m sure. I can handle it. No screaming this time.”

Jungkook chuckled a little. He scrunched his face and blinked a few times, letting every part of himself slip into this dimension. It felt nice, like releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Yoongi stared for a long minute, his gaze intense. Maybe it did feel more like taking your pants off than he thought it would. Jungkook considered hiding his eyes away again; maybe he had horrified Yoongi after all, but Yoongi seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

The pause grew to the point of awkward between them. Jungkook sighed, but opted to ignore it. He rolled onto his stomach to lie in the sun once more, wings still out. 

“Can I touch them?” Yoongi blurted out. He paused when Jungkook looked up. Jungkook could swear he was blushing. “I’m sorry, was that rude?” He asked.

“No. Not rude. Not so different from touching my arm, I guess… I don’t know, really… I don’t know a ton of other Nephilim to have some sort of reference.”

“Oh, uh, right… Sorry.”

Jungkook shrugged and sat up, facing Yoongi. Yoongi did the same. Jungkook spread the tendrils of his wings out in front of him like open hands, glancing up at Yoongi expectantly. Yoongi reached out, setting his hand on top of them. Jungkook was surprised at the sensation. It felt so strange, but not uncomfortable at all. Soothing, in a way. 

“They’re warm,” Yoongi said, surprise apparent in his own voice. He stroked his hand along the length of them, and Jungkook suppressed a shudder. It felt really good. Like someone rubbing his back but… More. Yoongi shifted his hands from stroking three at a time to just one. He twirled his finger around the tip of it, as if spinning a hair. The motion sent an unexpected shiver of pleasure down Jungkook’s spine and he gasped, nearly crying out. He yanked his wings away and instantly shifted them out of sight. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” Yoongi cried in surprise. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would feel like that,” Jungkook stammered, his cheeks flushed and hot.

“Did I hurt you?” Yoongi’s brows were knitted together in concern.

Jungkook wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “No…” He mumbled. Yoongi must not have realized… “The opposite, actually.”

“Oh…”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry,” Jungkook continued. “I honestly didn’t know it felt like that. I’ve never let anyone touch them, I didn’t know—”

“You’ve never let anyone touch them?” Yoongi asked, cutting Jungkook off.

“Of course not. You’re the only human that knows about them. Who else would have?”

“Your parents?” Yoongi suggested.

“They’re terrified of them. And besides… Now I’m glad they haven’t,” he admitted, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle. 

“It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” 

“That there’s this whole other side to you. An amazing side that you don’t get to show anyone. That you don’t get to explore at all because of how people are.”

Jungkook shrugged one shoulder. “I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me anymore, I’ve spent my whole life hiding it. And besides,” Jungkook smiled. “You know the real me. So, one person has seen it. And accepts it… I hope.”

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. 

Jungkook looked back down at the blanket. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a curiosity about what he’d felt in Yoongi’s hands, what more would feel like. He could explore it on his own, he figured. He wanted to put this whole awkward, humiliating event past him and get on with the relaxing weekend—

“I can help you,” Yoongi said, cutting into his plan. 

“Help me?”

“You don’t know much about… That side. I mean, you didn’t know how it would feel to have someone touch them. But someday, I mean… You’ll meet someone who you can share that with, I hope. So, you’ll want to be prepared, or at least know what to expect. So, if you’re curious and wanted to, I… I could help you explore.” Yoongi looked down as he spoke, fiddling with the sand between their blankets.

Jungkook blinked, his mind taking a long moment to process exactly what Yoongi was asking. Was he actually offering… Based on his inability to make eye contact… And the beautiful pink glow of his cheeks, he was. It was strange, thinking of it, definitely not something friends did, right? Jungkook chewed his bottom lip until it hurt, his head twitching as he thought through the situation. It was definitely more than friends. And he should definitely not say yes. This held the potential of changing their entire relationship forever. Ruining it, even. Or making it something more. Yoongi had mentioned finding him attractive. But that was out of the question. No, he had to politely say no, this was something he could explore on his own. 

“Okay.” The word came out firm and decisive, evidently his mouth had decided to ignore every shred of rationale his brain was giving. 

“Really?” Yoongi looked up, his own eyes wide, as if he were as surprised by the answer. “You… I didn’t think you’d agree,” he admitted. “You’re sure? I do want to. But, I know this is… Big. We can stop any time.”

“I know.” Jungkook nodded. “I trust you.”

Yoongi’s entire face brightened, his mouth upturning into a gummy smile that had Jungkook’s heart fluttering and his cheeks and chest warming. 

He took a breath, not sure where to start. “So… What should I do?”

“Well, I need to see them to be able to touch them,” Yoongi teased, reaching out and waving his hand in the empty space where Jungkook’s tentacles should be. 

“Right.” Jungkook wiggled and let them appear once more. 

“I’ll never get over how pretty that looks,” Yoongi commented. He let his hand fall, watching the movement of them for a moment. 

“So, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Yoongi said. “You’ll need to let me know how it feels, okay?”

“You mean you haven’t played with tentacles before? What kind of twenty-something year old are you?” Jungkook teased. 

Yoongi scoffed. He reached out, catching one of the tentacles. He squeezed lightly, just hard enough to give some pressure, his eyes on Jungkook’s face.

“That’s okay, doesn’t hurt but… Doesn’t feel like it did before—Oh!” 

While Jungkook spoke, Yoongi slid his hand slowly up and down the tentacle. 

“Better?” He whispered. Jungkook nodded, closing his eyes. Yoongi repeated the motion and reached out for another tentacle, doing the same. He pulled one closer to him, twirling his finger around the tip like he had before. 

Jungkook moaned softly, his eyes snapping open. He covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh, God, I—”

Yoongi let go of one tentacle to tug his hands down. “We’re alone. You don’t have to be shy.”

“This is so weird,” Jungkook mumbled, leaning toward Yoongi a little.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, please don’t stop… Do that again?”

Yoongi chuckled. He repeated the twirling motion and then slid his hand down the tentacle, moving it back up in one fluid stroke. Jungkook felt his belly tighten up and he moaned softly, his shoulders sagging a little. 

“Come closer to me, I want to reach more of them,” Yoongi whispered. 

Jungkook moved onto the same towel, resting on his knees in front of Yoongi, his head bowed. Yoongi made a small noise. He moved forward, wrapping both arms around Jungkook. He caught the tentacles in his hands, sliding his fingers over them and pressing where they emerged from Jungkook’s back. His short nails scraped over one as he stroked his fingers up it, and Jungkook cried out, jerking forward. 

The motion sent him slamming into Yoongi’s chest, his heart pounding wildly.

Yoongi cried out in surprise, tightening his grip on Jungkook’s back. “Hey… You okay?”

“Y—Yeah,” Jungkook stuttered. He could hear Yoongi’s heart pounding as fast as his own. The aura around Yoongi was shifting, a vibrant array of colors that would have made the most strong-willed person a little dizzy. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook worried. “Is this… Not good?”

“This is…” Yoongi drifted off. Jungkook looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Yoongi’s pupils were dilated and dark despite the sun, his gaze intense. 

“This is what?” Jungkook pressed. 

Yoongi swallowed hard. He shifted, pulling Jungkook closer to him. “It’s okay,” Yoongi whispered. “You can lean on me.” 

Jungkook pouted a little at Yoongi’s lack of an answer, but let himself be guided onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi’s hands slid over his back once more, up short, anxiety bitten nails scraping over the sensitive trunks of his tentacles. Jungkook moaned helplessly, letting his forehead fall onto Yoongi’s shoulder. 

Yoongi began to work each of the tentacles in turn, squeezing and stroking, rubbing, each one, testing each. Jungkook’s entire body was on fire. His stomach was knotted in a million twists, a heat and pressure more intense than he’d ever felt before building low inside his belly. 

“Yoongi—” He strained. 

“I’m here,” Yoongi purred. His breath was hot against Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook moaned wantonly. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that they were “just friends”, he didn’t care that this was just “exploring”. Every emotion he’d felt for Yoongi was rushing back. Every glance that was less than friendly, every “what if” whispered in the back of his mind, every moment shoved away and boxed up under the guise of not wanting to ruin things, not being good enough, not being human enough.

“Yoongi!” He cried again, his voice taking on a pleading lilt. He let his head fall back, leaning into the touches. He looked at Yoongi, struggling to focus. The aura of colors surrounding Yoongi seemed to reflect his own inner chaos, shifting and writhing around them. Despite all of the emotions flooding him, it still surprised Jungkook when he felt Yoongi’s lips against his own. It took him a moment to react. Yoongi’s mouth was soft and plush, tasting of the potato chips they’d shared earlier, the faintest hint of coffee from this morning. He felt Yoongi begin to pull away and made a small noise, instinct kicking in. Jungkook wrapped his arms around Yoongi and deepened the kiss, pressing every inch of his own body against him. 

The tentacles that Yoongi wasn’t touching wrapped around them, brushing Yoongi’s back and neck lightly. 

He could feel Yoongi’s cock, pressing up against the fabric of his swim trunks, just as hard as his own. Jungkook brought his hips down, grinding their crotches together gently. It was almost disappointing; the lack of feeling he got from it. It was nice, of course, but didn’t feel near as amazing as Yoongi’s hands on his tentacles. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, reacted beautifully. His hips jerked and he moaned into Jungkook’s mouth, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the tentacles. 

Jungkook pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. He began to hump himself against Yoongi, their breathing rapid as they shared the same warm pocket of air. 

Curious, Jungkook let one tentacle sink down, sliding over Yoongi’s bare knee. He shifted his own seating position and pushed it up slowly, into the leg of Yoongi’s swim trunks and up. Yoongi’s eyes widened almost comically when he felt it, his hands going still.

Jungkook pushed up further, letting the tip of the tentacle brush over Yoongi’s balls, already drawn tight to his body. Up further, and around his cock. He wound the tentacle around it in a firm grip, amazed at the texture he could feel, and how good it felt. He could feel Yoongi’s pulse, fast and strong. He stroked it experimentally. Both gasped. It was so intimate. Though it wasn’t exactly like being penetrated, it was so much more than any masturbation he’d done before with anyone. He began to jerk Yoongi off slow and steady, his own climax drawing closer. 

Yoongi was wiggling and moaning, clearly struggling to maintain composure. He continued to work Jungkook’s tentacles, knowing the perfect motions at this point to send all the good sparks straight to Jungkook’s guts. 

“Please—“ Jungkook gasped. 

“Are you close?” 

Jungkook nodded. Yoongi let go of one tentacle and grabbed the front of Jungkook’s shorts. He pulled them out and pushed them down just enough for the tip of Jungkook’s cock to be exposed. 

“Nobody likes come in their shorts.” Jungkook laughed breathlessly. He did the same for Yoongi, but moved back and pushed them down further.

He watched his tentacle stroke Yoongi’s cock, breathless at the beauty of it. The stripes on Yoongi’s back wound around to his front, swirling around his cock in complex, beautiful patterns. 

“Together—“ Yoongi panted. 

Jungkook blinked at him.

Yoongi let go of his tentacles only long enough to pull him close again. He touched the tentacle on his cock. “Jerk us both off.”

“I can barely feel my cock with you touching my tentacles,” Jungkook admitted.

He still did as Yoongi requested, unable to hide the smile when Yoongi’s hips jerked. The skin of their cocks slid together as he stroked them both with the tentacle. 

Yoongi turned his focus back to the other five, matching pace as they each pulled one another toward climax.

Jungkook came first, unsurprisingly. His head fell back and he shouted Yoongi’s name. His full form shimmered into view, the intensity of his orgasm forcing him into one dimension. His cock spilled his release down the shaft, slicking the way for his tentacle as he continued to stroke them both. Every nerve in his body was on fire, even his tentacles felt as if they were tensing and releasing in time to the powerful climax.

Yoongi swore and jerked. Jungkook forced his eyes open in time to watch, not wanting to miss it. Yoongi’s release spurted onto Jungkook’s belly. Yoongi shuddered, dropping his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder as the waves of pleasure washed over him. Jungkook could nearly see it in his shifting aura, beautiful and hypnotizing. 

The two sat in silence for a long time after their orgasms faded, catching their breath and letting the reality of what happened sink in. Yoongi was the first to move, reaching over and dragging the bag closer. He found the towel he’d used to wipe his hands earlier and used it once more, cleaning the release from their bodies and Jungkook’s tentacles tenderly. 

Jungkook moved off him and back onto his own blanket, fixing his shorts. He shrugged a bit, his tentacles and extra eyes slipping from view once more.

“So…”

“That was…” Yoongi began at the same time. They both chuckled a little, a tension in the air. 

“What do we do now?” Jungkook finally asked. He found himself unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze, afraid of what the other was going to say. 

“You were saying I was handsome. I mean… That you thought I was,” Yoongi began.

“You are.”

“Was it just that? Like… You think I’m handsome but we’re friends and… That’s it? Or… More?”

Jungkook cautiously looked up at Yoongi. He was sitting in a similar position, staring at his hands in his lap. 

“I’m afraid to answer,” Jungkook admitted.

“Please, don’t be. I need to know.”

“I don’t want it to ruin our friendship.” 

Yoongi looked up. “If you’re scared of that… Does that mean it’s a yes? To… More?”

“I tried to ignore it. I figured we were both busy and you’re… So handsome. I’m just…” Jungkook drifted off. 

“The most stunning person I’ve ever met,” Yoongi finished.

“That’s a boldfaced lie,” Jungkook snorted.

“No, Jungkook. It’s not.” Yoongi moved forward. He grabbed Jungkook’s face, cupping it in his hands. “I’ve been fascinated with you forever. You’re funny and kind and beautiful, and so interesting. I can’t get bored around you. You make me so happy. I just figured… I’m so… Human. And how dull I must be to you.”

Jungkook grimaced. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You are anything but dull.”

“I lack the ocularity,” Yoongi responded, his voice shifting as he smirked. Jungkook laughed. He set his hands over Yoongi’s wrists.

“So, it seems like… We both have been interested in more for a while.”

“And were both too worried to say something.”

“Now that the truth is out… What’s next?”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I think we go take a dip in the ocean. And then make dinner… And then come lay on the beach and watch the sunset together… How does that sound?”

Jungkook smiled brightly. He let his tentacles and eyes appear, his heart skipping a happy beat when Yoongi’s smile broadened.

“I think that sounds like the perfect first date.”

[dntaewithluv]

14 and 25 ✨

Thank you Calix 🥺

14. Honestly my pizza boy JK fic really snuck up on me because I was a Taegi bias who wrote a JK fic in like two days lmao but that's just the power of blonde Telepathy JK and it was a fun little unexpected surprise lol

25. I'm so sorry because I cannot limit this one to just one answer so fics I read this year that I would recommend everyone read include @wwilloww sh. series, @honeymoonjin The Gentlemen series, @jikookiekosmos Make Me series, @reliablemitten Bona Fides series, @sunshinerainbowsbts Paradise series, @namjin-fangirling-again Deceived by the Moon series, @lavienjin First Love, @jjungkookislife Tidal Wave, and @kkulfm Evidence of Destiny you know just to name a few 😂

[jinpanman]

18, 25, 26 ✨

18. current number of wips

dssdhfja this is torture!!!!!! what is this question??!?!?!? ok...i'm only going to count wips that have actual words in the doc already hahaha

grand total is!!.....29 OTL

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

it's like you want me to cry or something.

mxm: it absolutely has to be “if you love me won't you say something” by 777335 on ao3. i don’t know if i’ve loved something this much before oh my goodness the love!!! is just so!! tangible!!! in not just the main pairing (And good god!! is it tangible!!!) but in all the relationships/friendships that appear in this series. oh my goooodneessss i am in love forever

mxr: ok....ugh....i had to narrow it down from like 5 to 2 lol and i just cannot decide between these two! so two it is! ‘cause i make the rules! “Imitation of Art” by rmverse and “Just Practice” by lamourche. just- just do yoself a favor and read both of these if you havent’ yet!!! @ whoever is reading this!!! 

26. number of favorites/bookmarks you made this year

bro.....how am i supposed to calculate all this.....hahahaha i refuse to calculate. let’s just say of my 5 pages of bookmarks on ao3, just over 4 1/2 pages were made this year. and each page holds 20 bookmarks so that’s at least 60 fics right there. 

and then my “mai reads and screams” tag has over 200 posts :-) and that’s not even counting the fics i haven’t publicly screamed about yet lol

the reading life is the best life. thank you to all you writers for helping me to escape from time to time <3 you the mvp <3

send me an end-of-the-year ask about my fics!

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter eleven | ot7

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 6k WARNINGS AND TAGS  reference to reader with she/her pronouns. kissing. food play. discussions of sexual boundaries/expectations. discussions of kink culture.

← || series m.list || →

AN: this chapter has been so long in the making and i couldn't have done it without the possums sprinting with me or without the support of @calixwrites @xjoonchildx @thatlongspringnight and @illneverrecover who helped me pull together the mess that is this chapter. thank you so much to them. if you enjoy this chapter, i'd love to hear from you!

CHAPTER ELEVEN: PERSEPHONE'S TABLE

“I’m in.”

Seven pairs of eyes widen as you stand in the door, your red dress flowing around you, hair a little ruffled from the wind, face stinging from the cold. You look like a spirit of winter, flown in from the storm.

“Are you okay—” Hoseok begins to say, but Jungkook quickly stands up to speak.

“Fuck yeah,” Jungkook interrupts, clapping his hands together. “I mean, I thought we were going to eat first,” he adds with a sigh, looking longingly at the food at the table. “But me too. I’m in.”

“There’s no doubt I’m in,” Jimin adds. “I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to get my hands on seven lovely people.”

A giggle escapes Yoongi, a sound so foreign that you have to double check it's him. “This is a lot easier than expected—” Easy is not the word you would use to describe the last 36 hours. “But I think it’s pretty obvious where I stand considering I suggested it. Namjoon?”

Namjoon looks a little flustered that he’s been called on, but nonetheless, nods. “I think… I thought it through—” His eyes flick up to yours. “And think this might be a good idea. After all…” When he begins to trail off, you nod encouragingly, goading him on. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. And more than that, being cramped up here with you lot—” someone snorts at the word cramped. “—has brought back things I thought were in the past.” Before you can linger on what that might mean, Namjoon is already spiraling off in another direction, “And I’ve read! I’ve read so many things about the multiplicity of romance and, ahem, sex, and how the capitalisticstructureofoursociety really reliesuponthetwofamilyunit to produce workers and continue the cycle of poverty, and polyamory—” his eyes widen at the word. Is what’s happening between all of you polyamory? That sounds so… official. “Or just sex, sex with multiple partners can be an active way of pushing against the patriarchy and impending capitalistic doomsday.” And then more quietly, as if he’s only just realized that he is in a room with seven people but needs to get the final word in: “Plus, the stigma against multipartner sex is historical, not biological.”

“Reading is nice,” Jimin says. “But you can’t have a book tell you what you ought to do in this situation.

Namjoon nods. “Yeah, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well. I do, um, want this.” And then a second time, but bolder: “I do. Really. It’s… important to me.”

Yoongi and Jimin nod eagerly. Taehyung seems contemplative as he reads Namjoon’s features carefully. Jin keeps glancing at the food. Jungkook, who looks a little nervous at first, whispers something to his neighbor, Jimin, a big dopey grin spreading across his face. Hoseok, however, holds a blank expression.

Taehyung looks to Jin. “Well, we’re both in, based on our discussion last night.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Uh, yes, of course we’re in. But I just thought we would eat first before all of this.”

That’s seven yes’s. And one unanswered. Seven pairs of eyes turn their attention to the one man who has been silent since you entered the room: Hoseok.

The man stands there, hands in his pockets. Out of all of you, Hoseok has always been the one to laugh first, crack a joke first, get on the dance floor first. And yet in this moment, he’s the only one who holds back. The look on his face is one that you know well, if not frequently: that expression he gets when he’s entirely focused. To an outsider, it might look like anger. But to one who knows, they understand that his features are drawn close in perfect concentration, his eyes locking on the center of his attention, his mouth pursing into a set line. It was one of the many things that you loved about him, these moments of intense focus that sat so opposite to his usually playful mannerisms.

Shouldn’t it be you in his place, hesitating, worrying that this step is going to fuck everything and everyone over? Instead, it feels like the cold wind from outside has cleared out your insides and left you with nothing but want.

When Hoseok still hasn’t answered, Jimin pulls him aside to whisper something in his ear, his hand stroking over Hoseok’s back in a sign of comfort. You try to make out what he is saying with no luck.

“I can’t—” Hoseok says, looking directly at you, heartbreak written across his face. And he turns on his heel and steps out of the room.

You watch the house of cards you’d carefully built up in your mind tumble to the ground, unaware that failure was even an option. If all eight of you weren’t in, none of you were in. But you didn’t imagine it going this way. Not really. There was some part of you that thought it could just be this easy, really, this easy, that everyone would say yes and all of you would just fall into it in one swift, simple motion. That all the tension that’s been living in this house, strung between the lot of you would simply cease, like it was cut through with a hot knife.

A collective gasp shudders through the group. Your friends turn to one another, expressions of concern dancing across their features.

“What—” Jungkook begins, his brow furrowing as he watches Hoseok disappear. “Is he okay?” The others mumble in alarm.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say, though, truly you have no idea how you’ll take care of this.

You follow Hoseok out of the room, but he seems so lost in his thoughts that it’s not until you catch up to him as he’s crossing the glass bridge and reach for his shoulder that he stops.

At first he seems surprised that it’s you, but he wraps you up in a hug that shocks you. It’s not until a moment later that you wrap your arms around him too and squeeze back.

“What’s going on?” you murmur into his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment before answering, pulling back and swiping a hand through his hair.

“It’s just ridiculous. The whole thing’s ridiculous.”

Ridiculous? Just last night he had said it hadn’t been so wild of an idea.

“What? I thought you said—”

“I remember what I said and I just, I got to thinking today and I’m not going to make you do something horrific like this.”

“Horrific? What the hell do you mean?”

Horrific is the last word you would use to describe any of this.

“I’m not going to force you to become some sort of concubine to seven men,” he says.

You laugh, thinking he can’t be serious. But when you see the frown on his face, you quiet. He is serious.

“Is that what you think this is?” you ask softly.

“Of course that’s what this is—”

“No—”

“Of course that’s what this is!” He grabs your shoulders and stares into your eyes. “But the thing is, you don’t have to do it just because you think that they’re, what? Horny after all this time stuck in quarantine? Like you’re just supposed to go along with it, like some kind of sex slave or something, reduced to nothing but a set of holes to be used by seven horny men?! What are you going to do? Lay around the house all day just waiting… waiting to be….used? Like a sexual vending machine?”

“Hoseok.”

It’s clear he’s spent an absurd amount of time in his head, sinking deeper and deeper into his anxiety. And while the image he’s painted, well, it might not be the reality of the situation, it’s also not the worst idea he’s ever had. You, at the whim and will of seven beautiful men. Still, the man needs some course correction. He’s still gripping your shoulders, and you gently wrangle out of his grasp to step closer to him. You reach out and place a hand on his arm, trying to bring him back to you, to this, to reality.

“No, no.”

“No, really, they’ve pressured you into this and…” His brow furrows, as if he’s hearing his own words for the first time and speculating at their reality.

“Hoseok.” He finally stops, his lips setting into a firm line. “No one is pressuring me.”

He frowns at you, contemplating what you’ve said. Gaging whether to trust it or not.

“What’s really going on up here?” you say, tapping on his forehead. But when you begin to withdraw your hand, he grabs your wrist and presses your palm to his face.

You blink.

He’s warm beneath your touch, but you can feel a slight tremor when he speaks. But now, now, all there is are his eyes, brown and wide and searching.

“It’s happening so fast,” he says hurriedly, the words whispered into the ever narrowing space between you two. “I can’t keep up.”

“What’s happening so fast?”

“Everything. Everyone. I thought—I thought I had more time.”

“More time for what? Nothing’s ending tonight, Hoseok.” He flinches under the formal name as if he’s finally heard it, but it’s too late to correct. If anything, tonight feels like a grand beginning. For you, tonight is the opening of the door to a whole new world. But when he looks at you, you know what you’ve said isn’t true for him. Loss, heartbreak, flutters behind the warmth in his eyes. He’s losing something. Someone.

Still, he shakes himself out of his thoughts. His gaze comes back to you.

“You’re sure there’s no one, no expectations or anything, that others are putting on you—You’re sure this is something you want?”

“Of course I want you, Hoseok—”

“What?”

It’s only when it’s too late that you realize what you’ve said.

“You want me?”

“I want you…” You say slowly, like testing the words on your tongue.

“And you want the others.” He’s so quick to jump to the next thing. You just want to linger on what you’ve already said, how big it feels, hovering between you both.

“Can’t you just listen to what I’ve said?”

Sure, of course, it’s been a long time without sex. And even with the introduction of your nightly romps with Jungkook and Jimin — and your quiet moments with Namjoon — you’re still left wanting more. Your time with Jungkook and Jimin didn’t erase any of the rest of the longing that lived in your chest. If anything, it merely stoked the flame higher. A flame that yearned for Hoseok, too, with a particular kind of ache.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

Hoseok rubs the back of his neck.

“Why should I?”

He’s so thick, he’s so frustrating, you have no idea how you’re going to get through to him.

So instead, you reach up, press your hands to his cheeks, and kiss him.

It feels like a mistake the moment you’ve done it. It’s like walking across a bridge, without knowing that there’s an end in sight. You don’t know how he feels, and for all you know, he could be saying all this bullshit about you being a concubine because he just needs a way out, and it’s easier to turn it back on you than it is to look within. He’s always been this way. It’s been a long history of him keeping his emotions just beyond reach of you. Just beyond reach of himself, too. Even his thoughts, which felt less threatening to him than his own feelings, those too he kept caged up and hidden out of sight from you.

Hoseok is shocked, you can feel his shock shoot like ice through his body, like a bad memory,

All of a sudden it feels like that cab ride again, back in January, the silence sliding like a winter storm between you as you both stare out of opposite windows.

But his hands are gliding gently up your waist.

And he’s stepping closer.

It’s awkward, fumbling, like re-learning to walk.

But then the ice of his shock begins to melt as your lips meet his, sublimating into something explosive. Something that sings of fire ravaging through a frozen forest, flames licking at icicles, ice vaporizing beneath touch.

Your chest burns with desire larger than you know how to name, how to know. It burns like a winter sun, shining through the trees on a dark day. Like eyes, aching as they adjust to the light.

His hands fumble across your skin, he presses in closer.

The burn intensifies.

And so abruptly, you pull away, like you’ve been scalded. And force a soft smile to your face, despite the way you are quaking inside. And say:

“I wanted to do that. Does that say anything?”

He nods, swallowing quickly and tugs at the hem of his shirt. “Yes.”

Silence hangs between you as he searches your face, looking for an answer to a question you don’t know.

“Do you—did you… want? Want me to do that?” You stumble over the words.

He nods. “Yes. Yes, I—” He grips your hand in his and pulls you closer. “I did.” For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you again. Breath is the only thing that hangs between you. But then he says, “Are you sure this is something you want?” and nods back towards where the others are waiting.

“Yes,” you say.

He looks down and swings your hand back and forth, his gaze locked on your interlaced fingers.

“Alright,” he says.

Part of you wants to linger, wants to kiss him again and give it a real shot and make it right. Not some fumbling, half-burnt mess of a kiss. But you see the thoughts spinning in his mind and so you say: “I’ll give you a moment,” and step back. The walk back to the dining room blurs in the mess of your pounding heartbeat. The boys are waiting for you.

Most of them are ogling the food greedily, Jungkook is even licking something off of his pinky finger. The rest are kind of lounging around, the chairs scattered, and that same warm feeling from before cuts right through your chest and warms you from the inside out. Whatever that was, back in the hallway, this, here, is at least familiar.

Even as a blanket of tension hangs about, which is fair, considering Hoseok had just run out of the room, there is a groundedness to the group. They take turns glancing at the door, picking nervously at the food, and mumbling to one another. But beneath it all, familiarity. Even if Hoseok is missing.

Your fingers unconsciously drift up to your lips, tracing over the skin where his lips were just a moment ago.

Jimin’s eyes follow your movements, attempting to parse together what’s just happened. Your gaze catches his and you smile softly. He nods towards the hallway with a raised eyebrow and you shrug. I’ve done my best.

Though, you’re not sure that kissing the man who’s been swirling through your head all week was your best. Or in your best interest, let alone his.

Finally, Hoseok returns back to the group, face set and determined. For a just a second, his gaze flicks to you before he sets his face sternly and speaks:

He clears his throat. “Sorry about that.” And you know it’s an apology directly to you, though, in all honesty, you’re not exactly sure what for. “And, um, me too,” he states, his voice soft. “I’m in.”

A collective sigh echoes around the room, like a breath that’s been held has finally released.

“Well that’s settled, we can just get straight to it—” Jungkook says, slapping his thighs and standing up. He gazes around the group while everyone stares back in silence.

Oh. Oh!

Get straight into it meant nothing other than sex. It feels scandalizing in a sense, that the lot of you would just jump right in, no preamble, no introductions — though, in a way, you all have been playing around the edge of foreplay for days now.

And what would follow?

Touch. Kiss. Dampness gathering. Fingers swiped through slick, brought to greedy mouth.

What would the lean muscle in Jin’s shoulder feel like under your fingertips? Would the soft skin of Yoongi’s neck taste the same after all that time? Would Taehyung be the same kind of lover as before, quick-witted and starving for pleasure? And what about the others, the ones who you haven’t touched, haven’t seen bare, haven’t taken within you — what would they be like? Gentle? Greedy?

Who would taste you? Who would want to taste you?

Everyone in this room apparently, and the thought is confirmed by the hungry looks that are passed around the room.

Jin sighs. “Sit down, Jungkook.” JK looks at him with a confused face. “We need to have a conversation first, don’t we?”

Jungkook nods.

“We’ll eat and talk at the same time,” Jin says. “So much for a composed dinner.”

“Jin, you didn’t really believe you were going to get any kind of composure out of this lot, did you?” you chide.

You all gather around the table. Jin and Namjoon take either side of you, the two broad shouldered men squeezing you into your seat. Not that you mind.

The food is already prepped and waiting on the table, like some glorious feast. The table is heaping with food, rice piled high in what must be the house’s finest bowls, and brightly colored vegetables.

Plates are filled with the bounty that Jin and Yoongi had prepared during the day. The piles and piles of food almost seems like too much, but then again you know that nothing goes to waste with this eternally-hungry group. Your gaze roves over the feast: the table is laden with meats and noodles and variations of stir fried vegetables sat among beautiful arrays of autumn squash, both cooked and on display. And at the end of the table sat what you can only describe as an overfilled cream pie.

“Champagne?” Yoongi asks, and the room fills with enthusiastic agreement.

Yoongi stands at the head of the table, a stark reminder of where he sat just yesterday morning, sleepy and propositioning the rest of the group. It feels like it has been years since that moment.

When he twists the champagne bottle open with a dramatic pop!, it feels like a representation of tonight. The tension building, bubbling beneath the surface and ready to explode at any moment. Though as you watch him gracefully pour into several champagne flutes, laughing and chatting with his friends, you realize that even with your communal agreeal, the cork hasn’t loosened yet.

There is more to come. Abundance. Warmth. Like the food on the table. Like the men around you.

Hoseok, under Jin’s guidance, begins to carve the meat. The way he handles the knife, his knuckles tense, and you feel it in your core. As your cheeks warm at the thought, his graceful hands expertly carving, you glance back down at your empty plate, trying to shake your mind of the images that fly through.

Hoseok, his fingers dancing over your back. Hoseok, leaning over you as he slips his hands down your pants, gliding along the delicate skin before plunging—

“Can I get you something?” Hoseok’s voice breaks through your thoughts as he stares at you with a note of concern in his voice. That’s when you realize you’ve been spacing out, mouth hanging open, staring at him.

“Um, yes please.”

Your plate is passed around the table and quickly filled with the help of your friends.

“To… us.” Yoongi raises a glass and you all cheer, warmth spreading through the room as you all smile at one another, reaching across the table to toast each person individually.

“Hey, hey,” Jin says, when you clink his glass. “You know what it means if you don’t make eye contact when cheersing?”

“Hm?”

“It means seven years of bad sex.”

“Oh.”

He holds his glass up again, and you do it properly this time, a sly smile spilling over his lips as he lets his gaze linger on you.

“Though I wonder, if you’re septupling your sexual partners overnight if you might be able to make up for that bad luck in a seventh of the time.” He shrugs. “We’ll leave the math up to the fates.”

As you settle into dinner, a comfortable clatter of eating fills the room. Hums and cries of delight rise from the table as everyone exclaims at the deliciousness of the food.

“Thank you, Jin,” you say, reaching over to pat him on the leg. “And Yoongi,” you raise your glass to your friend at the head of the table.

As everyone settles into dinner, Namjoon is the first one to speak, getting straight to the point. “The first thing we should do,” Namjoon coughs, “Is address the elephant in the room.”

Jin nods. “We can’t keep secrets around each other — we should have privacy in our own lives, yes, absolutely — but this whole sneaking around thing is no good for any sense of trust in our relationship.”

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. He knows. How could he not, when you nearly told him everything yesterday? You just thought you’d be able to tell everyone that you, Jungkook, and Jimin had been fucking on your terms, not like this. But too, there’s a kind of relief in it finally coming out.

Jungkook hangs his head but doesn’t say anything.

“Anyone?”

A long silence hangs over the group. Jimin catches your gaze from across the table.

“Jungkook? Anything you’d like to share with us?”

The young man’s head snaps up as he takes in the room around him and the weight of all of his friends’ eyes upon him. His body is tense, but he takes a deep breath, and on the exhale, his shoulders fall. “Fine. I admit it,” Jungkook grumbles at a barely audible level. “We’ve been fucking.”

The room explodes.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“Fucking?”

Someone’s chair screeches backwards and a glass of wine tips over, staining the white table cloth. Hands dart out quickly to dab it up.

“I thought you were just planning a surprise party?” Someone says.

“I thought this was some kind of flashmob thing?” Hoseok says.

“Me too!” Namjoon chimes in. “That’s, that’s what we talked about.”

“Flashmob?” you snort.

“The sweat, I mean, come on!” Namjoon fades into silence as the realization dawns on him. “Oh. The sweat. The fuck?!”

“How could we not?” Jungkook continues. “Goddamn I hadn’t come in someone coming up on a year and here are two very very attractive—”

“Two?!” Namjoon exclaims.

“Two?!” Yoongi cries. “And you didn’t include me?? And who?”

“Well, we’re including you now!” Jungkook says back.

“Me,” Jimin says softly from his seat.

“Fair enough,” Yoongi says, sitting down again. Hoseok is quiet. Namjoon however, is still wildly flustered.

“And here I was thinking it was the right thing to hold back…” he grumbles.

“You were a perfect gentleman, Joon,” you reassure him. “It’s quite a flattering look on you.” He catches your gaze and flushes at the compliment, looking down at his hands.

“Still, I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

The room quiets as the knowledge and understanding settles on all of you.

You slip your hand underneath the table, letting your palm settle on his knee before gliding up to rest on his thigh. Namjoon looks shocked but composes himself and throws you a sheepish smile. After a moment, his hand drifts down and settles atop yours. Not holding it, just, just resting.

“If anyone cares to know, we were fucking,” Taehyung says, gesturing between himself and his boyfriend.

“Shut up Tae,” everyone echoes.

“But on a more serious note,” Jin cuts in. “Does that information change anything for anyone? That some of us have already been sleeping together?”

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers to Yoongi. For a moment, you feel like it’s January again, his dark eyes shining at you from across a dark room, a secret shared between the both of you. But you tear your gaze away from him when his flickers up to you.

Everyone is looking at one another, reading for Jin’s question: does this change anything? Yoongi seems unfazed, but beneath it you know he’s curious. Jimin looks cool and collected, lounging on his chair, examining something on his palm. Namjoon looks a little nervous but reflective. Jungkook, waiting. Jin and Tae, playful as ever. And Hobi, well. He seems to be in complete and utter shock.

You wonder what kind of shock. If he’s still reeling from the information that you, Jimin, and Jungkook have been playing the beast with two, well, three backs. Perhaps he’s still processing this whole change in relationship between all of you. Or maybe he’s still in shock from the kiss. You stop yourself there. Either way, he doesn’t look too pleased, staring into his wine glass, unspoken words brewing behind his gaze.

So you give him a minute, shushing Jungkook by nudging him with your foot beneath the table when he starts to say something.

“I guess it doesn’t change anything,” Hoesok says, finally. “We all have pasts. We all have… needs.”

That’s the word. That’s what it feels like, wanting him. It feels like a need. His gaze catches yours and you smile reassuringly. You hope the layer of worry that hides beneath your smile doesn’t show through.

Lost in thought, you’re surprised when Namjoon interlaces your fingers beneath the table. He gives you a little squeeze, as if to say You alright? You squeeze back, throwing him a soft smile, a reply of Better, now.

“The next thing,” Yoongi cuts in. “Before we go any further with this—We need rules.”

“Rules?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hand tightens beneath the table.

“Expectations, understandings. Boundaries.”

“Well the most obvious one: is anyone straight?”

Silence settles in the room.

“Jungkook? I thought you were—”

“Uh no.” Jungkook says sheepishly. “Not, um, anymore.” Anymore? “Quarantine might have changed more than one thing.”

Some of your friends look surprised, while others just nod along, like they expected this the whole time. Taehyung is one of the former, taking the news sincerely and chewing over. But the conversation quickly moves on.

“No blanket consent statements,” Taehyung adds thoughtfully to the conversation.

Yoongi pouts. “Really? None?”

“Only if you’re the one giving them out,” Taehyung corrects. “I don’t know, it just seems too messy.”

“You’re right,” Yoongi says, though there’s a note of disappointment in his voice.

“Everything should be negotiated day-of, moment-of. With eight people, there’s too many moving parts.”

You all nod in agreement.

Yoongi takes a long drink of his wine and you watch as his throat moves as he gulps, and as a little bit of the red liquid dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. He swipes it away with his thumb, catches your glance and sends you a wink. You smile and look away quickly.

Jeez. How the hell are you supposed to be doing serious thinking right now when all of your friends somehow look like sex gods doing nothing more normal than eating their dinners?

“Any hard boundaries?” Jimin asks.

“Oh my god please no vore,” Jungkook blurts. Seven pairs of eyes blink back at him. “Please don’t eat me,” he adds softly.

“What kind of deep dark internet hole did you go down? ” Yoongi asks. “That’s even darker than where I go.” Hoseok leans over to Yoongi and you catch a whispered: Where do you go?

Jungkook flushes a deep shade of red before hiding his head in the crook of his arm.

“Quarantine was a long time,” he says, in place of explanation. “And reddit is a vast resource.”

The rest of you share some of your hard limits one by one. There’s the usual: no poop, no punching or kicking, nothing non-consensual. You insist on no anal fisting. There are a couple that surprise you though. When Jin states that he, under no circumstance, will engage in cock and ball torture, Jungkook pipes up and says he’s willing to try it. Hoseok shares that he has never bottomed, but when asked, he says he wouldn’t mind giving it a shot under the right kind of circumstances. Though someone reminds him that that’s a soft limit, the boys exchange glances, as if fighting over who will be the first to top their friend.

The reality is, that at the end of the conversation, there is a broad range of exploratory space between you and your friends. A space so large it nearly frightens you.

That’s when you notice across the table, a shining, waxy red fruit.

“Where on earth did you find pomegranate?” you ask Jin, bewildered.

“I knew it was your favorite.” Jin grins back at you, and Jungkook tosses the red fruit to you from across the table.

“Catch!”

You toss Jin a brilliant smile as the red fruit lands in your hands.

An imperial orb, Jimin had once described it as.

And holding it, you feel the weight of not only its flesh, but its significance. For a moment, the image of Persephone, reaching for the pomegranate flits across your memory. Reaching for the dangling fruit, it was the sweetness that had sealed her fate.

You dig your fingers into the hard skin of the vibrant fruit and—oh—it squirts out, staining the white table cloth and, you quickly realize, your neighbor.

Namjoon has already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, his chest smooth and shining in the candlelight. And now, pomegranate juice drips from his chin, rolling down his neck, about to stain that beautiful white shirt—

“Lick it up,” someone calls, probably Jimin, and before you know what you’re doing, you reach for the broad man, running your tongue first along the hard planes of his chest and trailing up, up, up to his neck. He shivers when your tongue traces his throat, the skin especially sensitive. You smile at that, and he looks down at you, brown eyes gleaming with amusement. And more.

“Me too,” Jin says, and you feel a hand on your back. With regret, you lift your lips from Namjoon’s neck and turn towards him.

Jin has smeared pomegranate across the cut of his chin, and it dribbles down his neck, already staining his collar. But you’re not one to refuse a beautiful man, and so with care—and leaving a hand on one of Namjoon’s thighs—you press your lips to Jin’s neck. The juice stains your lips, turning them a bloodied color.

You take your time kissing up the column of his throat, painting the smallest of caresses against the soft skin of his neck. Unlike Namjoon, he doesn’t tremble beneath your touch. Instead, his grip tightens around your waist, pulling you closer. You gasp when you are pressed skin to skin against his chest, your hands reaching to his collar for stability, nearly falling into his lap.

“You can use more than your lips, darling,” Jin murmurs in your ear. “I never did mind a little nibble.” And so with that, you skate your teeth along the hard edge of his jaw, drawing a sharp his from the tall man. You end it with a peck to the corner of his jaw.

When you look back at the table, everyone is staring at you, mouths hanging open.

“That was hot as fuck,” Jimin says, throwing a wink at you.

Jungkook, though, looks a little miffed. The table is dressed with both main courses, side dishes, and desserts, and as Jungkook reaches for a baklava, you realize just how delightful it is to eat sweets with the main course.

He frowns as he takes a bite, honey spilling down his lip. Jimin, next to him, leans over and swipes the golden liquid from the younger man’s pouting lip. Jungkook watches in awe as Jimin sucks the finger into his mouth, a sly grin spreading across his features.

“What else?” Yoongi asks, clearing his throat, and finally all sets of eyes are on him.

“No leaving anyone out,” Jungkook says a little too quickly, glancing at you, Namjoon and Jin. Namjoon beside you is a little stiff and breathing hard. His hand fumbles for you under the table, and finally falls on your knee. You smile up at him.

“How does that work? What does that look like?”

“Say, for example, someone wants to have sex with six out of the seven other people in this house? That just seems like a setup for drama,” Namjoon adds.

“Fair enough,” Jin echoes.

“So no more than five in a group.”

Five. Wow. Five still seems marginally larger than you know how to coordinate.

Jungkook chuckles nefariously. “That means that we could split up, hyungs, maknaes, and—” he waggles his eyebrows as a sign of what he means to fill in the blank with. Group sex, with different iterations of the group. Your stomach tightens in anticipation of the hundreds of different arrangements there might be.

Namjoon and Jin pressing you up against a shelf of books.

Jimin and Taehyung fucking you in the pool.

Yoongi, Jungkook, and Hobi having their way with you on the dinner table. You, spread out like some garnished and carefully prepared delight.

Frankly, the possibilities are endless. And you have a feeling that your day-to-day life might finally surpass the fantasies of your dreams, the ones that have come to haunt you with desire for months now.

Taehyung’s voice breaks through your reverie. “It feels a little unfair that she gets to sleep in Hobi’s bed every night,” he says quickly, his eyes flashing up towards you.

You bristle. “It’s my bed too!” you say before you can consider the implications of what he’s just said. Taehyung wants you in his bed. Again.

“You know what he means,” Jungkook corrects.

“I suppose I could see what he means by that,” Namjoon adds, just a little too casually. You raise an eyebrow at him. You hadn’t pegged him as the jealous type.

“I’ll choose where I sleep,” you say.

“Like a wandering bed ghost,” Yoongi cuts in.

You glare at him. “The other option is that I get my own room. Who’s willing to give theirs up?”

The room falls silent. One person raises their hand.

“Put your hand down, Namjoon,” you sigh. “I’ll be the wandering bed ghost of the Kim manor.”

“Do we have to do a seance to summon you?” Hoseok chirps.

You light up at his humor. It has felt like a long moment since he cracked any jokes.

“You’ll have to sing a mating call,” you joke back.

But the reality of your words finally hits you when no one laughs. Instead you find all of your friends staring back at you, a mixture of shy and blank and yearning expressions splayed across their faces.

In reality, you’ve all just agreed to add a big long mating dance to your friendship and there’s only one thing left to do: dance the dance of the beast with, well, eight backs.

← || series m.list || →

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[hobivore]

What the water gave us

#1: It’s Only Frickin’ Tuesday

↠ PAIRING: water ghost!MYG x reader (f) (+ neighbour!JJK x reader—it’s a little complicated, y’all)

↠ WORDS: 3.2K

↠ GENRE: ghost AU, strangers to lovers

↠ RATING: explicit (18+)

↠ SYNOPSIS: What was supposed to be a quiet Tuesday night in the middle of a hectic week is ruined by the sudden arrival of a strange man. 

The worst part? He doesn’t want to leave your bathtub.  

↠ WARNINGS: mentions of death by drowning, they’re lowkey idiots, slight enemies to lovers vibes, a bit of everything (fluff, angst, eventual smut)

Chapter warnings: none in particular

↠ A/N: This story is part of the In the Spoop collab for Halloween 2021, hosted by the lovely @wwilloww. A big thank you to Willow and @hobisuniverse, @augustbutwinter, @sahmfanficbts​, @kkulfm​ and @xjoonchildx for the fun times and the support. Don’t forget to check out their amazing stories! And special thanks to Calix @calixwrites and August & Evie for beta-reading this chapter. 

Happy Halloween everyone! 👻

↠ previous | next | wtwgu masterlist 

© madseok Do not repost, translate or use my stories without my permission.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud. 

Ignoring the water dripping off your raincoat and onto the laminate floor, you toe off your sneakers and shuffle towards the kitchen, arms full of groceries. 

A slender body curls itself around your calf and you nearly stumble head first into the wall. 

“Shi—Gimbap!” you shriek. “Watch out, you dodo.” 

Gimbap ignores your struggle and meows, rubbing his head against the fabric of your jeans. 

“Yes, yes,” you mutter, dropping the bags on the kitchen counter. “I’m hungry too. And tired.”

The white cat stays glued to your heels, whiny meows raising in pitch as soon as you get the bag of kibble out. 

“There you go.” 

You stroke Gimbap’s back and sigh, watching him chew his food. Your whole body aches and your brain feels like cotton candy; sweet and pink and utterly useless, melting away at the smallest thought. 

These days everything slips through your fingers like water. Hours, days, weeks—you stopped keeping track of them a long time ago. These days, you measure time in projects.

You look at the clock on the microwave. 8:37 pm. You’ve always valued being able to make your own schedule, but it’s simultaneously the privilege and drawback of working from home. Lately work seems to be getting ahead of you and it’s winning the race, leaving you behind with a sprained ankle and no way of catching up. 

A quick glance at your phone tells you it’s Tuesday, October 31st. A bunch of notifications clutter the screen and you open the chat. 

Iseul🥀: drinks at 10

Iseul🥀: get your game on 🧛‍♀️

Iseul🥀: let’s meet at hapjeong station

Hyunjoo: 👻👻👻🍷

Someone is typing…

The pings come in quick succession and you groan—you’d completely forgotten about Halloween, and there’s no way Iseul will let you get away with wearing that ugly witch costume for another year. 

A tightness wraps itself around your chest. The costume isn’t that big of a problem, but you have a project due on Thursday and you’re not going to make it if you don’t pull an all-nighter coding. 

You will yourself to take a deep breath, shivering in your damp jeans and hoodie. The October chill seeps into your bones through the tile floor and the wet strands of hair still plastered against your forehead. 

Sending an apology to the group chat about not making it tonight, you throw your phone on the kitchen counter and bend down to scratch Gimbap behind the ears. 

“Don’t judge me,” you huff as he pads after you through the hallway. You know he can’t hear you—Gimbap was born deaf, one of the reasons why he has spend half his life in a shelter—yet it feels like he understands you sometimes. “I’ll join them next time. Promise.”

It’s cold and rainy outside anyway, you tell yourself, ignoring the pang of regret when you leave your buzzing phone behind. 

If you work a few extra hours tonight you can finish the project. You’ll throw a meal together and eat it in the comfort of your bathtub with a glass of wine and your laptop. 

“Stop whining,” you squint at Gimbap’s blue, judgemental eyes, “you should be happy I’m staying home with you tonight.”

You turn on the bath tap, adjusting the temperature—scorching hot—and rummage through the soap baskets while the bath slowly fills with water. 

Your bathroom is stuffed to the brim with a potpourri of colourful bath bombs and soaps, courtesy of your sister, who runs a small soap business. She regularly sends you boxes full of handmade soap with the most ridiculous names. 

Most of the packages are accompanied by loving but slightly passive-aggressive notes reminding you to ‘relax and get out more’. 

She’s right, of course, although you’d never admit it to her face. 

Your eyes skim over ‘Marmalade Madness’, ‘Unicorn Rainbow’ and ‘Lavender Love’ until they fall on a bright yellow and orange bath bomb, ‘It’s Only Frickin’ Tuesday’ printed in bold letters on the label. 

You snort. How fitting. 

The bath bomb dissolves with a fizzling sound, colouring the water with bright orange streaks and filling the room with the sweet and zesty smell of tangerine and citrus. 

Stepping over Gimbap—who’s still complaining loudly—you head back to the kitchen. Maybe you’re not going out tonight, but the least you can do is have dinner before the looming presence of work starts breathing down your neck again.

It’s tempting to climb behind your laptop and order takeout like you’ve done for the past two days. Or was it three? You don’t remember. 

Your eyes fall on the spring onions you bought earlier and you sigh. You should take the time to cook something. 

There’s some leftover rice in the fridge and a jar of kimchi, enough to make a quick bowl of fried rice. You force yourself through the familiar motions of chopping up the onions and frying the eggs. The smell of the food and the heat of the stove clears your head, your body carrying out the tasks without thinking. 

You roll your shoulders, adding a spoonful of gochujang to the pan—and nearly dropping the entire dish when a loud splash makes you jump.

“Bap!” you shout, even though the cat won’t hear you. “Please don’t break something again.” 

It stays suspiciously silent. 

“Why can’t I have just one moment to myself,” you grumble, taking the pan off the stove and wiping your hands on a towel. 

The bathroom door stands ajar and the faint sound of splashing water greets you from across the hallway. 

Did you forget to turn off the tap? Did Gimbap fall into the bathtub? Panic bubbles up in your chest and you rush towards the door until a low humming stops you dead in your tracks. 

It’s a soft voice. A human voice. 

The hair at the back of your neck rises and a cold shiver runs down your spine. 

There’s someone in your bathroom. 

Vaguely, you recognize the tune—an old trot song you don’t remember the name of. Your hand hovers in the air above the handle, body hidden behind the door. A small sliver of light falls into the hallway but you see no sign of movement, no shadow. 

The voice changes to another song, dropping until it’s little more than a soft murmur, barely audible above the sound of water splashing against the edges of the tub.  

How did they get in? Did you leave the front door open? 

You look at your empty hands. There’s a tremor, nothing like the familiar 3 a.m. caffeine shakes—no, this is all twitching fingers and cold sweat that dampens your palms. 

Slowly, you take a step backwards, mind racing. Get a knife. Get your phone. Get something. 

The door bursts open and you shriek when it hits you in the face. A white blur darts between your legs and you slap a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late—the humming has stopped, and all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

You stand there, frozen in silence, for what feels like eternity. 

In the stillness that descends over the apartment your thoughts are deafening; a void filled only by the rapid firing of neurons. Small blips that begin to crescendo until you’re wondering if maybe you’d imagined things. 

It had probably been Gimbap attempting to eat the bath bombs again, knocking over one of the baskets. If the cat had any flaws—other than being deaf as an adder and not realising the volume of his own screams—it’d be his complete disregard of the measly three lives he still possesses. 

Or perhaps he’s down to two now. 

You step around the door and nearly stumble over the threshold—

There’s a man sitting in your bathtub. 

He is fully clothed, dressed in black with two pale feet propped up on the edge of the tub. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and his dark hair sticks to his forehead. 

The stranger turns his head and cracks one eye open. “Nice soap. Tangerine?”

“Wh—who are you?” you croak. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a disparity with the fresh and brightly coloured soap stacked against the walls.

The man sits up and brushes the curls out of his eyes. “I’m Yoongi.” 

His voice is deep and a little scratchy, matching the dull look he gives you. 

You blink. Twice. 

He doesn’t ask for your name. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaning back instead until only his head remains above the water. 

Your gaze sweeps down to the wet floor before settling on his face—he has closed his eyes again and you huff.

“How did you get into my house?”

The man—Yoongi, apparently—slides a hand along the edge of the tub and gives a shrug so lackluster you’d have missed it if it wasn’t for the rippling of the water.

“Don’t know.” 

He does not seem to notice your agitation, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He rests his hands on his thighs and starts to hum the same tune you’d heard earlier. 

The once brightly coloured water has now turned a muddy brown and annoyance flares up in the pit of your stomach, smothering your initial fear.

“You need to get out.”

He reaches a hand behind his head, adjusting your bath pillow. 

Your jaw clenches. The audacity of this man to show up in your house, sneak into your bathroom and use your tub with his dirty clothes on. 

You inhale deeply through your nose in an attempt to throttle your exasperation. Instead you’re hit with a stale, murky aroma that slowly replaces the fresh scent of citrus and only fuels the fire. 

“I said you need to get out.” You raise your voice, pronouncing every syllable with clarity. 

“Shh,” the stranger shushes. 

Your eyebrows nearly disappear into your hairline. 

“Fine,” you grit out. “Stay here then. I’m calling the cops.” 

He doesn’t react so you bite your tongue, swallow your irritation down and stalk out of the bathroom. 

“Who the hell does he think he is?” you mutter to yourself, reaching for your phone on the kitchen counter. Your eyes fall on your half-cooked, cold dinner and you shoot it a sorry look. “Some kind of—” 

Your words are cut off by the flickering light, a series of sudden glimmers before the lamp fizzles out. You blink in rapid succession to adjust your eyes to the darkness—a fruitless attempt—and stumble towards the light switch to flick it against better judgement.

The room stays dark. 

Turning on the flashlight on your phone, you walk towards the front door and poke your head outside. The hallway is pitch black; the entire building must have lost electricity. 

You angle the light into the apartment behind you. There’s no sign of movement but the idea of the stranger being somewhere inside makes you shiver. 

The man didn't seem aggressive or dangerous—mostly just annoying—but here, in the dark, an uneasy feeling frays at the edge of your thoughts. 

You pat your pockets; no keys. You must’ve left them inside. For a moment you hesitate, throwing another glance over your shoulder, then stepping outside instead and pressing the #1 on your phone. 

A bright beam of light nearly blinds you and you throw your arm up to shield your eyes, vaguely making out a dark shadow in the door opening across the hall. 

“Oh—sorry!” The figure angles the flashlight down. “Hello neighbour.” He grins, eyes glittering in the dim light. 

“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to keep your voice steady. “Everything’s down?” 

Jungkook nods. “Seems like it.”

Your eyes sweep over his figure before you quickly avert them and settle on the dark shape poking its head around his leg. 

Jungkook notices your wide-eyed stare and holds the light a little higher. “Hey. You okay?”

“There’s a man in my bathroom,” you whisper. 

“There’s a what?” He tilts his head, confusion written all over his face. 

“A man,” you point towards the dark hallway behind you, “in my bathroom.”

Jungkook frowns and studies your face, half-hidden in the shadows.

Your heart skips a beat.  

Maybe he thinks this is some sort of Halloween prank—you can’t blame him, with how crazy you must sound. You pull down the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to hide the tremor in your fingers but he catches the motion. 

“Wait,” he grabs something from behind the door and hands you the flashlight. “You hold this. Bam, come here.” 

The big dog follows him into your apartment and you hurry after them, angling the flashlight around Jungkook’s back. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss. “And what’s that thing?”

Jungkook pokes around your coat rack. “A scythe—well, not a real one, but the wood is.” He taps it against the wall. “It won’t break.”

The living room is vacant and so is the kitchen. It’s not until you reach the bathroom, the door still standing wide open, that Jungkook finally slows down.

“Bam, here,” he whispers. The Doberman sticks to his side, his floppy ears pointed intently. 

You grasp the back of Jungkook’s rough sweater and aim the flashlight at the tub.  

It’s empty. 

In the stark light the white porcelain gleams even brighter. There’s no water in the tub and the floor is dry and clean. 

Jungkook pokes the scythe between the baskets of soap. “No one’s here,” he shakes his head. “Let’s check the rest of the house.”

You follow him around—head spinning and vision blurry. Jungkook opens every closet and every cabinet, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. 

Where did he go? 

Doubt starts trickling in again. Had you imagined things? 

When was the last time you had a solid eight hours of sleep? Or five even? 

It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened. Not the first time you had seen things that weren’t really there. 

Jungkook pushes your bedroom door open and Bam barges forward, barking loudly. 

“Bam, no!” Jungkook shouts. Gimbap darts outside and jumps on the kitchen counter, back arched and hissing loudly. Bam hops around in front of him, his tail wagging in excitement. 

“He still doesn’t like you, Bam.” You pat the dog on his head. “You better watch out, one of these days he’s gonna scratch you.” 

Jungkook comes back and takes the flashlight to check your closet and underneath your bed. “Everything’s clear.” He walks towards Gimbap, who’s still eyeing Bam with a wary look. “At least he likes me.” 

The cat sniffs his hand, rubbing his head against its tattooed back. 

“I’m sorry,” you force a smile. “I must’ve imagined things. It was probably just a shadow in the dark.”

Jungkook beams back at you and you can’t bring yourself to tell him the encounter happened before the lights went out. He doesn’t need to know how messed up your sleep schedule really is. 

“It’s okay, it’s pitch black in here—I’d see ghosts too.” He chuckles. “Do you have any light besides this?” He waves the flashlight around. 

You grab a lighter from a drawer and light a few candles. They illuminate the living room with a cozy, warm light, and for the first time this evening you get the chance to take a proper look at Jungkook. 

He is dressed in a large, black cloak and pasty white make-up with dark circles around his eyes. 

Belatedly you realise you’re still wearing your frumpled hoodie and two different socks. You suppress the urge to look down at your feet and fix your gaze on the little mole under Jungkook’s lip instead. 

Which only makes focussing on your next words harder. 

“Going out for Halloween?” 

“Just Tae’s place. I’m the reaper. Me and Bam.” He pats the dog on the back, his black-and-tan fur covered in white paint. 

“Explains the scythe.” You grab the tool from where it rests against the kitchen counter. In the candlelight you can see the blade is made out of soft plastic, but the wood feels heavy in your hand.  

Jungkook laughs. “Not really something I’d have laying around otherwise, no.” 

You grin. “I’m a little disappointed.” 

“You haven’t seen the rest of my home yet.” He cocks an eyebrow and your stomach does a funny flip.

Heat rises to your cheeks and you cough. “You did a good job with the skeleton.” Bam catches you looking at him and starts wagging his tail again. 

“Thanks. It’s pet friendly paint, of course.” 

A long silence falls between you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I can stay if you want, or you can come—”

“No, I’m fine,” you hastily interject. 

An image floods your mind, of the time he’d stayed over for dinner. A movie playing in the background, his body pressed into your side, his hand on your thigh—

You blink, hard, willing yourself to focus. “Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

Jungkook tilts his head but doesn’t object. “Okay. You know you can always text or call me, right?” 

You smile at him. “I do. Thank you.” You pat his arm before quickly retreating your hand. 

Jungkook stares at his sleeve as if you left behind a permanent mark. 

“I—um, see you around. Because we’re neighbours. Since,” he plucks at the cord around his waist, eyes trained on what appears to be a particularly interesting patch of white paint on the top of Bam’s head, “we, uh, live in the same building…”

“Yes!” you chirp, a little too enthusiastic. “Say hi to Tae from me. And Bam, be a good boy.” 

You bend down to plant a kiss on the dog’s head, missing the way Jungkook’s eyes follow your movement. 

“Call me if something’s up, okay?” He smiles at you. “And keep the flashlight for now, I don’t need it anyway. I don’t know when the electricity will be back on.” 

“Thanks, Kook. I mean it.” You smile back at him, an honest one this time. “Don’t take too many souls tonight.”

Jungkook laughs and you close the door behind him, sinking to the floor with a deep groan and burying your face in your hands. 

You are alone again. There was no stranger named Yoongi, just you and Gimbap—an ordinary night like any other. 

Except for completely embarrassing yourself in front of your cute neighbour. 

You should probably go to bed. You’d finish the project tomorrow; you’re of no use walking around sleep-deprived and hallucinating. 

Dragging yourself into the kitchen, you throw your half-cooked dinner into the trash. You’re not hungry anymore. Your limbs feel heavy and your eyes are tired; the only thing you want now is the solace of your own bed. 

You walk over to the window. The apartments on the other side of the road are dark like yours, some of them lit up with candles or makeshift lights. With the rain still beating down on the facade it feels oddly homey. 

“Is dog boy finally gone?” 

“Ah!” You jump at the sudden voice. Yoongi is standing next to you, his wet clothes plastered against his body. In the faint light his pale skin almost seems to emit a soft glow. 

“Looks like the entire street is down.” His sharp eyes find yours—big and rounded in shock—in the window’s reflection. “Well,” he shrugs, sounding entirely unconvincing, “that’s inconvenient.” 

“W—where did you go?”

“The drain.” He cracks his neck. “You need to descale your pipes more often.” 

He turns around and makes his way back towards the bathroom, leaving you standing dumbfounded in a small puddle by the window, the muddy water seeping into your socks.

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this chapter please consider reblogging and leaving a comment or an ask. I’d love to hear from you. Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me going!

↠ Masterlist

[miscelunaaa]

put your music on shuffle game

the reblogs on this were getting a bit long so i started a new one!!

rules: put your music on shuffle and then list the first ten songs that come up!

i was tagged by @bonvoyagenoona! i loved seeing what everyone in the reblog thread was listening to and i can‘t wait to see what pops up for othersssss

Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap

Run - BTS

28 - Agust D

Into You - Ariana Grande

Let Go - BTS

Fire in the Sky - The Midnight

Avalanche - Walk the Moon

Feel Good - Neon Trees

If you’re too shy (let me know) - The 1975

Up Against the Wall - Boys Like Girls

this is just the playlist i had on when i did this and why of course i’ve been in my feels recently, why do you ask??

no pressure to participate ever but tagging: @missgeniality @triviafics @reliablemitten @sunshinerainbowsbts @vyduan @wwilloww @calixwrites @namjin-fangirling-again @herecomesjoon @myooniverse @thatlongspringnight and anyone else I might have forgotten plz have at me i wanna know what you loveeee. if this is your millionth tag from me I’m sorry i just love all of you so much i can’t handle it

[wwilloww]

this is so kind let me please wrap you up in a big old hug!!!

tagging these writers who never fail to inspire and excite me with their beautiful words: @xjoonchildx @reliablemitten @calixwrites @dntaewithluv @honeymoonjin @ppersonna @thatlongspringnight @sahmfanficbts @sunshinerainbowsbts

reblog to give fic writers a gentle kiss on the forehead

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter ten

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit. 18+.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 6k

WARNINGS AND TAGS  no reference to reader with pronouns. navigation of consent. yn wears a dress. mentions of bts being larger than the reader.

← || series m.list || →

AN: Hey, do you know @madseok and @calixwrites and @thatlongspringnight? because you should. because they're the literal best. writing this chapter was a bit of a several-weeks nightmare and yet these folks stepped in and helped my sanity and my creativity and this chapter. i am so so grateful for them. so much is happening with nanowrimo in this story and they're keepin me on track. pls give them a hug if you see them.

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER TEN: PLUMS IN OCTOBER

There’s nothing quite like waking up the night after a good cry. It has a kind of crystal clarity to it. Your lungs ache a little, your eyes are swollen, but you feel cleared out. Like your chest has been mopped and dusted and whatever’s left, well, it feels ready for the day.

The window is still open, spilling too-cool air into the room and you pull the down blankets up to your chin, rolling over, swollen eyes still sleepily closed, hand reaching out, hoping to find a body, hoping—

The window is still open. Your eyes shoot wide as the events of last night come flooding back.

The warmth of his body. The way you had fit into all of his nooks and cracks. His lips, blooming like spring’s first cherry blossoms upon your skin.

That thin line between dream and reality still wavers before you, grey and unclear. What from last night had been nothing more than the workings of your mind? And more frightfully, what had been his own doing? In the dark, it was harder to tell. Your name, sung from his lips? His hands wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go? Your lips, pressed to his neck—well, horribly unfortunately, you were very sure that that did happen. In the daylight, your face warms in embarrassment at the memory.

Snatching your hand away from the other side of the bed, you’re relieved to find it empty  and surprised by  the pang of longing that strikes you at the realization. Would you rather be alone, or embarrassed? You’re not sure.

Heart all a-ache, you clamber out of bed and get dressed, pulling on a comfortable flannel over a pair of leggings. The scent of breakfast is already wafting underneath the closed door, and, stomach grumbling, you make your way out of the room only to bump into a very firm body.

“Oh!”

Jimin turns around, already dressed and ready for the day.

“Jimin. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah,” he grins.

“Is this kind of meeting going to become regular?”

“I don’t know, do you want it to?”

You smile, reach for him, hands winding around his waist. So close, it’s hard to deny the warmth radiating out from between your bodies. He pulls you tight against his chest, threading his fingers between yours, and the two of you just stand there, smiling a little sleepily at one another before he speaks:

“I’m going to kiss you. You know, as a good morning.”

His lips are dangerously close. “Uh-huh, sure. A good morning.”

He kisses you lightly, like he’s not in any rush to get anywhere, like he’s got nothing planned for the rest of the day except to kiss you. One of his hands winds its way to your cheek, cupping it gently. The kiss is a soft, wandering thing.

“Good morning,” he says against your lips.

“Good morning,” you reply breathily.

Softness though, quickly becomes heat as he slips his tongue between your lips and maneuvers you against the closed bedroom door. His hips press into yours, grinding against you. It’s heated, needy. You respond with your fingers drawing down his back. Searching for skin, you untuck his button down from his pants and skate your fingers along the warmth of his hips. You think he might even fuck you, right outside your bedroom, if you let him, fast and desperate. It’s like second nature to imagine him breathing hard against your neck as he fucks into you, imagine him coming and it dripping down your—

Your name sounds from the end of the hallway. And then: “Jimin? Is that you?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse, your hand fumbling for the doorknob behind you as you press down and tumble with Jimin into the bedroom. You slam the door behind you as footsteps ring down the hallways, ever nearing. In a frenzy, you attempt to straighten yourselves out. Jimin chuckles as he watches you frantically try to compose yourself, tugging your clothes back into place.

“It’s Hoseok,” Jimin says, just as the door opens and the man himself walks in. His gaze flickers between the two of you, your bedhead, Jimin’s half untucked button-down shirt.

“Morning, Jimin.”

“Morning Hobi,” Jimin says, already reaching for the door ready to slip out. “See you at breakfast.” You throw him a meaningful glare as he disappears into the hallway.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, stepping closer. “Your lip—” Before you know what’s happening, he reaches out for you, and traces his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “What happened?” In his voice, there’s an edge of curiosity, of trepidation.

Instead of answering, you find yourself staring up at him. A thick lock of dark hair falls into his eyes, and he blinks, but, too focused on gliding his rather large thumb against the soft flesh of your mouth, doesn’t brush it away. But you do, reaching for him and tucking the piece of hair tenderly behind his ear again. And there’s that thing again.

Clear and crystal cold, like the wind sweeping in through the open window. Striking right through your chest, while your fingers trace the shell of his ear and his thumb presses into the corner of your lip.

Your breath shudders to life, and as it sweeps over his hand, he seems to blink back to reality, and with a nervous chuckle, slips his hand away from your mouth.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Forgot myself there for a moment.”

“’s okay, nothing to apologize for,” you breathe. And you mean it. You don’t want him to apologize for any of it.

You two are still standing so close.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast, yeah,” you chuckle, and the tension breaks. He smiles that familiar smile and leads you out of the bedroom.

As your nose fills with the smell of kartoffelpuffer and roasted chestnuts, the phrase echoes in your mind: forgot myself. Funny enough, you feel more yourself than you have in months, despite the soft, confusing glow that’s now taken up residence in your chest. Hoseok sits close to you at breakfast, and at some point, his arm is swung across the back of your chair. As Jimin chatters about a dream he had—something about camping in the forest to awaken to an empty lake—you let yourself lean against Hobi’s arm. He smiles down at you when you do, grinning like you’ve just made his day, and you warm beneath his gaze. When you turn your attention back to Jimin and his dream, you almost think Hoseok’s fingers brush against the back of your neck.

But it can’t be.

It feels too normal. It feels too right. To have him there, touching you like that. When you glance up at him, he’s looking down at you, a smile quirking in the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

It doesn’t feel like nothing.

When his gaze shifts across the table, you follow it.

Jin is leaning back in his chair, a slow, late morning smile spreading across his face. One of his hands is on Tae’s thigh, who is chatting eagerly and enthusiastically with Jimin, but your attention is anywhere but there. Instead, it’s on Jin’s mouth.

Jin bites into a ripe plum—is it even plum season anymore?—and the juice spills out from his mouth, dribbling down one corner while a particularly large drop glides over the crest of his lip before slipping down to his chin. His tongue darts out to collect the purpling juice, but he’s too late, the plum bead is already trailing down his neck, a kind of dark stain on his skin.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, you curse, What the fuck is up with these men today?

It’s then that he catches your gaze.

“Still hungry?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“V-very full, um but—Where’d you get that?” you stammer. It’s long past season for ripe plums.

“The tree. In the backyard.”

Curious, you stand from the table, your curiosity winning out over your desire to stay glued to Hobi’s side, and drift to the broad window that looks over the backyard. Sure enough, among the golden and bare trees stands a fully fruiting plum tree.

“How strange,” you murmur. “A plum, in October.”

Breakfast breaks, and you’re nearly ecstatic to hear that it’s not your turn to do dishes. The rest of the day stretches out before you, empty and impending.

Tonight is the night you all decide where your relationship is going.

Over breakfast, Jimin had suggested that you all dress up for dinner tonight, something that everyone hastily agreed to, as it had been a while since you all had done something of the sort. Back before you had all been separated, every once in a while you, as a group, would dress to the nines and hit the town, always deciding on a fraudulent event to celebrate: a 50th wedding anniversary, a nobel prize, a belated middle school graduation. Dazzling and decadently dressed, any stranger who came across your party would be convinced within minutes by a chirpy Jungkook and serious Jin of the notoriety of the night. The frequency of these events lead to you all being prepared to dress to the stars at the drop of a hat. However, those nights feel like eons ago.

Now, though, a significant part of you feels as though all of you are speeding towards imminent doom. At least you’ll be doing so in style, you think wryly.

You decide to take the day to yourself, avoiding the boys’ invitations to go kayaking and rockclimbing and the like, instead insisting on getting some much-needed quiet time.

That doesn’t last long though, because it seems like every corner you turn in the house, another beautiful man is waiting, taking up space, making you think wildly improper things:

Taehyung, emerging from the heated pool in the backyard. The water drips off of his body, and you swear time has slowed to slow motion. Droplets roll down the tight muscle of his torso and he shakes out his long, wet hair in a kind of doggish motion. There’s something wildly youthful about him these days, you think as you watch from the window. A kind of youth that has little to do with age and more to do with an unhinged kind of freedom.

Yoongi, you find half clothed and finally ghosting the hallways, long after breakfast has been finished. Somehow in his sleepy state, his soft aura and hard edge blend intoxicatingly well together. He sends you a wink when he finds you staring a little too long.

Jin, all over the house, eating very drippy fruit. It seems to be a brand. A really fucking well-suited brand.

The day passes quickly. Too quickly. You want to cling to time, ask it to hold back, and you do your best to do so, scrolling through your phone and flipping through random books in the library.

But soon the sky is darkening and the house becomes quiet as everyone begins to get ready for dinner and the looming conversation. As you’re making your way back to your room to try to scramble something from your pile of sweatpants and sweaters that might look a little bit nice, you stumble across a small reading nook,  inhabited by your roommate. You poke your head in.

Namjoon is sprawled elegantly across the window seat that overlooks the back of the house. Framed against the dramatic mountains, he looks the picture of the intellectual mountain man, a book propped up in his hands, the valleys behind him caked in sunset.

When he goes to turn the page, he brings the pad of his thumb to his lips. Pink tongue darts out to wet the tip, before he presses it to the corner of the page with such precision and care that you too, find yourself wetting your lips.

He notices your gaze.

“Hm?” he hums your name. “Can I help you?”

Yes, you want to say. You can keep doing that absolute fucking sexy page turn thing.

“Nope, nah, all good,” you say a little too quickly.

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow and closes the book with a loud snap! “It seems like you’re thinking about something?” You shake your head, but he stands and moves towards you. “Perhaps, are you thinking about yesterday?” He knows you too well. You give in.

You nod.

His eyes darken as the two of you stare into one another. It’s the same look as yesterday: the steadiness of him, knowing in his desire. Like light in flight, flickering down from the trees onto you. It makes you feel like you’re bathing in something golden and rare.

His steps sound dully on the wooden floor as he approaches. You’ve been hovering against the doorway, watching him, so when he arrives before you, he slots himself in in the narrow frame, looking every inch the broad and dashing man that he is. His large hand grips the archway as he towers over you. Your back is pressed to the inside of the old wooden door now, and the two of you swing in a balance between the two rooms.

Everything says he’s going to kiss you. His lips are a little flushed. His lids, heavy. His breath, so, so close to weaving itself into yours. He says otherwise.

“I won’t kiss you. Not before all the dust settles. Doesn’t seem fair to the others. But I will do this.”

He reaches down and lifts your hand before flipping it over, palm facing up. Your breath shudders as he tenderly lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a full-lipped kiss to the middle of your palm. And then he lifts your hand a little higher, and kisses your wrist, right where the pulse is screaming through your veins.

Somehow him not kissing you where you want him to is even more thrilling, as your whole body buzzes with excitement. It’s like standing on the edge of a great height and looking down.

“Oh, please, Namjoon. Are you really going to deny me?” you tease, sure that his valiance will lose out against his desire.

He looks genuinely torn for a moment there, but he nods, sets his face into that of a perfect gentleman and says “Yes.”

Your heart is racing. “And I can’t do anything to convince you otherwise?”

With the softest of touches, he reaches for you, takes your chin in his hand, and runs his thumb across your cheekbone before tracing it over the shell of your ear. He takes you in for what feels like a long moment, and you know he is considering your offer. Considering what you might offer. Your heart ricochets in your chest.

“No,” he says finally, though it looks like it pains him.

Your heart thuds to a disappointed stop.

“Well,” you say, perking up, still trying to brush the electricity of his touch from the soft skin off your face. “If you’re going to deny me that, you might at least escort me to my chambers?”

“That I can do,” he smiles and takes your arm like he did yesterday. “Shall we tour the grounds?”

“Indeed, m’lord.”

He chuckles.

The two of you wander off down the hallway, leaving your books behind.

“Tell me,” you say. “Why isn’t it fair to the others that you kiss me?”

Namjoon laughs at your pout. “Well, I suppose. It feels like everything’s hanging in the balance of this question and maybe… well, maybe I lost a bit of my sense yesterday. Pushed things too far.”

“I didn’t think you pushed things too far, not at all,” you grin. And then more quietly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have minded if you pushed it a little bit further even.”

Namjoon coughs at the insinuation.

“Oh?”

“Mm,” you affirm.

When you look up at him, he’s got a bit of a smug smile on his face and you can’t help but stop the eager smile that slips across your lips. It’s good to see him like this.

“Can I expect you’ll be showing up in all your finest tonight?” Namjoon asks.

“Ah, well, if my finest is my best cable knit sweater and my favorite pair of leggings, then yes.”

“You mean you’re not dressing up?” He seems shocked.

“I forgot to pack my MET gala look,” you shrug.

“Unacceptable!” he cries, letting go of your arm. “It’s not tradition if you’re not in your finest—we’ll have to find you something.”

“What? You brought a full-on suit to the mountains?”

“Yes of course I brought a suit to the mountains,” Namjoon says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Most of the others did too.”

“Oh.” You suddenly feel strange showing up in a pair of sweatpants when all of your friends will be in tuxedos.

Namjoon notices. “But don’t you worry one bit. I’ll find you something to wear before tonight.” “My aunt has to have left some clothes somewhere. She was known for her parties, I bet I can find a boa and something sparkly somewhere.”

“You’ll pick something out for me?”

“I’ll pick something out for you,” he grins.

You warm at the thought of Namjoon picking something out just for you: him staring at colors and cuts and guessing what kind of thing you would look best in.

The two of you chatter as you wander around the many hallways of the house, before making your way back to your bedroom, your arm cradled in his elbow. It feels like the beginning of a new habit. One you like.

As you near the glass bridge, it strikes you that this may be the last moment together before everything changes. The last moment as a friend group that is merely a friend group.

You dare to look down at the edge of the bridge, and you find something that surprises you. Before, it was simply a rocky ravine. But a crystal clear stream trickles down through the rocks and trees. Had that been there before? Where it emerges from the rock, it looks like the mountain has cracked open and is spilling its innards to the world.

“Has that always been there?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, I—I don’t think so?” Namjoon murmurs, just as struck as you. “How strange.”

The dress Namjoon picked is stunning. Somehow, it fits you perfectly, and you say a small thank you to his aunt for the opportunity to wear something that looks, well, like a piece of art.

The dress blooms in red. Soft fabric falls like the new stream of water down your body, where it gathers at your hip before spilling down in a new cascade to the floor. Sleeves that at first felt too large to wear now perch at your shoulders, a semi-transparent poof that makes you feel like someone who’s just recently discovered they are royal.

You feel divine.

It’s been so long since you dressed up, and tonight, it feels like some kind of offering to a temperamental god.

Dressed, (well, mostly, the shoes Namjoon brought you were microscopically small) you wander out into the house, but no one is to be seen. You still have a little bit of time before dinner, and so when the urge pulls you, you follow.

The mountains, dressed in dusk, call.

You step outside, the cold biting through the warm fabric of the dress, the hiking boots you’ve donned, a stark contrast to the elegance of the outfit. You wander towards the edge of the kept yard to where one side of the slope drops off into the valley.

“Hi,” a dark voice murmurs from behind you.

“Hoseok,” you smile.

“It’s so formal when you speak to me like that,” he frowns.

“Hobi—” you correct.

“You’re beautiful—”

“Ah—”

“I mean, you look beautiful tonight.”

“And I don’t the other nights?” You raise a teasing eyebrow.

“No, of course, but—you look a different kind of beautiful tonight. By the way… last night. I’m sorry about last night,” Hoseok says quickly.

“Sorry?” you say. “No, no need to be sor—”

“I was dreaming,” he interrupts. “And forgot my place.”

Forgot my place.

You don’t know how to fit these words into your body.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, if you woke up and felt unsafe or worried or—”

“No, no, I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

Hoseok freezes and looks at you, scanning your face like he’s searching for something in particular.

“You—you weren’t?”

It’s like he’s puzzling language together. If you weren’t made uncomfortable by his entanglement in you, then you must—

You reach for his hand, taking it in yours and pulling him close to you.

“Hobi,” you say softly, “I couldn’t feel uncomfortable because—”

Jin’s voice breaks through the cold.

“Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s waiting!” He struts through the open door, waddling awkwardly in socked feet and a well fitted tuxedo. Of course he brought a tuxedo to the mountains. “Fuck,” he hisses, as the cold seeps through the thin fabric of his socks. His walk is only paused by the punching bag that hangs in the outdoor gym, throwing a half-hearted jab, before continuing his waddle towards you. He grabs both of your hands and tugs you towards the warmth already spilling out of the open door. “Inside, inside. We’re starving and impatient.”

Hoseok huffs.

“In more ways than one,” Jin winks.

Hoseok pulls his arm out from yours and your phone tumbles from your hand, rolling a little farther back. When he goes to turn around, you stop him, tell him, “I got it, I’ll be right behind you.”

Still, he bends down, picks it up for you, and slips it into your hand with a little pat.

“I’ll see you soon,” he smiles knowingly, and the pair disappears inside.

You take a long, last moment gazing at a distant summit, painted peach and purple as the sun sinks below the horizon of the mountains. Each day that passes, they feel more and more familiar. Like learning a new friend.

You’re not entirely sure why you need the extra space, but it calls for you, in the way that your chest is a little too tight, in the way that your breathing comes a little too quickly.

What are you feeling?

You wander slowly up to the house, taking your sweet time as you circle around the question. You slip inside, toeing off your boots and dropping your jacket on a nearby chair. From down the hallway, the boys’ voices echo, a soft ruckus of chatter and chuckles.

From down the hallway, you peer inside the dining room where all seven of them are sitting, Hobi is still getting settled in his big winter jacket. You smile as your eyes gaze over each of their faces, considering each one of them and the prospect that Yoongi has set before all of you.

Everyone should fuck.

And then Jimin’s words: There is enough mutual desire in this house to power an entire country. Had he really meant it? As the group confidant, you were sure he would be the one to hear about anything first, but, well, looking at them, you wonder if they too, feel a semblance of what you feel when you look over each of them:

Namjoon, and his sharp, all-seeing eyes: you want them all over you. That you might glimpse something new about the world, maybe even about yourself, in that warm brown. You want Yoongi, exquisite composer of moments, you want him, want to relish in his space of creation once more. Taehyung, well, he is old love, shaped new. And Jin, and his deep reserve of joy and unexpected wisdom. Jungkook, delightful Jungkook, sparkles with a springtime of youth and adventure. Jimin, designer of control, his emotional depth and precision of action inspires you. And, of course Hobi. What is it about Hobi? You don’t know how to put him to words. You only know that when your eyes lock with his, your heart clicks into some place deep and unknowable within—but your chest tightens at the thought.

Hobi is the unknowable. What you do know is this: You want them. You want them in more ways than one. But thinking about that starts you down a path that definitely screams run. Even if that voice that turns its back at the first sign of complication is becoming quieter these days, it still hums in your head. And tonight the hum is building to a fever pitch.

They look so comfortable, like they belong there together. Like no matter how the cards fell as each of you were given your lot in life, these seven men were meant to be in the same room with one another at some point, that a spark would fly, in any universe, timeline, or life. As you stand in the hallway, the distance between you and them widens.

Jungkook sits with his feet propped up in Taehyung’s lap, Hobi chuckles with Yoongi about something. Namjoon, Jin, and Jimin look at something on a phone. As you look at them joking around, your chest warms. Warms like there’s a wood fire, stoked too quickly to flame.

All at once, something shatters in your chest. As you reach for your own desire, it feels like everything you have worked for falls apart.

You want this, yes. You undeniably and irrevocably want this.

But you want them closer than sex too.

You want to fall asleep on their chests, in their clothes. You want to wake up in the morning with them curled around you. You want to fall into them at any given moment, wrapping around their backs in the kitchen, tackling them on a hike—all the things that you know and love about your friendship with them. But if you could, you want to ask for it to linger. You want the lingering, the hands tangling, the holding on even when you should have let go long ago.

You tell yourself that all it is, all you want is intimacy. Intimacy, after all these months of solitude. But something in your chest sings, more, it’s more.

It’s not just the sex, but you’re tripping over the unspoken words, it’s something about wanting them all closer, closer, closer. Closer than sex. What is the word?

The word is run.

Run, run, run.

Your breath quickens in your chest, gasps rising from the simmering fear in your gut. All at once, the formerly towering ceilings seem even farther away, and the spacious walls are creeping closer to you.

A thousand words sing emptily on your tongue as you look at them.

Your body makes the decision for you.

Out of the hallway, the boys’ voices drowned out by the pounding in your head, the hallways blurring past. Someone calls your name, but all you know is the door. Get to the door. You hurry to the front of the house, where your keys are still hanging from the wrought iron key rack where you left them that first day, and you snatch them up, the metal biting into the soft flesh of your palms with how tight you hold them.

But when you push open the heavy wooden entryway, the door flinging open behind you, your car is nowhere to be seen.

You had parked it there, right beneath the steps, in the gravel driveway. You were sure of it.

But there’s no car. There’s not even a driveway. Instead of gravel, at the bottom of the steps lies a thick carpet of small plants, wild grass, and fallen leaves. And rising before you like an ancient being, a dense wall of trees. Evergreens and oaks and aspens tangled so closely together.

In your red dress, you are but a small creature against the dark beast of the forest. Earlier, you had felt like an offering to a distant god. And now you know you are.

It’s as if the whole world has been swallowed up. There’s nothing there. No road. No cars. No little village waiting at the bottom of the valley. It’s just wilderness. The whole world, returned to what it must have once been: Dense, impenetrable wilderness.

Something between a sob and a gasp racks through your body and the keys you were holding so tightly drop to the steps beneath your feet.

At once, you feel it all. This deep, deep consuming fear. You want to push it away, but something urges you: look a little closer and suddenly you know. This whole time, you’ve been afraid of being found. Of being looked at. Of being seen.

But beneath that lies something else: a fear that the people you hold most dearly to you do not want to find you.

As if in answer to the churning of your insides, before you stretches the great unknown.

Darkness is threaded between the trees, and as if it were a pool of water, you see yourself reflected back in it. Small, impossibly small, lost in the mountains, and standing with your back to an open door.

So far away from what you know, if you were even to try to get back home, away from this, away from this burning, horrible, lovely beast in your chest—what would be waiting for you? A vacant apartment? An empty city? A silent world? The practice of life, the normalcy, the companionship? To go back is to go further from it. See: all of it is gone. Decimated in the rubble of the past. What you know, what you knew, that disappeared months ago, when the world around you dissolved.

The path you were walking has long since crumbled beneath your feet. For months now, you’ve been bushwhacking through the forest. And now, finally, you see it, standing golden before you. The choice was never between the known and the unknown. It was never a choice at all. The only way forwards was always into the unknown, into the empty sky, nothing but grey clouds swimming beside you.

And them. And them, beside you, a voice within reminds you.

It’s time to let the beast within you lead the way.

Where? You’re not sure. In this instance you know with your whole body: what you’re looking for is not back. It’s forward, somewhere in your future.

Your knees give out beneath you and you sink to the cold steps, fingers tangled in your sweater, arms wrapping tightly around your torso.

The truth is, there is no escape. The open door of the house marks what you already know: You’ve already been seen. But the fear is that if you turn around, no one will be there waiting for you.

Someone calls your name softly from behind you.

“Everyone is waiting. Are—are you okay?” It’s Yoongi and you shudder and wrap your arms tighter around your body. Your friend steps down before you and gingerly, reaches down to lift your face to his. “Oh.” When he sees you he plops right down beside you, pulling your arms apart and wrapping himself around you too. “You’re doing that thing again, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I thought you were going to get in your car and leave.”

“I tried.”

“Huh?”

“It’s gone,” you motion to the forest spreading before you.

Yoongi looks between you and the spot where you swear you parked your car. “Metaphorically? ‘S right there?”

You both stare at each other in confusion, and it’s then that you realize. Yoongi doesn’t see the forest. Not like what you see.

But he sees the confusion on your face, and pulls you into his arms, his body wrapped around yours, protecting you from the cold, from the confusion, from it all.

And there, he says the thing he should have said months ago, while you were still wrapped in his arms and in his bed as the snow drifted down outside the frosted window: “You have to stop running.” His face is hard, but earnest, and when you feel the truth rising to your lips you let it past, into the space between you:

“What if I don’t know how?” It’s barely a whisper.

He grabs your hands, his long fingers lacing securely around your sweaty palms, and he squeezes them tightly, and it’s like a ship anchoring into a long-forgotten harbor. It’s not romantic, not sexy, not one bit—but it’s what you need.

“That’s okay. This, this doesn’t have to be something you need to know how to do. It’s more something you stumble into, and you give whatever you want to give it, and you hold onto your kindness, and then hope for the best.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Does that sound so difficult?”

“No.”

“And is it something you want?”

You look up at him, the unfallen tears still warm against your lashes when you blink. And you nod.

“Then there’s only one thing you have to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Speak your desire.” He nods, encouraging you.

You elbow him and he grunts. “That’s fucking cheesy.”

“I don’t know, man, what else do you want me to say? Fuck your friends? You don’t need my permission.”

“Okay fine.”

“You understand the sentiment.”

“I do.”

“So I mean it, speak it.”

He looks at you so hard, you think he might be able to read the words off your tongue without speaking them.

“I… want you. I want them.”

Yoongi slowly extricates himself from you, stands, and brushes his hands off his against his jeans.  “Good. Then I’ll give you a moment and when you’re ready, come inside.”

You nod and watch him close the front door softly behind him with a gentle click.

Cupping the back of your head, you press your fingers into the skin at the nape of your neck, a nervous tic. The cold near-winter air slices through your lungs and you’re suddenly aware of just how pericing the chill is. That and—

At the edge of the forest, the sprawling forest that is still very much there, something white flutters in the grass, like a birdwing searching for flight.

A piece of paper.

You creep towards the looming woods, careful not to step beneath the shadow of the great being, and tug the paper from the grass. A postcard.

The mailbox is all the way up the steps, but the way the postcard is laying in the grass is almost like the house spit it out.

Your heart catches in your throat as you read the message scrawled hastily on the front.

I’ve made my decision. An opportunity like this doesn’t present itself often and I’m not going to let it pass, I’m not going to give up the chance to have you again. I can’t get you out of my head and I need you to know what I know.

All of a sudden it feels like your heart is going to eat straight through your chest, it gallops through you at a forbidden pace. Which of your boys wrote this? Which one—

You flip the card over. There, scribbled:

For my sunshine, from your Sora.

The trees feel like they’re looking at you. Like they lean closer. The house behind you, encouraging.

What you do next can only be described as marching. Hands clenched together, the postcard crumpled in your fist.

In the hallway, there’s a wastebin. You look at it for a long moment before deciding.

You toss the postcard away.

Something deep within you cracks open as the paper hits the bottom of the empty bin with the softest tap. You know you’re not supposed to be doing this. You know this is wrong. And yet you can’t bear any other reality.

Though reality seems rather shifty these days.

At the doorway, you take a deep breath. Something deep within you releases.

“Hi,” you say softly. It’s so quiet. And yet, seven pairs of dark eyes turn to look at you.

You squeeze your hand so tight that the nails pinch into your skin. Come on. But when your name slips from the lips of one of the men in the room with such softness, such care, that’s enough encouragement for you.

“I’m in.”

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THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter eight

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit. 18+.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 6k

WARNINGS AND TAGS explicit conversation about sexual acts. animal encounter.

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©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

AN: i must gift my entire heart to the two lovelist beta readers @thatlongspringnight and @calixwrites . working with you allows me to get to the root of the story, and i feel like the whole creative process comes to life when i get to talk with you and learn from you. ugh. i can't say it enough: you are the best.

in other news, i cut this chapter in half because i couldn't keep track of everything that was happening. a new chapter should be polished and finished soon :)

it's almost been a year since we started on this wacky journey together. and so to everyone who's stuck around with me: thank you.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Namjoon’s voice rumbles softly in your ear, pointing out the bedrooms of your friends, the passageways, the art on the walls.

The details, though, are drowned out by the hammering of your heart in your ears. It’s a strange sensation, this moment, arm captured by your beautiful roommate while everything stews inside. It’s like the library: two sides of the world smushed into a space too small to hold it all. On one side, the outside, you have the warmth that radiates from him, especially when he pauses his good natured lecture for a moment to pull you just a little tighter against his side and smile a little crookedly down at you. But then inside, the acid that’s started to pool in your chest burns in the heat of anxiety.

“…I mean, you remember seeing Kim Chong-Haks piece, right? When you really think about it, it’s just like this amalgamation—” Namjoon pauses, voice dying as he looks down at you. “You’re distracted.”

“Huh?” You snap out of the spiral of your thoughts to smile sheepishly up at your tall roommate. “Sorry. Can you blame me? A, uh, lot has happened today.”

“No. I can’t.” He nods, ever the one to understand. “I can stop talking. If you want.”

“No, no, don’t. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” It’s that slow smile that takes over his face that pulls you a little closer to the warmth. A little closer to courage. “Okay. I can do that.”

You continue on through the house, and this time you really do listen to him. Hearing about everything—art, philosophy, life—through his eyes does what it always does: it brings you back to the world. And for a moment, the anxiety in your stomach settles.

It’s not until you come across a familiar hallway that you interrupt his stream of thought.

“What’s behind that door?”

“Hm? Oh.” Namjoon drops your arm and wanders down the hallway. You follow him. “I’m not sure, really.” He grins at you. “Let’s find out?”

The excitement of it all adds a skip to your step and soon you both are standing at the large door.

Namjoon reaches to turn the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge.

“Earlier,” you say, “There was a key here.”

“A key?” Namjoon looks at you skeptically.

“A key.”

“Huh, strange.” He steps back for a moment, eyeing the door like he can think it open, before giving it one last rattle. No luck. “Well, I’ll find the key later. There’s a drawer here somewhere with all the missing keys and lightbulbs and instruction manuals. There’s always a drawer.”

“There’s always a drawer,” you echo.

Namjoon turns on his heel to stride back down the hallways, but you’re stuck there, staring at the door, wondering what this large house is keeping hidden securly behind her walls. How many more missing keys and locked doors are hiding around another corner you haven’t turned?

“You coming?” Namjoon calls, already at the end of the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah.” You hurry to catch up. The rest of the walk to the back door disappears in a blur.

When you bend down to tie your shoe, Namjoon stoops down, earning a little squeal of excitement from you as he snatches the shoe from you and holds it out of your reach.

“Let me.” His voice reverberates deep and low.

“What?”

“Let me,” he insists a second time. Taking your shoe, he lifts your leg onto his knee, slips the shoe onto your foot, and ties it tight and sturdy before looking up at you. “There you go.”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, half smiles teasing your lips, the recollection of tension — of his hands in your hair, his lips against yours, body pressing you into the books as if he could keep you as a memory — the history of the library strung between you like spider silk. And then, eyes still locked on you, he leans down and presses a kiss to your knee.

“Oh,” you breathe.

He grins. Stands. Offers you a hand.

“Thanks,” you say, not really sure how to translate that stirring beast inside you. “For today. For everything. For—” You motion to the room around you. “For this.”

He just nods and opens the door to the backyard to follow you out.

The air that meets you on the other side tastes like the color gold. Like leaves falling, like the sun shattering through the foliage, and like life getting ready for slumber beneath the rich topsoil. You breathe in deep.

“I could get high on this,” you murmur, and Namjoon chuckles. He leads you down the hill behind the house to where a naturally shaped pool glistens down below and a familiar figure is lounging on a large boulder.

“Hobi!” you call, and the sound that emerges is eager and excited and — it surprises you. Joy, reaching for joy. You warm a little inside, and the edge of anxiety cools down to a manageable simmer. The dark haired main perks up immediately, turning to greet you. “Hi, you were looking for me?”

“Babe.” A grin spreads as sweet as the pet name sounds. This time you don’t fight it. You give in.

“Hi.”

He expected a fight. You always did fight him, that signature sizable grin spreading across your features as you did. And he always did like the contest of it, the game of it all, but now — the lack of resistance? But something more than that, something like eagerness. It has a strange kind of warmth to it. He thinks he likes it.

As Hoseok sits up, he glances between you and Namjoon, and you do the same and it’s then that he notices. It feels like a secret. It’s passed between you and Namjoon like a small, carefully folded note, clear to Hoseok or anyone that might look upon the two of you. The contents, though, are a little harder to make out.

Namjoon bends down and plants a hesitant kiss on your cheek and Hoseok watches as you freeze up beneath the touch. You’re hyper-aware of what Hobi must be thinking: Namjoon wasn’t usually all that touchy, right?

But then you’re cackling in embarrassment and smacking Namjoon on the shoulder and saying “See ya, bud, thanks for the tour.” The look Joon shoots back is a little confused and he laughs nervously before walking back to the house. But suddenly the look on Hobi’s face isn’t so nervous after all as he takes in the overwhelmingly “dad vibes” of the whole situation. This is normal. This is all normal.

None of this is normal. Normal was left behind in January.

The two of you stand there a little awkwardly, sizing one another up, silence settling uncomfortably between you before you both blurt at the same time:

“I was thinking—”

“I wanted to say—”

It rushes out of the both of you like a stream undammed, toppling, churning, so it’s hard to see to the root of it. And as quickly as it pours out, both of you are shoving it back in.

“Oh.”

“God, sorry.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before bursting out into soft laughter.

“Want to go for a walk?” Hoseok asks.

You eye the steep slopes that border the house on every side. Nothing here is simply a walk. Everything is a hike.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure!” The words feel stilted and awkward as they leave your lips. Even after it’s agreed, the two of you stare at each other for a horribly long moment, sentences unstrung and unsung humming behind your gazes, chilling you more than the mild autumn air could. Neither of you sure how to speak them into the world, and both of you determined that the silence is reproach in the other. At this point, the silence has become an unspoken agreement. The long drawl of emptiness has been safer than the promise of hope.

You take the first step, desperate to break the tension. Hoseok lets out an audible breath of relief when you do and matches your pace.

When you start walking, like it's an impulse, the tension shared becomes each your own again, stuffed back into your chests alongside everything unsaid.  There’s something about moving though, especially through a beauty this dense, that shakes the frozen sounds within you both. As you walk it becomes easier. A joke that nears Jin’s dastardly level of dad joke slips out—why did the tree worry that he would never get his leaves back after autumn? He didn’t be-leaf in himself!—and suddenly he’s laughing, cackling, breaking through the silence of the forest.

It’s like the forest comes alive, too. You know it was there before and yet the birdsong is stronger, the valley warmer, the trees more golden. You beam up at him.

“You know, this is the first time we’ve actually spent time alone together since we got here,” he says.

“Well, you know, except every night that we spend in the same bed.”

“That doesn’t count,” he laughs, but its a strained kind of sound, like a memory gentle but with a pinpoint of pain beneath the softness. “We’re sleeping! And it especially doesn’t count when you’re always slipping in late, coming from who knows where, doing who knows what.”

Doing who knows who, your mind corrects. Warmth flushes through you as you recall it all. The whirlwind of bodies, gasps, pleasure that the last week has been — and guilt. Guilt tinges the edge of the memory as you glance at Hoseok. He looks at you a moment too long, like he is trying to gage what exactly you have been up to, and then moves on.

“No time for bedtime stories or a healthy gossip session or—” His eye lights with something and a flush overcomes his face.

“Or what?” You prod him with your elbow, grinning. “Or what!”

“Nothing!”

“Oh, come on,” you urge. “You can tell me anything! We don’t have secrets here!”

He looks at you. At all the unspoken things beneath your tongue. He can see that they’re there, but not what they are. “We don’t?”

You want to swallow your words. “Well,” you begin slowly, no idea what to say, trying to navigate the internal maze that is a horrible mix of hope, guilt, excitement, fear, longing, and, well, something else that doesn’t quite have a name. “Maybe we shouldn’t have secrets.”

The trail, once broad, has now tapered into a narrow switchback. It’s harder to breathe at an elevation this high.

Around you, the trees stand tall in their age. The deeper you go, the older the growth seems to be, young and thin aspens turning into swarths of the entangled tree, and heavy evergreens with thick bellies, stretching so high into the sky you’re not sure where the tree ends and the world begins. Beneath you, carpets of pine needles soften all sounds so that even the life, humming around you, feels like it has softened.

When you breathe in, it’s like swallowing nature. It’s the kind of air that makes your lungs ache with the edge of a light chill; there’s comfort there, despite the ache of a new season. Everything your relationship with him is supposed to feel like.

“Well, what do you think about it?” Hobi’s voice shatters through the stillness, just a little too quiet for him, for his body, and you watch him shift, awkward, listening as the forest swallows the sounds.

“Hm?”

“Yoongi’s proposal.”

“I don’t know,” you lie quickly. A flash of guilt spikes through you. You just told him there shouldn’t be any secrets between the two of you. And yet here you are, digging the distance of another secret.

“Don’t you think that seven penises is a lot of penises?” Hoseok cocks a curious eyebrow.

“Dicks,” you correct, grimacing. “Cocks, whatever — not penises. I — I hate that word. It’s icky.”

“Peni, then,” Hobi laughs.

“No!” you laugh, falling into him. “That’s worse!” His hands come out to steady you, and you lean into the touch like it’s magnetized.

When you look at him, there it is again. That freezing thing, that moment of extension, that sweetness singing between the two of you. That history — that January night — balled up and tossed in the corner to gather cobwebs, now resummoned to the surface. You think he might even want to lean into it too. He holds your gaze just a little too long, delight creeping across his features. Until he blinks and turns away, and the moment becomes lost to time. Just another sketch scribbled quickly, only to be crumpled and tossed away.

“It’s not really how I expected things to go,” Hoseok chuckles, running a hand through his hair. You can’t help but watch the way his fingers part the now long strands like ships in a darkened sea. You blink. Shake your head.

“Wh—oh, yeah. Me neither.”

“No?” When he looks at you it’s like he sees right through you. Like he knows what you’ve been thinking about him. About all of your friends.

“N-no,” you laugh nervously. “What? It’s not like I’m out here, mind in the gutter, imagining fucking my friends all the time.”

He laughs now, really laughs. “I gotta stop you there, I know for a fact that your mind is always in the gutter.”

“Nuh-uh! ’S’not!”

“Oh really? So never? You’ve never thought about it?” He’s stopped walking and turned to face you.

“No!”

“C’mon.” He levels his gaze with yours. “Give ‘em to me. Your tequila thoughts.”

The phrase brings back January, the sharp perfume of Patron on your breath. The things you had spilled into that night. The taste of it on his tongue. Is he? Is that what he’s referring to?

“I don’t really know what you mean by that.”

“I just mean. Tequila loosens your tongue. Ridiculously. But I know you. I know those thoughts are hanging out up here—” He brings his hand to tap lightly at your temple, “no matter what. Sober or tipsy or whatever. So c’mon. Give ‘em to me.”

“What do you want me to say? That I wanna dom Jin in the bedroom? Tie him up and make him call me daddy?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t want to dom him, I don’t think. Maybe for a little while. To feel what it’s like, for a moment. But at the end of the day, I think you…” He trails off, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. Then he shrugs. “But who am I to say.”

You sputter. “Who are you to say, indeed.”

He laughs. “I don’t know, maybe you are.”

The two of you stare at each other for what feels like the longest minute on earth, measuring the other one up, testing the next step.

Finally you say, “I don’t know, it seems like you might be projecting.” You turn and continue walking.

“What?”

“Seems like you might be the one who wants to fuck and dominate all our friends in the bedroom.”

Hobi laughs. “Where on earth did you ever get that opinion?”

“Well I don’t know. You’re very difficult to read. Maybe you are projecting. Maybe you’re the one daydreaming about finally getting Joonie on his knees for you.”

“I’m difficult to read?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh.” Hobi is silent for a long minute, and you’re surprised, shocked by the look of grief on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I never meant to be hard to read.”

“That’s not something to apologize for. It’s okay.”

“Well, not really, not when I’ve been trying to say. Say. Things.”

“Say what?”

The two of you stop. The trail you took was supposed to be the one you had done that fateful day with Jimin, leading you to an outlook over the sprawling valleys of the mountain range. But instead, you’ve found yourself at the entrance to a ravine, the steep walls of rock rising before you to reveal a narrow passageway that snakes up the mountain. While usually the elevation precludes a lot of humidity, the ecosystem before you is one bursting with the last strains of summered life: moss and lichen clinging to the rock, a small waterfall trickling down the slippery rock.

Behind you, the forest hums with afternoon business, the trees blanketed in reds and golds. In stark contrast, silence spills out from the ravine.

Hoseok doesn’t answer your question. Instead, his jaw has dropped, a slow smile spreading across his features as he takes in the sight before him. “Oh. How… beautiful.”

He is.

“I miss you,” you blurt out. “I miss you a lot.”

Hoseok takes a long look at you.

“You say it like you’re unsure if I missed you back.”

“I mean, I don’t know—”

He cuts you off. “Goddamnit, of course I missed you.” He reaches out for you, taking your wrists into his hands and pulling you closer. “Of course it felt so strange to have to basically start a whole new way of life and not have you there. I missed you so goddamn much. I missed getting to be close to you, getting to hear your stupid ideas and daydream with you.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“I missed getting to be close to you,” you echo and it comes out a whisper but it’s the truth, and it’s easy on your tongue once you get past the horrible knot of fear. “And it’s not just that. It’s more.”

Hoseok nods. Not in the way of understanding, but like he’s saying me too, me too. Like he too has something big and burning and without words emerge from his chest everytime he sees you too. Encouraged, you go on.

“I feel like I’ve been holding back from you. Like, afraid to tell you.” You have to force the words out of your body.

“Afraid? Why would you be afraid…of me?”

“I really didn’t want you to think badly of me. Sometimes I worry that if I were to share everything with everyone, that what they think would change, like — you know, never mind. It’s not as important.”

“It is as important. It is.” He looks at you so genuinely, you think you might snap.

You take a deep breath. “I just, I wanted to tell you, to talk to you—”

“No—”

The word thuds through you like a boulder, shock splayed across your face.

“No?”

“Stop. Stop talking.”

“No, Hobi, no.” You stomp your foot. “I’ve been — I’ve been trying to gather the courage to talk to you, to say this for what feels like forever and I finally have the nerve to say it and here you are telling me to stop?! No, no, I don’t think—”

Hobi grabs you by the shoulders, eyes burning with a light you can’t quite name and covers your mouth with a large hand. “Stop. Talking.” He’s deady calm and his words come out as a growl.

Coming from him, and coming from behind you.

Hobi spins you around and presses your back to his chest, his hands gripping your shoulders. Just behind where you stood a moment ago, a short distance up the ravine, a large, adolescent bear stands. Head lowered, black eyes staring furiously at the two of you, haunches raised. A growl rumbles viciously in his throat.

“What the—”

“Fuck.”

The bear stomps the ground once, huffing.

“What do we do?” you whisper.

“I think we’re supposed to play dead,” Hobi breathes. “I think he’ll leave us alone.”

“No, I think we’re supposed to run. Or climb a tree.”

“Bears can climb trees. And run.”

“Oh.”

Just as Hobi moves to pull you behind him, so that he’s the one standing between you and the huffing, snorting bear, you rip out of his hold, pressing in front of him.

“Stop that,” Hoseok hisses, trying to pull you backwards, trying to pull you away, behind him. But you stand firm, pushing him back behind you. He only manages to wrap his arms tightly around you, a human exoskeleton of sorts, his whole body trying to absorb you away from the grunting, large animal before you.

But all struggle between you ceases as the bear steps towards you and you freeze, Hoseok’s limbs locking around yours.

Saplings snap beneath the bear’s paws as he steps closer, a low growl reverberating in his throat. The forest is eerily quiet, all noise absorbed into fear, the whole world seems to be watching this very moment.

And the bear is before you, paws stomping on the loamy soil. A deadened sound.

“Oh god. Oh, Hoseok.”

His limbs tighten around yours and when he takes a step back, you come with him. But so does the bear.

When the bear leans in, you smell something rotten. The process of the forest reabsorbing itself. And you wonder, if you too, will become a part of that timeless dance today. His eyes are empty. Dark. Like the sky of a new moon lives behind them, waiting for the sun to shine once more, but stuck in the inalienable darkness of great space.

The bear sniffs you, lifting its lips to reveal thick, sharp teeth. The smell, repugnant.

Those eyes stare into you. The fear of the afternoon wallows in comparison to this feeling. But then, in a split second, it too is gone. Replaced by that kind of empty drive that feels essentially human. Ice, through your veins.

It sniffs you once. Twice. And then takes a step back. You’re sure that he’s going to lunge then, his haunches rearing up as he looks, unendingly, at you.

A single crow caws from the ravine. The sound splits the air, like a call that comes from beneath the soil and the topmost canopy at the same time. And the bear turns. Looks. As if he finally realizes he’s not alone, he takes one last look at you and with a little huff, takes another step back, turns, and ambles back up the ravine and deeper into the mountains.

Your breath is the only thing that exists. Sight, gone, though you do still see the wilderness before you. It’s just this. Shaken stutters of air through your lungs.

A second sense pierces through and you feel Hoseok’s grip on you tighten and suddenly you can’t breathe. You need to get out of here. Something isn’t right. Something’s not like what you know. You peel away from his still frozen form. A shattered breath shakes through you as your hands drop down to your side. Hobi’s still staring in the direction of the disappearing bear and you reach out to him and tug on his sweater urgently.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the trail behind you as he follows your lead. Your hand slips into his and you tug him down the mountain.

“Hobi, let’s go. Before we run into something else.” You tug once more. “Hoseok. Please.”

It’s like he finally hears you and turns away from the ravine.

Then you’re skittering down the rocks together, and when you finally reach the well trodden trail again, you break out in a sprint. You hadn’t really realized just how deep into the forest you had traveled, but everytime the trail seems to be nearing its end, it continues. The trees keep speeding by. Hobi runs beside you, clutching at your hand like if he were to let you go the whole world would spin out of control.

In this moment all there is is the next step, breath, coming heavy, and his fingers squeezed tight around your own.

The house emerges from the thick foliage, late afternoon light spilling down around it all, mountains framing the large structure like the masterpiece it is. It’s not until the trees have parted and your feet have landed on the lawn that your pace slows. But the world doesn’t really feel like it slows down around you. It keeps spinning by.

“What the fuck was that?” Hobi breathes heavily, his hands on his knees. You crouch before him, looking up at him, eyes scanning his face as if you’re checking to make sure all still in one piece. Your hand reaches to wrap tightly around his wrist, as if it’s your turn to hold on for stability, and he doesn’t pull away. His pulse leaps wildly beneath your fingers.

“I remembered that you’re supposed to make yourself really big and really loud to scare it away.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me? I was getting ready to go out in a blaze of glory right alongside you.”

“That would have been a sight to see.”

“You would have gone out in a fiery death right alongside me, you know that right?”

You’re joking but your lungs are still frozen. Your limbs are still ready for something fiery and dangerous, but you’re here. You’re safe again. You’re okay. You’re alive. Hobi is too. And so you force a smile and go along, as if it’s the next step on the path out of the forest.

“What? You weren’t planning on playing Prince Charming and sacrificing yourself for me?”

“Never.” And he smiles, and you know it’s the biggest lie he’s told.

His eyes crinkle up in the corner when he grins like this and your breath freezes in your throat before warming through your whole body. When you breathe out again, you relax. Your limbs stutter back to sense, your sight clears, your mind quiets. How is his joy so antidotal? It radiates through you in a way you don’t quite have words for. Even when you know he’s putting on his favorite show of happiness for the sake of his friends, you know he embeds it with a genuine warmth, taken from some deep well within him.

How am I so lucky? It feels impossible. This moment, your best friend smiling at you with the relief and laughter of a near-death moment. It feels good to be like this with him. It’s been nine months since the last time things were truly like this, but it feels like it could have been years. In reality, it has been a thousand small eternities.

As a thousand questions sing in you, all you can manage to do is to reach out for him again and take the hand that you had released and squeeze it. He looks down at it, a brow raised.

“You’re okay?” It’s a question, a hope, uttered by him.

“Yeah.” You take one more deep breath. When you breath out, you imagine the kind of forest light leaving your body. You feel safe. And you turn away from the lingering fear left in your body, turn it towards something else. “It’s too bad we were interrupted.” The adrenaline of the danger finally feels like it's serving a purpose.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes.” You shake your head, gathering your thoughts, and stand. The distance between you feels suffocating. Like it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

He’s looking at you with all the earnesty in the world and you swear it’s true, you know that the words you need to put into the air, into his hands, into his trust, will find safety and understanding where they land. And he’s opening his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his lips, and finally an unsure hum, dancing on his mouth—

“Jin is just never going to believe what just happened.” He laughs.

That same icy feeling that burned in your belly with coldness in January returns. Rejection,

“What?”

“That we go on a walk to chat and we get interrupted by a bear. Jin will never believe it.”

Oh. And still you smile. Nod. Go along with his cues. “Jungkook would.”

He grins. Pulls your hand against his chest—though the action feels emptier now—and begins walking towards the house. Your confidence shatters. As the forest looms farther and father over your shoulder, so does the promise of your unspoken intention.

“Yeah, course,” Hoseok chuckles, as if he is completely unaware of the tension brewing within your chest. “But don’t tell him because he’ll fucking take off barefoot into the woods to try to wrestle the bear down and either put him in his place or try to befriend him. We can’t let that happen.”

You laugh. “I promise I won’t.”

“You promise?”

The intensity in his eyes make it clear that he’s not just asking you to not tell a scary story to your friend. He’s asking you something else. Asking for your word. But even as you know you have absolutely no clue what he’s speaking of, you trust him endlessly. And so without even knowing what exactly you are binding yourself to within his promise, you offer your pinky up.

“Promise.”

Hoseok grins and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I need to find Jin, something about dinner tonight. But I’ll see you later? We should do this more.” He’s speaking too quickly and his gaze keeps flickering between you and the house.

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

In a quick motion he leans down, presses a quick peck to your forehead and disappears into the house.

When he’s gone it feels like the weight of the entire day washes over you.

Jungkook. Then Namjoon. Now Hoseok.

How the hell has this all been one day?

The rest of the day washes together like watercolors spritzed by rain. You wander through it, a little dazed. Every moment, every word spins like a movie reel through your brain.

It’s okay for you to want like this.

What if something’s missing?

And finally, most resolutely, Hobi’s voice speaking firmly and assuredly: I missed getting to be close to you. It feels like a promise, wrapped tight and warm around your heart. But you don’t want to dare to give yourself that kind of hope. So you shove it down and wander through the rest of the day.

Dinner comes, but you can’t find the energy to face Jungkook’s grinning face, or the meaning strung in Namjoon’s gaze. You can’t even bear to think of what will be on Hoseok’s face. What today means to him. If it means anything. But you wonder. If they notice your absence, what they’re laughing about when you’re not there, what things they might say differently without your presence at the table.

You feel grateful that the day is speeding by in such a manner. At least, that is, until the sun is long gone beyond the wall of mountains and the house has quieted down as your friends drift off to bed.

It’s not long before you’re yawning, yearning for the warm, thick covers of your bed and the radiating heat of the body that sleeps next to you. But when you find yourself at the door to your bedroom you pause.

It looms.

You can’t help yourself. Instead of walking through the door to your bedroom, and the swirling question that lays on the other side, you turn on your heel and go back in the opposite direction. Your socked feet pad as silently as the night sky across the darkened floorboards. You pass closed doors, the hallway, and the sounds of chatter and warm light spilling from underneath bedroom doors. It feels like sneaking, but you’re not entirely sure what you’re hiding from.

The doors to the library open without a single squeak and you slip inside silently. A light chill passes through you. The library should be entirely obscured by darkness. But instead, the large windows open wide to the night sky and a full moon peers down at you. It feels like she’s looking at you.

Her silvery drapes spill into the library, and unlike your afternoon in the room, where the world felt split in two, the space is unified beneath the new color. Darkness, knowledge, the clarity of the moon — it all swirls together before you.

It’s like blinking awake. A strange clarity sifts through you and it’s frightening. Defenses rise within you and you’re on the move again, quick to release whatever it was the moon granted you back to the shadows of the unknown. You don’t want this understanding.

After fighting the urge to draw finger guns and James Bond lunge across the carpet, you quickly pinpoint the spot where the book had fallen. It lays closed — thank god, imagine if it had fallen open and crumpled the aging pages.

Careful not to damage it, you lift it from the floor. It’s heavier than you imagined, the beautiful book shining with age between your hands. With a quick, gentle movement, you let the book fall open in your palms and suck in a gasp as the delicate ink drawing sprawls before you.

This is not what you thought antique collectors were up to all these years.

Before you, a beautiful painting. Careful lines and graceful curves. Unfortunately, it’s not the pure beauty of the piece that makes you cry out. It’s the image itself, its contents.

A naked body, one that looks very much like yours — same stature, same valley of curves, same constellation of birthmarks and landmarks flecking your skin. Ancient, other, you, bared and put on display. And then that which has your breath stuttering in your throat: Several men, cocks hanging free and large and very very erect, all looking down on the beautiful figure like they could devour it entirely.

As you quickly learn, it turns out the human race has always been one kinky, desperate-for-fuck species.

Hoseok’s question rings in your ear: don’t you think it’s too much?

“It’s a fucking penis buffet in here,” you whisper. No one is around to laugh at your cleverness.

Except a snort and a chortle echoes from behind you. You spin around, and in the process drop the book on the table.

“That’s a good one.”

There’s a shadow emerging from the walls, peeling away like it belonged to the rock itself.

Jin steps out of the darkness, his flannel pajamas hugging his body tightly, a book held in one hand.

“Jesus, Jin, you were about to give me a heart attack,” you curse.

He raises an eyebrow, approaching. “What are you doing sneaking around this late at night?”

“I’m not sneaking,” you say. It feels like a lie once it's out in the open air. More and more feels like a lie these days. Even when it’s half truth.

“Mmm,” Jin hums.

“You scared me,” you repeat.

“I’m sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t sound sorry at all. Amusement sparks in his eye, and he reaches out to tip your chin up, to capture your flickering gaze. “What kind of mischief are you up to?”

You glance at the book and Jin’s eyes follow.

“Oh,” he says. He takes in the scene before him, but unlike you, he’s unphased. “You know there’s internet here. You don’t have to go rifling through books to find your porn anymore.”

“I know.” You say it too quickly.

Jin catches on. His gaze roves over your face, taking it in, reading you like the book you had snuck in here to page through. He sees it all.

“But maybe you don’t need the internet for that kind of thing anyways.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“You’ve had a kind of… glow since you arrived here. And not any old quarantine glow.”

You swallow.

“Still don’t know what you mean.”

“Go to bed,” Jin says, his voice low. “Do what you’re supposed to do for once.” It’s a command, but it’s said softly. With consideration.

“Alright, Jin,” you respond.

He drops his hand from your chin and steps back, his brow raised and curious. Like he’s seen everything that’s going on behind your eyes. Like he knows exactly what’s about to happen.

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[hobivore]

Lace

↠ PAIRING: KTH x reader (f)  

↠ WORDS: 8K

↠ GENRE: smut, fluff, established relationship

↠ RATING: explicit (18+)

↠ SYNOPSIS: Taehyung likes to colour outside the lines and you are more than happy to provide him with a canvas. This time, he has prepared a surprise for your three year anniversary: what better way to celebrate than with leather and lace?

↠ WARNINGS: pwp, sub!Taehyung, dom!Reader, Tae in heels + lingerie and red lipstick and a suit because have you seen this man? (click here for the outfit inspo moodboard), exhibitionism, public masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), eat. that. ass (m receiving), spanking, pegging, this is basically an ode to the taebooty, finger sucking, edging, praise, dirty talk, mild degradation, marking, Tae’s a good boy, aftercare, anniversary celebration so things get fluffy too 

↠ A/N: This fic is part of the Pretty Boys Collab. Many thanks to the lovely @btsaudge and @kingsuckjin for coming up with this wonderful idea and letting me be a part of this! And to @hesperantha, @megahwn, @thebiasrekkers and @ddaengyoonmin for the fun, the brainstorming, the support, the sprints and your wonderful stories. 

And last but not least, a shout-out to my beta-readers @hobi-gif and @calixwrites for their help. You guys are the best!

© hauntedlilies Do not repost, translate or use my stories without my permission.

“Do you think you could live here?”

Taehyung’s voice pulls you out of your drowsy haze and you crack one eye open, letting your gaze drift over the cityscape. 

You’re surrounded by reddish-brown brick houses with wooden shutters, most of them closed to keep out the relentless summer heat. A small canal runs along the street and a handful of boats navigate the water at a lazy pace. The passengers take pictures of the swans, the birds seemingly unbothered by the attention, and you chuckle when a man nearly falls overboard in a bold but foolish attempt to pet one. 

Your legs are dangling from the quay wall, heels tapping softly against the stone. The city is beautiful in a warm and intimate way—so different from what you’re used to calling home.

“Don’t know. Maybe?” You turn towards Taehyung. “What about you?”

Squinting against the harsh sunlight you try to focus on his side profile, mentally chastising yourself for forgetting to bring your sunglasses at the height of summer. 

In your defence, this entire trip had been a surprise and you barely had the time to pack anything before Taehyung dragged you to the airport and practically shoved you onto a plane to god-knows-where. 

It turns out god-knows-where lies in Belgium. And it’s called Bruges. 

“I could live anywhere you are.” He smiles at you fondly, nudging your leg with his. 

“Ugh.” You pull a face and give him a playful slap on the shoulder. “I should get you one of those letter boards from Etsy so you can enshrine your sappy quotes.”

He shrugs. “The architecture is great and I like French.”

“We’re in Flanders. They speak Dutch here.”

“Fine. But most people here speak French too.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “As if you speak French.”

He grins, straightening his back and spreading his arms. A deep inhale gives you a brief moment to prepare yourself for the operatic baritone that’s about to scare the swans out of the canal—

“Bonjour, Mesdames et Messieurs, je m'appelle Taehyung e…” he trails off, his shoulders sagging before he leans back, pouting, both hands resting on the cobbled sidewalk. 

“Omelette du fromage?" You laugh.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching despite his attempt to glare at you with all the strength he can muster. “I’m sorry you can’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

“Did you just insult yourself by trying to snub me?”

He snorts. “I’m starting to regret bringing you.” 

“What happened to ‘I could live anywhere you are’?” 

“Scratch that. I’m leaving you here.” He pokes a finger between your ribs, chuckling at your surprised squeal. “There’s no way you’re finding me—not with your language skills.”

You huff in mock offense. “Finding you would be easy. All I’d have to do is go to Paris, sit in front of the Monet museum, and wait.”

Taehyung’s grin widens and he pets the crown of your head teasingly, tutting when you swat his hand away, but his words are lined with fondness. “You’re like my personal Hachikō.” 

A lazy smile pulls at your lips and you let your head loll against his shoulder. The air is sticky and humid and your blood trudges through your veins, slowly spreading the heat to your heavy limbs. 

“There’s no way you’re getting rid of me. Better prepare yourself for the next 80 years, Tae.”

He looks down at you, face lighting up in amusement. “That seems like a lot.” 

You hum, your eyes falling shut again. “You know me. I’m aiming for a new world record.”

Taehyung clears his throat and raises his glass. “To...” he pauses, making sure to lock eyes before clinking his glass against yours, “80 more years.”

You take a sip, your boyfriend’s face distorting in disgust the moment the dark liquid hits his taste buds. 

“Why do people drink this?” He whines, frowning at the beer in his hand. 

“I guess some people like it.” You take another sip of your drink, silently thanking yourself for picking a light La Chouffe Blond. You’d suggested the same to him but of course he didn’t listen—he has always been a bit too stubborn for his own good. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone for the Woody.”

He sighs. “I liked the name. And the waiter said it was a limited edition.” 

You point at his elaborate salad, a beautifully plated mixture of vegetables and colourful flowers. “At least the food looks delicious.”

His pout disappears like snow under the sun and he sends you an exaggerated wink. “Not just the food.”

You take another swig of your beer, eyes trailing over his torso. He had insisted on changing into something less ‘blatantly touristy’ for dinner, which you knew was mostly an excuse for him to put on that linen suit you loved so much. Slate grey pants and matching jacket, the latter now draped over the back of his chair and leaving him in his white dress shirt, the two top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to reveal his sinewy forearms. 

The bastard knew. 

“Speaking of delicious.” You lean in closer, lowering your voice, “are you wearing them?”

A soft blush creeps up his neck and he glances around, doing a quick scan of the terrace—as if anyone could hear his thoughts—then nods. 

“Good.” 

You move your chair back, its legs scraping over the uneven stones. Carrying it around the table you put it next to his, close enough for your knees to touch when you sit down.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asks, eyeing you wearingly. 

You smile, stealing a slice of cucumber from his plate. “What does it look like? I’m having a romantic dinner with my boyfriend.” You hold out the fork and he opens his mouth without second thought, eyes still narrowed at you as he chews his food.

“So.” You hover the next bite in front of him. “Show me.”

Taehyung nearly chokes on a sun-dried tomato, his cheeks flushing. “Right now?”

“Yes.” You wipe a few non-existent crumbs off his thigh. “Do you want to show it to me, Tae?” Your voice is soft but reassuring, and you search his eyes for any hesitation. 

He scans the dining area again and his eyes widen in realisation; you’ve picked this table for a reason—at the back of the terrace, away from the street and shielded from view by the large plants that are potted between the tables to offer more privacy to the guests.

“I should’ve known.” He laughs, a rich, deep sound that sends flames licking up your spine, and when his eyes find yours again there’s something darker behind them. 

He lowers one hand underneath the table. You track the movement; his slender fingers stroke over his stomach until he reaches the waistband of his pants, hand hovering above the button. 

You notice he isn’t wearing a belt—and if the smug smile on his face is anything to go by, it was a deliberate choice. 

“Did I hijack your plans for tonight?” You ask. 

Taehyung licks his lips. “I don’t mind the change.” He leans back, his legs splayed out under the table. To an outsider he would appear confident and at ease, but you notice the small signs of excitement—the rushed breaths, his movements a little more jittery. 

“Don’t get too cocky now, sweetheart.” You stab a piece of lettuce with your fork and wave it around. “People could see you.”

His body tenses, knee pressing into yours and you lean in closer, his dark curls tickling against your nose.

“Or do you want them to see you?” 

He lets out a ragged breath, eyes glossing over and fingers curling into a fist.

You plant a chaste kiss on his temple and lean back, taking your time to drink in his agitated state, charging the tension between you. It hangs in the air, sultry and humid, making your head dizzy with anticipation. 

Taehyung licks his lips again, eyes trained on the plate in front of him. He loves the thrill; the risk of being discovered makes his heart beat faster and sends the blood rushing south, as evident from his growing bulge. There’s a ringing in his ears that drowns out all noise and he has to strain himself to stay focused. 

“Thought so.” You laugh and shift in your chair—a poor attempt at finding some relief for the growing ache between your legs. 

He has undoubtedly noticed your movement, watching you from his peripheral vision, every nerve in his body on edge. You’ll have to control yourself better. 

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you, Tae?”

He bites back a whimper, his confirmation barely audible above the chatter of voices and the clatter of cutlery around you. 

He’s still looking at his food, left hand flexing underneath the table, the other fiddling with his fork. It’s clear that it takes him a lot of self-control to stay still and keep his breathing even.

“So needy, can’t even wait until we’re home.” You breathe against the shell of his ear, little puffs of air that have him squirming in his seat. “Did you wear this to look all pretty for me?”

“Want to show it to you, jagi—please.” 

You chuckle at his impatience, the last part of his sentence coming out more like a whine. 

“Always so eager.” Taehyung sits up a little straighter at your words and you plant another kiss on his temple. “Show it to me then, baby. Unbutton your pants.” 

He obliges quickly, undoing the button with a twist of his fingers and pulling his shirt out of his slacks, exposing part of his stomach and a sliver of lace-clad skin. 

You scrunch your nose. “Pretty, but I can’t see it very well.”

He takes the hint and drags the zipper down, struggling with one hand and the tightening fabric. Once open, he pulls it to the side, showing you the intricate pattern of flowers underneath. The black lace forms a stark contrast with the sleek grey linen and the deep golden hue of his skin, darkened from the hours lounging in the sun with no clothes on. 

You inch closer and he shivers despite the heat, the faint scent of his sunscreen mixing with the taste of illicitness hanging heavy in the air. His cock strains against the lace, the head slipping out, and you wonder if the fabric will hold. 

A drop of pre-cum slides down his slit and you catch it with one finger before his shirt can soak it up. He gasps at the brief contact, caught off-guard, head falling backwards. 

Taehyung watches you through heavy-lidded eyes as you bring your hand up to your face, tongue darting out to lick the moisture off. 

“Fuck—” He mumbles, and you steal another piece of food from his plate. 

“Keep it together, Tae.” You tsk teasingly. “We’re at a restaurant.” 

Popping the food into your mouth, you check on the other guests and the waiters, but no one seems to be paying you any attention. 

You turn your gaze back to Taehyung, keeping your hands above the table this time. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you when we get home,” you whisper. “Can’t wait to have you naked and begging underneath me.” 

He lets out a strangled sound, eyes pleading, and you wish you could get up and straddle him—feeling him hard and heavy inside you, making him gasp and moan until his throat is hoarse. 

Your own panties stick uncomfortably against your skin but you try to ignore it; eyes dropping down to his lap instead, frowning at the floral pattern pressing against his cock. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen these before? They’re very pretty.” 

His fingers are drawing small figure eights on the lace and you swallow at the thought of what they could do if you’d let him. 

“I bought them. For you.” 

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he trails his hand along the edge of the fabric, mapping it in the same way he’d caress your body, reverent yet resolute. “I’ve got more, back at the apartment. Wanted to surprise you.”

He watches you intently, pupils blown wide, and your heart stutters in your chest. The thought of him surprising you with something new only adds fuel to the simmering fire in your core, spreading the heat through your veins. 

“I can’t wait.” He must hear the excitement in your voice because he raises his eyebrows, looking pleased with himself. 

You match his grin. He probably thought this was the easy way out; to have you run back to your apartment and fuck him hard and fast. 

It’s tempting. 

“Let’s finish our dinner first.” You run your hand up his thigh and his neglected cock twitches at your touch. “Or did you forget what we came here for?” 

“Jagi, please.” 

A hint of desperation laces his voice and the buzzing in his ears is getting louder. His cock is painfully hard, so hard he can feel his heartbeat pulsing and beads of pre-cum are leaking on his dress shirt. 

It’s simultaneously the most torturous and delicious sensation and Taehyung is torn between wanting to hurry home and stay here forever, kept on tenterhooks by your words. He closes his eyes, willing himself to stay still. 

“We can go home whenever you want, just let me know. Do you remember the word?” 

“Strawberry.” He shakes his head, voice sounding a little pinched. “I’m good.” 

Moving upwards, your nails scratch the soft skin of his stomach, just above the lace. His breath hitches in his throat as your hand brushes against his cock, leaving to pick up your glass instead.

He makes a low noise, not quite a growl but close, leg jerking against the table. 

“You have to eat, we can’t have anyone getting suspicious.” You point at the other tables. “But you have two hands. Do you think you can be a good boy and use both?”

“‘Mcanbeagoodboy.” It tumbles from his lips faster than you can blink and he takes a bite of his food, chewing it with devotion, waiting for you to finally utter the words—

“Touch yourself for me.” 

He closes his eyes and cups his length over the panties, hissing at the contact. 

“Good, now stroke yourself—slowly.”

He gives a tentative stroke, biting his lip to keep a moan from spilling out. 

You wonder if the lace feels good. Its scratchy texture rubs against his sensitive cock, the moisture leaking from his tip not enough to ease the glide. 

“Do you like that? Like it a little rough?”

He lets out a soft moan, his knee brushing against yours, fabric on bare skin. It sends a spark of heat travelling upwards, pooling between your legs.

“What would people think of you if they saw you like this?”

You snatch a brightly coloured flower from his plate, studying it in the warm evening light. “Sitting here, looking all pretty with your dick out in the middle of the restaurant.” 

He whimpers and you tut, shaking your head. “And it only makes you harder.”

One glance is enough to confirm your suspicion—his cock lays thick and solid against his palm, twitching at your words.

He flicks his wrist, forcing himself to keep his movements small and inconspicuous.

“Or...” Your voice is barely more than a whisper and Taehyung has to strain to hear you above the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe they’re talking about you already, but you can’t understand them.”

A sheen of perspiration is forming on his brow, his jaw tensing as he bites on his tongue to keep silent, food long forgotten. He is barely touching himself yet your words and the soft noises of the other guests in the background are overwhelming his senses, pushing him closer to the edge. 

“That couple over there—” you nod towards the two people seated behind a large plant, “–if she leans back just a little, she might see you.” 

You rest your arm on the back of his chair and let your eyes drop down to his lap, voice laced with desire, “I mean, you’re hard to miss.”

“Did you enjoy your meal?”

Taehyung doubles over into a coughing fit, the sudden voice surprising you both. You recover quickly and smile back at the waiter, who sends Taehyung a concerned look and pours some water into an empty glass. 

“Are you okay, sir? Here.” He holds the glass out and Taehyung takes it, his chest pressed flush against the table to shield his lower body from view.

You send the man a saccharine smile. “The food was excellent, thank you.” 

The waiter looks uncertain, but doesn’t press further. “Do you want dessert? Something else to drink?” 

You pat Taehyung, who’s starting to look slightly less red in the face, on the back. 

“I think we are saving dessert for later. Thank you.”

Taehyung ended up having to shuffle out of the restaurant like a fool, awkwardly holding his jacket against his body in an attempt to hide his peculiar state. It made his ears burn hotly in a way he liked a little too much. 

He filed that sensation away for the time being and tried to focus on willing his boner to go down instead. 

“You can’t pay with your dick here, Tae.” You’d winked at him, paid for dinner and waited until the coast was clear, dragging him outside. 

The two of you giggle all the way back to the apartment, filled with a care-free giddiness only the presence of a loved one in a strange country can bring. 

Taehyung fishes the key out of his pocket, still shaking with laughter. “I can’t believe he nearly caught us. How did he not notice?” 

You stumble inside and kick off your heels, making a beeline for the large bed in the middle of the room, flopping onto your back. 

“He probably had his suspicions, but what could he have done? Ask ‘excuse me, sir, are you jerking off during dinner?’” 

“Hey! At least it was in front of my own salad!” Taehyung throws his jacket over your head, ignoring your muffled protest from underneath the piece of clothing. He walks over to the large windows and opens one to let in the cooler evening air. 

For five days you could call a late 19th century studio in Bruges your home. Situated in the historic center on the second floor of a three story building, the both of you had been gushing praises the moment you stepped through the door. Taehyung about the restoration of the tall ceilings, you about the large bath that somehow turned out to be even bigger in person than in the pictures. 

Jumping on the bed, he cages you in between his arms, peppering kisses along your jaw. 

“Tae.” You press your hands against his shoulders and he pushes himself up on his elbows, eyebrows raised in question. 

“Didn’t you say you had a surprise for me?”

He laughs, a rumbling sound that vibrates against your chest. “Hmm, look who’s eager now.” 

He clambers off the bed, rummaging around in his suitcase until he finds a canvas bag. It looks rather full. You crane your neck to see if there’s something sticking out which might give you an inkling about the bag’s contents, but he’s holding it firmly closed. 

“I’m gonna need some time to fix myself up a little—” he waves the bag around, “—for the… optimal effect.” He grins, darting off towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

You can hear him turn on the faucet and you roll onto your stomach, grabbing his phone and selecting one of his laid-back, jazzy playlists. 

When you’d first met Taehyung at a bar, the blue-haired man with the bright smile had immediately caught your eye. Not just because of his good looks, but because of the way he spoke about his field—architecture—the words tumbling from his lips, thoughtful yet a bit jumbly, but endearingly so. His excitement had sparked something in you and before you knew it you’d found yourself getting lectured on 16th century Gothic architecture for the remainder of the night.

You’d left the place with newfound knowledge and his phone number. 

From the moment you two started dating it became clear Taehyung enjoyed beautiful things. Art, fashion, historical buildings, lingerie. He was never shy about it, even if some of his tastes might be considered a little unconventional: this was simply who he was, and you admired how he always stayed true to himself. 

He’d said he ‘got more back at the apartment’, but you aren’t sure what ‘more’ meant. More lingerie? You’d only ever seen him wear panties, and the thought of him wearing something different has your stomach twisting in excitement.

For now, you’ll have to settle with browsing the internet until he’s ready. You try not to glance towards the digital clock at the top of your phone every few seconds, willing yourself to focus on the cute dance teacher’s video you're watching. His smooth movements and complex choreography does wonders to draw you in, everything around you dissipating into the background.  

A door opens and you flinch at the sound, whipping your head around. 

Taehyung is leaning against the doorpost. The light behind him illuminates his figure in a soft glow and he watches you with a coy smile as you drink in the sight of him.

Nothing he could’ve said or done could have prepared you for this. 

His dark hair falls over his forehead in soft waves, longer at the back, caressing his neck. His lips are painted ruby red, a colour that looks like it was made for him—looking like it would taste of cranberries with a hint of something darker.

He pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of a lace-clad hand, gloves covering his forearms and extending all the way up past his elbows. 

A sheer, black cincher is fastened around his waist. It has the same floral pattern as his panties—you recognize it from earlier—and ends just under his midriff, emphasizing his strong chest and shoulders. 

Your eyes travel down again, following the suspenders on the cincher, clipped to black gossamer stockings. He notices your gaze trailing lower and moves his right leg, showing off the high heels on his feet. The red backseam on the stockings matches the soles of the shoes, a small detail that makes you want to reach out and trace the red stripe all the way up to his thighs.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

It’s not until you try to speak that you realise your mouth has been hanging open a little. You move to sit on the edge of the bed, finally managing to croak out a response.  

“I—I love it.” 

He beams at you, a broad grin that takes over his entire face, eyes scrunched up. 

He comes closer, surprisingly stable and elegant in such high heels—you wonder if he’s been practicing—the mattress dipping under his weight as he straddles you. His arms come up to wrap around your neck and your hands slide up his stocking-clad thighs, coming to rest at his waist. 

Your fingers play with the lace. “You look amazing.” You nibble at his throat and he tilts his head backwards, allowing you more room. 

He looks like he should be on a film set, smoking fake cigarettes with a fur coat loosely draped around his shoulders—not in a bedroom in Bruges, skin soft and pliant under your touch. 

The scent of his cologne—earthy and warm with a crisp note of pine—mixed with the faint smell that’s so unmistakably Taehyung makes you feel hazy. He moans softly and your fingers dig a little harder into his sides as you suck on the skin just under his jaw. 

“All for you,” he hums.

Hands sliding down again, you expect to feel more lace—but to your surprise, there’s only a waistband and two smaller bands running down his backside. You lean back, catching his gaze. “Backless panties?” You groan. “Fuck, baby, you really went all out, didn’t you?”

He smirks and rolls his hips in your hands, hard length dragging against your stomach. 

A loud slap echoes through the room and he yelps at the unexpected sting, your hand already rubbing soothing circles on the skin of his ass. 

“Not so fast.” 

You grasp his chin between your thumb and index finger, angling his head down so you can look him in the eye. 

“Do you remember that I asked you if you could be a good boy for me, back at the restaurant?”

His eyes burn into yours, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any brown left. 

“Yes, jagi.” 

“And were you?”

He frowns and rocks his hips again, looking for more friction, distracted by your other hand still kneading his flesh. “Yes? The waiter—” 

“Not the waiter; that wasn’t your fault. I asked you to use both hands and eat. Did you do that?”

“I—No,” he stammers. “It—”

His words are cut off by the drag of your thumb over his bottom lip, smearing some of the red lipstick on his cheek. The sight of it awakens something inside you—a burning need to strip down his beautifully crafted appearance of silk and lace. 

To have him sobbing and begging for more. 

You slip two fingers inside his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. 

“You’ve been having trouble focusing lately.” 

Taehyung has been so busy with work—the amount of projects piling up quicker than he can finish them. 

It has become difficult to turn off the endless stream of thoughts sometimes. Made it hard to fall asleep. You’ve more than once caught him wandering around the house in the dead of night, phone screen casting a ghostly blue glow over his face.

He closes his mouth around your digits, saliva pooling on the back of his tongue. 

“And since I intend to take my time with you today—” you pull your fingers out of his mouth, spit dribbling down his chin, “—you’re gonna stay here and suck until I’ve had enough.” 

You push your fingers past his lips again and he groans, lapping at them, gagging when you hit the back of his throat. He licks and sucks, trying to banish all thoughts from his mind and latch onto the feeling of your fingers and the wet, squelching sound they make as they stuff his mouth. 

But it’s impossible when he’s perched in your lap like this, your other hand resting on his hip and his own laying uselessly on his thighs, so close to his throbbing cock. 

He ruts against you and you pinch his nipple, just hard enough to have him writhing. 

“Focus.”

You add a third finger and his eyes slip shut. He’s a mess already—chin covered in drool, red paint smeared around his swollen lips. 

“Look at you. You love this, don’t you? God, you’re so filthy.” 

Taehyung doesn’t miss the flicker of awe behind your words and doubles down on his efforts, moaning his affirmation around your fingers. 

You know how much he loves this. How much it turns him on.

And how hard it is for him to keep himself from moving. Every time his hips jolt you meet him with a resounding smack across the globes of his ass. He strains to keep his body still, the muscles in his legs tensing. 

“Fuck—like that,” you murmur when he takes your fingers as deep as he can. His thighs are clamping yours together and pinning them down to the bed, causing a steady pressure on your core. 

It’s not enough to satisfy you, but the sight of him lapping at your fingers sends another wave of heat rolling over your body, spreading to your limbs and dampening the fabric of your panties. 

The muscles in his jaw and neck are twisting and flexing with every move, muffled sounds resonating in his throat. He has his eyes closed, entranced, showing you everything his skillful tongue has in store while your praise fuels his diligent work. 

He whines when you pull your fingers out of his mouth, wiping them on his cheek.

“That’s it, baby. Clean up.” 

And shit—Taehyung shouldn’t like it that much, the contrast between the sweet pet name and the dismissive action, yet here he is; rock-hard and dragging one of his gloved arms across his face to clean up the mess he’s made.

“Want to taste you, jagi.” He sounds a little breathless, quickly tacking on a ‘please’ when you raise an eyebrow at him. He’s looking at you from underneath thick lashes, lips slightly parted, faint traces of red lipstick still clinging to them. 

“Want to make you feel good.” 

His deep, dulcet voice transforms into molten arousal that clings to your skin and pools between your thighs. You crash your mouth against his in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, a hand tangled in his hair. 

You pull back before his sweet lips can turn too treacherous, leaving you hazy and winded. 

“On your knees.”

There’s a waver of excitement in your voice, a small wobble Taehyung undoubtedly noticed, one corner of his mouth turned up when he scrambles off your lap and kneels in front of the bed between your feet. 

Your fingers trace the soft lines and ridges of his strong shoulders, dipping down to circle one of his nipples. He shifts with the growing discomfort between his legs but doesn’t utter a word. 

Taehyung could die here, happily, stocking-clad knees digging into the carpet and eyes locked onto your clothed core. He never knows how long you’re going to make him wait, and it excites him, nerves on edge while he counts the hammering beats of his heart. He’s sure you must be feeling it underneath the tips of your fingers as they trail over his chest; his heart is pounding so loudly it might as well jump out of his skin and into your bare hands. 

“You’ve been such a good boy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on his swollen lips. “You can have a taste.”

Lifting your hips up, you slide your panties down your legs. You can take your dress off later—right now all you can think of is getting Taehyung’s pretty mouth to work.

You spread your legs and his lace-clad hands slide over your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kisses the inside of your knee, first on your left leg and then on your right, slowly working his way up. 

His hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer until his warm breath hits your core.

“Fuck, Tae—stop teasing.” You grab a fistful of hair and press his face between your legs, feeling him chuckle against your skin. 

Then he does exactly like he’s told—and you’re not sure what would’ve been worse.

You have to steady yourself with one hand behind you on the mattress as he licks a broad stripe up your folds, collecting the arousal that has gathered there. You might’ve been embarrassed by how wet you are already if it wasn’t for him circling your clit with experienced ease, turning your thoughts into garbled, incoherent chatter. 

All those times he’s tasted you in your bedroom, in the back of your car, at his parents’ house, or any public place imaginable—like that one time, underneath the table at Seokjin’s—perfecting his favourite pastime, are now paying off. 

There’s a steady pressure building in your core with every flick of his tongue and he groans when your hips start moving to meet his face. 

“Ah—more,” you breathe, arm trembling under your weight. You lower yourself on your elbow, your other hand still tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. 

Taehyung sticks his tongue out and you grind on his face, fingers twisting in his dark strands. They become your anchor, and he lets you use him, lets you coat him in your arousal from his chin up to his nose. 

He makes a choked-off noise and the vibrations send sparks of heat up your spine. He shifts, slipping past your entrance, fucking you with his tongue—only to drag it back up and toy it around your clit, coaxing a series of profanities out of you. They mingle with the wet, sloppy sounds echoing off the high ceiling. 

He holds you there, dangling above the precipice, with his large hands clasped firm around your thighs. The tremble of your legs tells him you’re close, head lolled back and commands replaced by wordless gasps. 

Your vision shatters when he sucks on your clit, core clenching and coating his face in hot release. He laps it up eagerly, savouring every drop, bringing you down from your high with soft brushes of his tongue. 

You slump against the mattress, boneless and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm. 

Vaguely, you register his large hands caressing your thighs and you force yourself to sit up. 

“Good?” He asks, knowing full well that he just made you see the stars two galaxies over. 

“Yes.” You sigh, contented. “Can’t feel my feet.” 

He looks satisfied, eyes turning into crescent moons. You bend down to press a kiss against his lips and the taste of your own arousal stirs up the heat in your core again. Pulling back slightly, you graze your fingers along his jaw, eyes finding his. 

“Tell me what you want.” You trace the slope of his nose, pretending not to know his answer.

“Jagi,” he whispers into the palm of your hand, “will you fuck me?” 

His eyes are dark and focused, and in this moment, there’s nothing you want more. 

“Get on the bed,” you order, and he’s quick to move, hands and knees planted firmly on the mattress. 

You take a moment to admire him—the lace hugs the soft curves of his waist and thighs, leaving his ass on display for you. He arches his back and the sight of him spread out like this, waiting, makes your core clench and your knees weak. 

“You look gorgeous,” you affirm, voice mellifluous and infused with want. “I could watch you all day.”

“Just watch?” He cranes his head back, lifting one eyebrow, and you land a playful smack on his ass. 

“Patience, baby. We gotta get you ready first.” 

You’d told him you were going to take your time—and you’re going to keep your word, determined to wipe that self-satisfied expression off his face. 

Your hands slide over his stockings, trailing up until they reach the soft skin of his thighs. The tips of your fingers tease along the edge of the panties and he pushes back a little, hissing when you tighten your grip, fingers forming dimples in the plush fat of his ass. 

He opens his mouth to say something but the words are cut off when your tongue grazes his skin, just a small flutter at the bend of his legs—barely there, but enough to throw him off, fingers scrabbling for the sheets. 

You suck purple blooms into his thighs, tongue soothing the bruised marks, eliciting a string of soft moans from him.

If it wasn’t for the gloves, you could’ve seen Taehyung’s knuckles turning white from the force with which he’s gripping the linen. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, only supported by the thin lace. The pressure is equal parts welcoming and infuriating; always there but never enough, just like you. You’re nipping and lapping at his skin, hands all over him, but not where he needs you most. 

You’re toying with him and it drives him crazy. 

“Jagi—please, fuck—” he moans when your teeth bruise his hip, just below the lace. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask with feigned concern, delighting in the way he squirms at the loss of your touch. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he pleads, “please don’t stop.”

“Hmm.” You frown, sliding your hands over his skin. Taehyung’s body is slender, but most of his wiry muscle is in his shoulders, arms, and calves, the rest of him soft and malleable under your touch. For a man this lean he has a surprisingly plump ass, and it’s only being emphasised by the lace trimmed around his waist and the way he arches his back. 

He hears you still behind him, and he wiggles his hips a little, trying to entice you. 

You bend over and tangle a hand into his hair, pulling him up until his back is flush against your chest. He makes a low, guttural sound as you tighten your grip into his curls and nip at his throat, his head resting on your shoulder. 

“You want it bad, don’t you baby?” His body feels feverishly hot even through the fabric of your dress. You’ve barely touched him but he’s already writhing against you and pleading for more.

With his cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead, body covered in purple bruises and faint remains of make-up clinging to his skin, he’s so raw and real—and yet you’ve never seen him look more ethereal. 

“My beautiful, needy boy.” Your lips are soft and gentle against his skin. “Such a pitiful sight.” 

He lets out a broken sob, urgent and desperate and it sends a rush of arousal dripping down your thighs. You release his hair, pushing him back on all fours, and the wet stripe you lick from his perineum to the small of his back takes him completely off-guard. 

Taehyung drops to his elbows with a low moan and buries his face into the sheets. Everything is too bright, too much for his soaring nerves—it’s overwhelming, the sudden press of your tongue, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out. 

You’re alternating small kitten licks with more pressure, hands massaging his ass while your tongue traces his rim. The noises he’s making are muffled by the sheets, and you slowly feel his body relax under your touch. 

“Lube?” you ask, and Taehyung waves into the general direction of his suitcase. You climb off the bed to retrieve the canvas bag he took to the bathroom earlier, pulling out a bottle of lube, a purple silicone dildo, and your harness.

Quickly shrugging off the remainder of your clothes, you fasten the dildo through the metal o-ring and give it a tug to make sure it’s snug in place. Then you step into the harness, tightening the padded leather strap around your waist, and making sure the ones running along the inside of your thighs are secure yet loose enough so they won’t chafe your skin. 

Stretching your back, you take a moment to let your body attune to the added weight before getting back behind Taehyung, pouring a generous amount of lube onto your fingers. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a little cold.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fi—ahh,” Taehyung’s words are cut off by the soft press of your finger. You trail it teasingly along the ring of muscle, knowing the slick glide will drive him up the walls. 

He’s lifting himself back up on his hands and his hips start to move on their own volition in an attempt at creating more friction. “Jagi, please.”

Slowly, you let your finger sink inside, careful to give him time to adjust. You ease him into the feeling with soft praises, adding a second finger when you feel him loosen up enough. 

The lube creates an easy slide and his body tenses when you curl your fingers, hitting the spot that has him twisting and jerking under your touch.  

You press a little harder, grinning. “Right there?” 

He responds by grinding against your hand, head falling forward when you add a third finger. His thighs are trembling and you run your other hand between his shoulder blades to anchor him. “You okay, baby?”

You wait for him to find his words. It can take him a moment sometimes—especially when he’s feeling overwhelmed like this, stretched and spread out and at his most vulnerable. 

“I’m—yes.” It’s all he can manage to get out right now, ears heating at the tremble of excitement in his voice, a shrill contrast with his dark tone. 

“Turn around.” You remove your fingers and he sniffles at the sudden loss. “I want to watch your face when I fuck you.” 

He moves, and the sight beneath you makes you pause. Taehyung isn’t petite, but he somehow manages to look delicate and dainty under your hands, the intricate lace only adding to his elegance. 

You blink to clear your clouded head, slicking up your strap with more lube, positioning yourself between his spread thighs. 

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask, sliding the dildo against his skin. 

But he doesn’t know what to say, not when you're pressing into him like that—so torturously slow until you’re finally, finally fully sheathed.

And then you’re moving, pulling out and snapping your hips back in one swift motion, stealing the air from his lungs. You steady yourself, knees pressing into the mattress and hands tight around his waist. It doesn’t take you long to find the right pace, core clenching at the continuous stream of illegible words and moans tumbling from his lips, increasing in volume with every thrust. 

"Fuck—” your throat feels parched, and you tighten your grip on his waist, hard enough to bruise, “—you sound so sweet." 

You're smiling down at him, that smile that makes his stomach twist in arousal and embarrassment; that smile that says look at you, so riled up, you really can't help yourself huh? 

And he does sound pathetic, doesn't he, loud whines and whimpers falling from his lips unrestrained. Suddenly, his own voice sounds alien to his ears. Since when did it get this high?

“Do you want the entire city to hear you?” 

You grasp him impossibly tighter, punctuating the words with a roll of your hips. “Go on… Let everyone know how good I’m fucking you.”

He moans, a breathy confirmation whispered into the sheets. 

His cock has softened a little, weeping pre-cum on his stomach. He tugs at it with one hand and you pull his wrist away. “Not yet, baby.” 

He groans in frustration and you bend over, bringing your face above his. “I know. But you’re gonna wait until I say you can come.” You grind against his thighs, and he’s trying, biting his lip until it’s swollen and reddened, keeping the pleasure caged behind his teeth. His back arches off the sheets, body chasing after yours every time you nearly pull out. 

“Hold your leg for me.” He grasps his left leg with one hand and folds it closer to his chest, careful not to hit you with his heel. You grasp the other leg and hike it over your shoulder to use his thigh as leverage for your thrusts. 

He curses at the change in angle, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. It’s almost too much, and he’s afraid he might shatter into a million little pieces when you tug the front of his panties down and wrap your hand around his cock. 

You can feel his length stiffen in your palm and you glide your slick thumb over his slit, slowing down the grind of your hips to a lazy roll, building it up again in time with the strokes of your wrist. 

“Ah—shit—I’m not gonna last.” Taehyung shakes his head, and somewhere at the back of his mind he registers himself crying with pleasure, so overcome with the feeling he’s sure he won’t be able to hold back. You can see him struggling, one hand pressed against the headboard and his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Such a good boy.” You tighten your grip around his cock and he whimpers. 

“I can’t—” 

“Then come for me, baby.” His entire body tenses before the last syllable has left your mouth and he coats the lace in ropes of white. You stroke him until the last drop, slowing down your hips until he’s jerking with oversensitivity. 

You pull out, moving until you're next to him, pressing kisses on the tip of his nose. “You did so well.” He lets you cradle him in your arms, humming against your skin. 

“Thank you, jagi.” He nuzzles into your neck but you lean back a little, petting his hair. 

“Can you wait here for a moment?” He nods, and you get off the bed. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

You remove your harness and turn on the tap in the bathroom, adding some rose-scented soap you’ve found in the cabinet to the water. 

Grabbing a towel, you get back on the bed and clean the cum and sweat off Taehyung’s body and clothes before it gets dry. You pull at his arms, trying to get his limp body to move. 

“Come on, the water will get cold,” you huff. He’s heavier than he looks, and determined not to move a single inch more than necessary.

“My legs don’t work,” he complains. 

You chuckle. “It’s a bathtub, Tae, not an Olympic-sized swimming pool. You won’t drown.” 

He grins, a half-hearted attempt, and hoists himself up with a loud groan. He disappears into the bathroom and you ruffle around in your suitcase, grabbing a small package. 

Taehyung has discarded his clothes and is already sitting in the tub, surrounded by bubbles, his eyes closed and a blissful smile on his face. 

You step into the water and sit down across him, leaning in to kiss the mole on his nose. His long lashes flutter and he lets out a soft hum. 

“Yup. I could live here.” He sighs. “That, or I’m bringing this bath back home.” 

“Hey, Tae.” You gently poke his shoulder, feeling warmth blossoming in your chest at the sight of him. “I got you something, too.” 

His eyes fly open. “You did?”

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this fic please consider reblogging and leaving a comment or an ask. Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me going!

↠ Masterlist

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter seven

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit. 18+.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 5.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS reference to reader with she/her pronouns. voyeurism. jerking off. grinding. cursing. cum. cum eating. mess.

AN this is for the anon who MONTHS AGO asked if I could write more kissing scenes. I’ve been working on it, and here you go.

big smooches to @jinpanman and @calixwrites for being the best, most wonderfullest, sweetest betas ever. and to the lovely readers, thank you for being along for the ride. a version with they/them pronouns will be up tomorrow. otherwise, i hope you enjoy this chapter 💕

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hearing Jungkook curse at himself as you leave him behind in the kitchen, you can’t help the smile that spreads like warm honey across your lips. You cover it with a hand like it’s a secret, even though there’s no one to see you. It still feels good to have something that’s yours, just yours, deliciously forbidden.

However, as you round the corner in the direction Jungkook had pointed, you feel something warm begin to slide down your leg. You gasp. Loudly.

“You okay?” Jungkook calls from behind you.

Yoongi pokes his head out from the study he’s commandeered. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” You say, rather too quickly. Yoongi takes one look at you. He knows you’re lying. His gaze roves over you and you quickly clench your legs together, as if that could stop the impending disaster. It doesn’t, and Jungkook’s cum slides further down your leg.

“Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow at you as Jungkook rounds the corner, looking — well, to be frank about it — wildly fuckable and even more so, recently fucked.

As Yoongi looks between the two of you you hurriedly say, “Soap! I got soap on my legs!”

“Soap?” he questions, doubt riddling his tone.

“Yup. Soap.”

“It was me,” Jungkook shrugs. “I got soap on her.”

Yoongi knows bullshit when he sees it, but there’s still a half written song waiting for him in his makeshift studio, so he rolls his eyes, mutters a quick, “And here I was thinking your enthusiasm for dishwashing was nonexistent,” and disappears back into the study.

Jungkook and you both let out a nervous chuckle once the door closes and glance at each other.

“Maybe I should—”

“Wash up first?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Jungkook says. “Unless you’re ready to spill the beans?” He grins.

“That’s the problem. You already literally spilled the beans,” you say, again too quickly, because you haven’t even finished speaking before you grimace at your own innuendo.

“Ew.”

“I know. Okay.” You salute to Jungkook before walking away, grimacing at your two fouls in quick succession. It’s now your turn to curse at yourself.

You hurry to your bedroom, grateful to find it empty. You wash up, and don the largest sweater in your suitcase and some comfy pants. After a second thought and a small secret smirk, you take the pants off, along with your underwear, and redress. Not that anyone will notice, you think. It’ll just be my little secret. But then again, you hadn’t planned to be fucked once this whole trip and yet, well, it just keeps happening.

Dressed, mostly, you begin to make your way in the direction Jungkook had pointed you.

How is it that you’ve been in this house for almost a week now and still haven’t seen this part of it?

The house, built into a steep slope, seems to branch out into the very mountain itself in ways you never expected when you pulled up that first day. Immeasurably larger than you expected, room after graceful room unfolds from the hallways you wander down. Dark wooden floors reflect the late autumn light pooling from tall, narrow windows, and are cool beneath your socked feet.

As you walk, you run over what you’re going to say in your head.

Hoseok, I have been fucking Jungkook. And Jimin. And in the past, sometimes Yoongi.

No, no, that sounds all wrong. Serious and confessional — when no one has opened up the space for confession in the first place. But there’s something, on the tip of your tongue, in the hollow of your throat that you feel needs to be said to him. Maybe it’s a question.

What do you think of all of this? Do you want to fuck all of our friends? Have you ever imagined ravishing me up against a wall while all of our buddies are in the other room, cooking dinner?

No, no, no! That’s even worse. Tension simmers in your stomach. It’s like the purpose itself — the purpose of Hoseok — is hiding from you. And so you resign yourself to a truth you have relied on for many years: Hobi always knows what to say. He’ll know what to say. You take a deep breath and square up your shoulders as you continue to wander through the house.

There’s one hallway just a little darker than the others, branching off to your left. At the end of it, stands a single, tall door with a key, waiting in the lock. You have the sudden desire to see what’s inside, but something urges you: not now. I’ll have to see what all that is about later, you think. So you continue on.

And then finally, what you have been looking for appears.

A large wooden door stretches high up to the ceiling. You feel like an ant in front of it.  You shoulder the door open, expecting it to be heavy, but instead it glides open smoothly and silently to reveal the library behind it. You peek your head in.

“Hobi?”

No response. You venture further inside.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. The large room is built directly into the mountain, the exposed granite belly of the land serving as the wall on the right. A kind of grey coolness radiates off of the stone, while on the other side of the room, bright autumn sunlight spills in like liquid gold across hardwood and mismatched rugs. It feels like two halves of the universe, stone and sun. Like a beginning and ending of a book, if that could be encapsulated by space.

Tall natural wood bookshelves are staggered throughout, creating a maze of sorts, and lights in large bubbles of glass hang down at various heights from the roof, transforming shadow into warm glow.  You wander through the stacks, tracing a finger along the spines of books, which are somehow free of dust despite assumed disuse. The space is cared for, thoughtfully. And you think you could get lost here. Happily.

From behind a massive bookshelf, the room opens up to reveal a half circle of plush chairs, a dark wooden table, and a studious figure hunched over it.  You peek out from behind the books.

“Hob — Joonie?”

He doesn’t hear you. His face is pressed in concentration, a glimmer of sweat dancing across his brow. In one hand he holds a beautiful old book, the cover traced with antique intricacies. As you begin to take a step forward, you hear Namjoon draw a long, shaky breath in.

You watch his knuckles turn white with the tension of holding the large volume. What is he doing?

All at once, he throws his head back and breathes out a name: your name.

“What—” You slap your hand over your mouth, as if you already know this is something you’re not supposed to be witnessing. And yet you can’t tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you.

The book drops from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud. You watch his face, his eyes closed, as if he didn’t even notice that what looked like a very expensive antique has just bounced on the hard floor. Behind the book his hand is wrapped around —

His hand is wrapped around his cock. His motherfucking gigantic cock.

His large palm strokes a leisurely path up and down the reddening and pulsing shaft, precome leaking from the tip. Sounds of pleasure spill from his lips as he rushes towards release, desperate and unperceiving of everything except for the padlock of fantasy playing behind his eyelids.

I’m not supposed to see this. You gasp, twirling back behind the bookshelf to hide yourself, but in your haste your shoulder bumps the shelf and a book falls to the floor with a loud thump.

Namjoon stutters in surprise and you can hear him fumbling in his seat, but you don’t wait to find out if he knows you’re there or not. Breath hitching in your throat, you try to sneak away as quietly as you can, but it’s not long before you hear heavy footsteps sounding behind you.

“Hello?” Namjoon calls. You pick up the pace, now running through the maze of shelves, a maze that you now curse.

Before you, a thin flight of stairs appears and with a glance behind you, you creep up them, trying to keep your steps as silent as possible.

“Hyung? Is that you?”

You curse as the stairs creak beneath your foot. You can hear him getting closer, so you sprint to the top of the stairs, arriving at a thin landing that stretches across the perimeter of the wall. This is worse, you think, as the whole landing is visible from the floor of the library. But then you spot a small stone archway and race towards it.

Breath shuddering heavily and loudly in your chest as you lean against the cold natural stone cut out of the mountain. Cheeks burning with shock, embarrassment, maybe even arousal, the coolness feels like a silver relief. This was not the strange, unnavigable interaction you had planned for the library. It surprises you, and yet —

All of those days spent cooped up in your tiny two bedroom city apartment come flooding back. The times when Namjoon emerged from his bedroom, a little sweaty (like you just saw him), a little reddened (like you just saw him), and with a little bit of a glow around him (just like you just saw him). A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat.

Of course he had been jerking off while you lived together. You’re not prudish enough to think otherwise. But knowing about it and knowing the specifics of it are completely different things. You can’t help but imagine all those nights where you had your hand down your pants, pressing the smooth silicone tip of your vibrator to your clit, tryingtryign to keep your moans and gasps silent. But now, you imagine him on the other side of the wall. His head next to yours. His body next to yours, only separated by a couple of inches of drywall. His hand wrapped around his throbbing, leaking cock, face lit up with blue light and a screen with a body that — that looks a lot like yours.

Collect yourself! You cry internally, squeezing your eyes shut, willing the sinful images of your friend and roommate out of your mind. Carefully, you try to calm your breath and reach out for the bookshelf to steady yourself and—

thump.

Three books clatter to the floor. Loudly.

Fuck, you think. Namjoon’s steps come to a stop. And then you hear them turn in your direction.

“Hello?” He calls again. “Is someone there? Can you stop playing this game? Can you stop running away from me?”

Namjoon’s feet fall heavily on the stairs as he climbs upwards. As soon as he gets to the top of the stairs he’ll see you. You think you can make it to the other side of the landing if you move quickly and quietly. So you take off, leaving the cover of the archway, but your feet have barely left the floor when a hand reaches out and wraps tightly around your wrist and tugs you backwards.

Spinning you into the hard frame of Namjoon’s embrace.

“Hi,” you squeak, not daring to look up at him, your face burning in embarrassment.

“Hello.” Chest to chest, the bass of his voice reverberates through you. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Feigning innocence, you finally glance up to him, his face broad and curious.

“Running in the library? Tossing books around?” He glances down at the three books toppled to the floor.

“What? Are you going to scold me like some stern librarian?” Namjoon cocks an eyebrow and now that you’ve said it, you wish you hadn’t. The thought of a stone faced librarian Namjoon punishing you for misbehaving has blood rushing to your face. And other locals. Imagine him bending you over one of the tables, tie gripped between your teeth, your ass swatted red from a spanking with a book — What. The. Fuck. It’s too much to think of at once. You distract. “Anyways, what were you doing?”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to flush hot with shock and embarrassment. “You—you—”

“I, uh, saw.”

His eyes shoot wide and he gapes at you.

“I was studying!” He lies, his eyes widening, as if their size will prove his sincerity. It’s then that he notices that he’s still got both of your wrists in a tight grip, holding you close to his chest. He drops your hands and hurriedly steps away to pick up the fallen books.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure. “But I did, um, you, uh, well.” Out with it. “You know. You said my name.”

He freezes. With all the care in the world, he puts a book back in its place and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

You laugh nervously, trying to cut through the tension that now hangs thick as wool between the two of you. “I mean it’s not a problem, we all have fantasies, right? It’s not like you want to fuck me.”

Namjoon drops the book that he’s holding in his hands and you both duck down to grab it, knocking heads.

“Fuck!”

“Ow!”

You and Namjoon topple over, landing squarely on your bums, rubbing the sore spots where your temples collided. With a weary hand, Namjoon reaches for you, helping you stand, brushing some dust off of your sweater and—

And he doesn’t let go. As the shock of the fall dissolves like salt in water between the two of you, silence settles in instead. A coherent, knowing silence. His eyes bore into yours as his hands clutch at the sleeves of your sweater.

The words still hang in the space between you: It’s not like you want to fuck me.

He takes one of those deep breaths, the kinds that hold all the tension in the world and clumsily says: “Is it a problem if I do?”

Your eyes lock. Whereas before it felt like you were dodging each other, you’re in the same lane now. Traveling down a road at breakneck speed.

Be honest. You force yourself through the barrier of truth. Easier to do when his eyes are shining bright and knowing down at you. “I mean…. No.”

“I totally understand if you don’t want to — you know, friendship — living arrangements—”

“It’s dumb—”

“It’s definitely dumb.”

“It’s really, definitely dumb.”

“It could ruin everything—”

“Well, I mean, it hasn’t ruined things with—”

You slap a hand over your mouth.

“With who?” He’s laughing. “Who the hell did you fuck? Hobi? Saw that coming a mile away.”

Your cheeks warm. “No. No, it’s nothing.”

He gives you a look. “Nothing?” But when you look down and don’t answer, he doesn’t push. He lets the silence settle. It’s enough of an answer for him to pack it away and leave you with some semblance of dignity. The two of you are still clinging to each other, your wrists held tightly between his hands, your fingers digging into the soft plush of his cable knit sweater. But you’re not holding on for support anymore.

“It’s dumb,” you repeat, but your voice has fallen to a whisper.

“So dumb,” Namjoon breathes. When did he get this near? His face is so close to yours, his breath brushing softly against your lips, tasting of spearmint and something cinnamon-y. “But we’ve done quite a bit of staying smart, haven’t we?”

“We have.”

“Isn’t it okay, you know, if we weren’t so smart for once?”

It feels like Namjoon is standing beside you in your own mind. You are both so different in so many ways, but on this one aspect, you always find companionship. Both of you constantly stand on the precipice of a “good” decision. You both wander aimlessly through the brambles of constant reckoning, comparing, evaluating in the name of being smart. But at the end of the day, it isn’t even about being smart. It is about knowing that if you are going to step off the edge of the cliff and into a decision, that there will be something — or someone — there to catch you at the end of your fall.

So maybe it is okay, knowing that Namjoon is right there beside you. That even if he’s not there waiting at the bottom, that he’s falling right beside you.

So you nod. “Maybe it’s okay to not know. Not to have to know.” The words hardly capture the feeling.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods eagerly, a little smile creeping across his features. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, steps a little bit closer. The speed of your heart feels a little louder in his ears. “It doesn’t have to be smart.”

“Right.”

You’re repeating yourselves at this point. But it’s because it feels like there’s a second conversation, one that’s only happening in the proximity of one another. Glances flicked across collarbones, nervous fingers tracing hairlines, feet shuffled closer together. And then, as he does, Namjoon’s brain catches up to his actions.

“But with everything with Yoongi’s proposition, well, I just—” Namjoon tapers off, searching for the perfect word. And you nod, recalling the brashness of Yoongi’s words: We should fuck. Something like this doesn’t need to be so extraneously complicated. At this point, the conversation is basically a backing track in your mind. “What if it goes horribly wrong? What if something’s missing?”

“Missing?”

“Attraction. What if someone’s not attracted to someone.”

“Oh. Are you really worried about it?”

“Yeah.”

You pull him closer to you and he seems shocked. “Well then, I think we just have to trust that if someone doesn’t want us, want all of us, that they’ll speak up about it. Before we get into this mess.”

You can see how the logic clicks into place in his mind. How his eyes brighten, and he nods. And still, there’s resistance. It’s the same resistance you can feel in your own body, but looking at it through his eyes… Well, it’s different. It’s not so overwhelming that way. “But, you,” he finally says.

“Me?”

“What if something’s missing with you?” It’s a jumbled sentence of simple grammar and vague references, but you understand. Namjoon stands at the boundary lines of you. Desire burns like pine branches lit aflame behind his eyes, and still he’s holding back, afraid of what will happen when the carefully stoked flame is set free.

“Then try it out.” You’re not sure where the confidence came from, but you barrel forward anyways. “See if it’s missing?”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“Uh, no.” It’s the kind of reflexive response you hear from Namjoon when he’s reminding your friends of legislation or expectation: a rule, not a want.

You correct yourself: “You can kiss me—”

“I can?” The phrase brushes over you like a whisper, his question embodied by his whole being. You are both two bundles of hesitation, teetering on the cliff before you.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Uh—Oh.” It’s like a door swings open in his mind. Like until that second he hadn’t considered — couldn’t consider — that you would want him. It takes a second for him to catch up, his mind swirling before you.

But you’ve had enough. Enough waiting. Thought catches up in silence. Becomes monstrous in silence. So before your mind can swirl in the opposite direction, you squeeze your eyes shut, and with the grace of an eighth grader fumbling for their first kiss, reach up on your tippy toes and press your lips to Namjoon’s.

The two of you stand there like that for a second, lips smashed together. Your eyes squeezed shut, Namjoon’s peeled wide in shock.

He pulls back. “Um.”

“Hold on,” you say, diving back in towards his lips and stopping just before they meet. A breath, then: he closes the distance.

Hesitation dances on his mouth. A thousand questions, unanswered, unvoiced — which you know for a fact, if you gave him enough time and space, he would spill eagerly into the silence. But you won’t. You don’t want to see them, the questions, the punctuation, the words, build up between you.

It starts slow this time, lips exploring lips. Both of you holding back, but in a way that invites a kind of soft gentleness into the space between you. You step closer. Press your chest to his. Bring your hand to his cheek. And light bubbles between you at the connection. Like sunlight, spilling through the topmost canopy of trees and glittering gold upon weathered features. As it builds, that golden light becomes a kind of unsung magic. The seasons, transforming beneath your watch.

It grows between you, so slowly and yet so undeniably. Like watching the leaves change from the window. Waking up one morning to the first frost of the season, the crispness alivening. His hands dance at your waist and he tastes sweet as he begins to explore your mouth, unhurriedly, but no longer hesitant.

You sigh into his mouth and he chuckles, pressing you closer, like he can’t get enough of you—

He takes a step forward, pressing your back to the bookshelves. Your hand shoots out to steady your balance and in your groping, a book falls off the shelf and to the floor. For the first time, neither of you flinch. Neither of you care.

And then you both get lost. Run off the well trodden path of the forest, into something tangled and full of brambles.  His thigh slips between your legs, presses against your core. You press back, and sparks light up in your abdomen. Your mouth against his is hungry, desperate, in a way you didn’t know it could be — and he answers it with equal hunger, nipping at your lips, tracing his tongue against the roof of your mouth. One of his arms loops under your shoulder, wraps around your back, tugs him to his body like he can’t bear the idea of a single molecule of space existing between the two of you. And then he grinds his thigh into your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

He breathes your name against your lips before claiming your lips again and the sound of it echoes of earlier: his lip caught between his teeth, his hand tugging on his cock. But this is different. He has you. Has you here. Wrapped up in his arms, tightly bound to his body, just as you should be, he can’t help but think.

The thought shudders through him like a boulder and as quickly as the burning of autumn sun had shone between the two of you, he is purposefully dimming it, untwining himself from you, stepping back. You look on, confused.

“I’m so sorry.” He pulls away, his breath quickening, and runs a hand through his hair. He laughs, a little cruelty falling into the sound of it, and you know the harsh edge is meant for no one but him. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“For god's sake, Namjoon, “ you say, pushing your hair back into place, straightening your shirt. “Don’t you know what you do to me?”

He looks at you, confusion flitting across his face.

“It was, it was just—” He’s trying to make sense of it. Logic his way through whatever the hell it was that just happened between the two of you. And you want to unravel it all. Unravel the spinning thoughts in his mind. The broken damn of words and phrases and calculations you know are clouding his sight and so you step towards him, grabbing his hand.

“You don’t believe me.”

He doesn’t answer, but it’s clear enough.

“Will you let me show you?”

He nods and swallows hard.

Slowly, you guide his hand to your chest, pressing his palm to it. His fingers are stiff, but as you hold his hand there, they begin to relax.

“Don’t you feel how fast my heart is beating, just being this close to you? Nothing’s missing. Not on my part.”

Namjoon nods, but doesn’t take his gaze off of his hand. As you draw it down further, he sucks in a breath as it grazes over your breast.

“And this…” You watch his gaze, checking to make sure that everything is alright. But you have nothing to worry about. The hesitation that once dominated his expression begins to relax. Begins to become replaced by something else. Slowly, you bring his hand beneath the shirt. And then you let go.

“You can touch me, Joon.” He glances up at you. “I want you to. Nothing’s missing.” And as you say it to him, it’s like you’re saying it to yourself, too. With care, he lets his hand rest on your hip before dipping down into the apex of your thighs, beneath your pants. He slides one finger between your legs, sinking into your folds. His eyebrow twitches upwards when he finds you pantyless.

“I did this?” He sounds surprised.

You nod.

He captures your lips again and this time it’s not the warmth of late autumn you find on his skin. It’s the distinct crisp of winter. Stinging and clear and knowing. When he slips his hand out of your pants, he brings his fingers up to your lips, and pulls back far enough to whisper: “Taste.”

You open your mouth, and he slips his index and middle finger into your lips. You taste bitter and sweet and wanting. But before you can swallow, he presses his mouth to yours and drinks your essence off of your tongue, humming in a satisfaction you’ve never seen on him before.

It’s like his understanding of your desire has radicalized him.

Knowing he’s not alone in his want, he unleashes himself against you fully, if not a little clumsily. When he presses his thigh between yours again, he grinds it into you. Grins against your lips when you suck in a shaky breath. And you feel him shudder when you bring your hand down to the belt of his linen pants and trace a finger just around the opening.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

Kisses furious, skin heated, intention frozen into place — everything seems irrevocably true to the moment.

Someone calls out your name and it shatters the moment as easily as a thin layer of ice. The both of you freeze, Namjoon’s thigh still pressing into the apex of your thighs, your hand half down his pants, your lips swollen from his ministrations.

“Fuck,” Namjoon whispers and presses a finger to your mouth. “Shh, don’t let him see you.”

Your name echoes a second time off the walls of the library. It’s Jin. “Hobi is looking for you! Jungkook told me you were here!”

You groan, throwing your head back. “I’m here!”

“Okay, well hurry up! It seemed urgent! He’s in the backyard.”

You wait until you hear the library doors slam shut — why didn’t you hear them open in the first place? — before relaxing and sighing, disappointed, the moment shattered.

“Why don’t you stay for a little while?” Namjoon asks, and the unrestrained eagerness in his eye almost convinces you. But you have other things on your agenda. Other things to complete before you fuck 50% of your friends. The notion almost makes you laugh.

“I have to find Hobi. I promised..” Promised who? Him? Jungkook? Yourself. “I promised I’d talk to him by the end of the day. That’s why I came here, looking for him.”

Namjoon laughs, a full bodied, deep laugh. “Oh god. And look what you found instead. I-I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing! Really. It…” You try to find the words. “It’s not a bad, um, discovery.”

You glance down at your bodies, still pressed together. Namjoon seems to notice at the same moment you do and with a cough, steps back.

“I guess so.” He grins and the tension breaks. “At least, well, at least let me walk you?”

“Yeah,” you smile back.

He turns away and begins down the walkway, as if nothing that just happened existed. Determinately, you hurry to catch up and slip an arm through his. He looks down, blinks a couple times, and his cheeks start to redden.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” you say.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he says quickly. “I like it.”

With a gentlemanly air, he insists on helping you down the stairs. Not that you mind. Especially when the intensity of the previous moment is still reeling through your head.

You wander through the library, side by side, and somehow the massive space seems smaller after everything that’s just taken place. The bookshelves taller. The ceiling darker. The rock walls, well, rockier. Older looking. You even have to squeeze single file through the stacks of bookcases at one point. It’s as if the room itself is trying to push you two closer together.

Namjoon points out various books here and there, noting which ones were worth the philosophical indulgence, which once were more pretty escapist fantasies, and which ones he even had on his bookshelf back home. Although, you suppose, isn’t this now his home? That thought sparks the question that’s been hovering on your lips since you arrived.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask—” He turns towards you, eyes scanning your face.

“Anything. Ask anything.”

He says it so earnestly, gaze set so steady on your features that, despite the inconspicuous question you suddenly feel nervous and suck in a steadying breath before you speak:

“Where did the house come from?”

He blinks as if that’s not the question he expected.

“My aunt.”

“Your aunt’s house?”

“Yeah uh — she passed away. A year ago, actually. And left me this house. I guess it belonged to some lover from long ago that then gifted it to her.” He makes a flourishing movement. “And then on to me.”

“You’re telling me you were gifted a mansion in the middle of the mountains with this library and you decided to stay in our tiny ass, smelly ass apartment?”

He blinks at you, as if the answer is obvious.

“I mean, yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah?! You could have been up here all this time, frolicking in the mountains and living well and not crammed in a tiny little apartment with me!”

“Well, that was kind of the point wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“To be with you. I didn’t want to leave.”

← || series m.list || →

THANK YOU FOR READING!

→ liked what you read? want to chat about the characters, story, and series? → want to read more?

[wwilloww]

get to know me

ee thank you for tagging me @dee-ehn, i loved reading yours!

relationship status: single

three favorite colors: moss green; pink; a bright, sunshiney orange

three favorite foods: my dad's barbecue, sushi, fresh pesto

song I’m currently listening to: damn right by audrey nuna

last thing I googled: cross country gear ski rental

dream trip: i wanna spend an entire summer in the scottish highlands, that's all i want (covid pls let me go)

something I really want: hmmm. to get into grad school!

this was actually really fun to fill out! curious to see what you all say!

@thatlongspringnight @madseok @dntaewithluv @miscelunaaa @illneverrecover @starlostjimin @vyduan @calixwrites @btsarmy9593 @sunshinerainbowsbts @namjin-fangirling-again @augustbutwinter @reliablemitten

[wwilloww]

sh. | they/them version | ot7 | chapter seven

THIS VERSION IS WRITTEN WITH THEY/THEM PRONOUNS. YOU CAN READ A VERSION WITH SHE/HER PRONOUNS HERE.

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WARNINGS AND TAGS reference to reader with they/them pronouns. voyeurism. jerking off. grinding. cursing. cum. cum eating. mess.

AN this is for the anon who MONTHS AGO asked if I could write more kissing scenes. I’ve been working on it, and here you go.

for being the best, most wonderfullest, sweetest betas ever. and to the lovely readers, thank you for being along for the ride. a version with they/them pronouns will be up tomorrow. otherwise, i hope you enjoy this chapter 💕big smooches to@jinpanman and @calixwrites

|| series m.list ||

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Chapter Seven

Wc: 5k

warnings: voyeurism. jerking off. grinding. cursing. cum. cum eating. mess.

Hearing Jungkook curse at himself as you leave him behind in the kitchen, you can’t help the smile that spreads like warm honey across your lips. You cover it with a hand like it’s a secret, even though there’s no one to see you. It still feels good to have something that’s yours, just yours, deliciously forbidden.

However, as you round the corner in the direction Jungkook had pointed, you feel something warm begin to slide down your leg. You gasp. Loudly.

“You okay?” Jungkook calls from behind you.

Yoongi pokes his head out from the study he’s commandeered. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” You say, rather too quickly. Yoongi takes one look at you. He knows you’re lying. His gaze roves over you and you quickly clench your legs together, as if that could stop the impending disaster. It doesn’t, and Jungkook’s cum slides further down your leg.

“Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow at you as Jungkook rounds the corner, looking — well, to be frank about it — wildly fuckable and even more so, recently fucked.

As Yoongi looks between the two of you you hurriedly say, “Soap! I got soap on my legs!”

“Soap?” he questions, doubt riddling his tone.

“Yup. Soap.”

“It was me,” Jungkook shrugs. “I got soap on them.”

Yoongi knows bullshit when he sees it, but there’s still a half written song waiting for him in his makeshift studio, so he rolls his eyes, mutters a quick, “And here I was thinking your enthusiasm for dishwashing was nonexistent,” and disappears back into the study.

Jungkook and you both let out a nervous chuckle once the door closes and glance at each other.

“Maybe I should—”

“Wash up first?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Jungkook says. “Unless you’re ready to spill the beans?” He grins.

“That’s the problem. You already literally spilled the beans,” you say, again too quickly, because you haven’t even finished speaking before you grimace at your own innuendo.

“Ew.”

“I know. Okay.” You salute to Jungkook before walking away, grimacing at your two fouls in quick succession. It’s now your turn to curse at yourself.

You hurry to your bedroom, grateful to find it empty. You wash up, and don the largest sweater in your suitcase and some comfy pants. After a second thought and a small secret smirk, you take the pants off, along with your underwear, and redress. Not that anyone will notice, you think. It’ll just be my little secret. But then again, you hadn’t planned to be fucked once this whole trip and yet, well, it just keeps happening.

Dressed, mostly, you begin to make your way in the direction Jungkook had pointed you.

How is it that you’ve been in this house for almost a week now and still haven’t seen this part of it?

The house, built into a steep slope, seems to branch out into the very mountain itself in ways you never expected when you pulled up that first day. Immeasurably larger than you expected, room after graceful room unfolds from the hallways you wander down. Dark wooden floors reflect the late autumn light pooling from tall, narrow windows, and are cool beneath your socked feet.

As you walk, you run over what you’re going to say in your head.

Hoseok, I have been fucking Jungkook. And Jimin. And in the past, sometimes Yoongi.

No, no, that sounds all wrong. Serious and confessional — when no one has opened up the space for confession in the first place. But there’s something, on the tip of your tongue, in the hollow of your throat that you feel needs to be said to him. Maybe it’s a question.

What do you think of all of this? Do you want to fuck all of our friends? Have you ever imagined ravishing me up against a wall while all of our buddies are in the other room, cooking dinner?

No, no, no! That’s even worse. Tension simmers in your stomach. It’s like the purpose itself — the purpose of Hoseok — is hiding from you. And so you resign yourself to a truth you have relied on for many years: Hobi always knows what to say. He’ll know what to say. You take a deep breath and square up your shoulders as you continue to wander through the house.

There’s one hallway just a little darker than the others, branching off to your left. At the end of it, stands a single, tall door with a key, waiting in the lock. You have the sudden desire to see what’s inside, but something urges you: not now. I’ll have to see what all that is about later, you think. So you continue on.

And then finally, what you have been looking for appears.

A large wooden door stretches high up to the ceiling. You feel like an ant in front of it.  You shoulder the door open, expecting it to be heavy, but instead it glides open smoothly and silently to reveal the library behind it. You peek your head in.

“Hobi?”

No response. You venture further inside.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. The large room is built directly into the mountain, the exposed granite belly of the land serving as the wall on the right. A kind of grey coolness radiates off of the stone, while on the other side of the room, bright autumn sunlight spills in like liquid gold across hardwood and mismatched rugs. It feels like two halves of the universe, stone and sun. Like a beginning and ending of a book, if that could be encapsulated by space.

Tall natural wood bookshelves are staggered throughout, creating a maze of sorts, and lights in large bubbles of glass hang down at various heights from the roof, transforming shadow into warm glow.  You wander through the stacks, tracing a finger along the spines of books, which are somehow free of dust despite assumed disuse. The space is cared for, thoughtfully. And you think you could get lost here. Happily.

From behind a massive bookshelf, the room opens up to reveal a half circle of plush chairs, a dark wooden table, and a studious figure hunched over it.  You peek out from behind the books.

“Hob — Joonie?”

He doesn’t hear you. His face is pressed in concentration, a glimmer of sweat dancing across his brow. In one hand he holds a beautiful old book, the cover traced with antique intricacies. As you begin to take a step forward, you hear Namjoon draw a long, shaky breath in.

You watch his knuckles turn white with the tension of holding the large volume. What is he doing?

All at once, he throws his head back and breathes out a name: your name.

“What—” You slap your hand over your mouth, as if you already know this is something you’re not supposed to be witnessing. And yet you can’t tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you.

The book drops from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud. You watch his face, his eyes closed, as if he didn’t even notice that what looked like a very expensive antique has just bounced on the hard floor. Behind the book his hand is wrapped around —

His hand is wrapped around his cock. His motherfucking gigantic cock.

His large palm strokes a leisurely path up and down the reddening and pulsing shaft, precome leaking from the tip. Sounds of pleasure spill from his lips as he rushes towards release, desperate and unperceiving of everything except for the padlock of fantasy playing behind his eyelids.

I’m not supposed to see this. You gasp, twirling back behind the bookshelf to hide yourself, but in your haste your shoulder bumps the shelf and a book falls to the floor with a loud thump.

Namjoon stutters in surprise and you can hear him fumbling in his seat, but you don’t wait to find out if he knows you’re there or not. Breath hitching in your throat, you try to sneak away as quietly as you can, but it’s not long before you hear heavy footsteps sounding behind you.

“Hello?” Namjoon calls. You pick up the pace, now running through the maze of shelves, a maze that you now curse.

Before you, a thin flight of stairs appears and with a glance behind you, you creep up them, trying to keep your steps as silent as possible.

“Hyung? Is that you?”

You curse as the stairs creak beneath your foot. You can hear him getting closer, so you sprint to the top of the stairs, arriving at a thin landing that stretches across the perimeter of the wall. This is worse, you think, as the whole landing is visible from the floor of the library. But then you spot a small stone archway and race towards it.

Breath shuddering heavily and loudly in your chest as you lean against the cold natural stone cut out of the mountain. Cheeks burning with shock, embarrassment, maybe even arousal, the coolness feels like a silver relief. This was not the strange, unnavigable interaction you had planned for the library. It surprises you, and yet —

All of those days spent cooped up in your tiny two bedroom city apartment come flooding back. The times when Namjoon emerged from his bedroom, a little sweaty (like you just saw him), a little reddened (like you just saw him), and with a little bit of a glow around him (just like you just saw him). A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat.

Of course he had been jerking off while you lived together. You’re not prudish enough to think otherwise. But knowing about it and knowing the specifics of it are completely different things. You can’t help but imagine all those nights where you had your hand down your pants, pressing the smooth silicone tip of your vibrator to your clit, tryingtryign to keep your moans and gasps silent. But now, you imagine him on the other side of the wall. His head next to yours. His body next to yours, only separated by a couple of inches of drywall. His hand wrapped around his throbbing, leaking cock, face lit up with blue light and a screen with a body that — that looks a lot like yours.

Collect yourself! You cry internally, squeezing your eyes shut, willing the sinful images of your friend and roommate out of your mind. Carefully, you try to calm your breath and reach out for the bookshelf to steady yourself and—

thump.

Three books clatter to the floor. Loudly.

Fuck, you think. Namjoon’s steps come to a stop. And then you hear them turn in your direction.

“Hello?” He calls again. “Is someone there? Can you stop playing this game? Can you stop running away from me?”

Namjoon’s feet fall heavily on the stairs as he climbs upwards. As soon as he gets to the top of the stairs he’ll see you. You think you can make it to the other side of the landing if you move quickly and quietly. So you take off, leaving the cover of the archway, but your feet have barely left the floor when a hand reaches out and wraps tightly around your wrist and tugs you backwards.

Spinning you into the hard frame of Namjoon’s embrace.

“Hi,” you squeak, not daring to look up at him, your face burning in embarrassment.

“Hello.” Chest to chest, the bass of his voice reverberates through you. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Feigning innocence, you finally glance up to him, his face broad and curious.

“Running in the library? Tossing books around?” He glances down at the three books toppled to the floor.

“What? Are you going to scold me like some stern librarian?” Namjoon cocks an eyebrow and now that you’ve said it, you wish you hadn’t. The thought of a stone faced librarian Namjoon punishing you for misbehaving has blood rushing to your face. And other locals. Imagine him bending you over one of the tables, tie gripped between your teeth, your ass swatted red from a spanking with a book — What. The. Fuck. It’s too much to think of at once. You distract. “Anyways, what were you doing?”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to flush hot with shock and embarrassment. “You—you—”

“I, uh, saw.”

His eyes shoot wide and he gapes at you.

“I was studying!” He lies, his eyes widening, as if their size will prove his sincerity. It’s then that he notices that he’s still got both of your wrists in a tight grip, holding you close to his chest. He drops your hands and hurriedly steps away to pick up the fallen books.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure. “But I did, um, you, uh, well.” Out with it. “You know. You said my name.”

He freezes. With all the care in the world, he puts a book back in its place and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

You laugh nervously, trying to cut through the tension that now hangs thick as wool between the two of you. “I mean it’s not a problem, we all have fantasies, right? It’s not like you want to fuck me.”

Namjoon drops the book that he’s holding in his hands and you both duck down to grab it, knocking heads.

“Fuck!”

“Ow!”

You and Namjoon topple over, landing squarely on your bums, rubbing the sore spots where your temples collided. With a weary hand, Namjoon reaches for you, helping you stand, brushing some dust off of your sweater and—

And he doesn’t let go. As the shock of the fall dissolves like salt in water between the two of you, silence settles in instead. A coherent, knowing silence. His eyes bore into yours as his hands clutch at the sleeves of your sweater.

The words still hang in the space between you: It’s not like you want to fuck me.

He takes one of those deep breaths, the kinds that hold all the tension in the world and clumsily says: “Is it a problem if I do?”

Your eyes lock. Whereas before it felt like you were dodging each other, you’re in the same lane now. Traveling down a road at breakneck speed.

Be honest. You force yourself through the barrier of truth. Easier to do when his eyes are shining bright and knowing down at you. “I mean…. No.”

“I totally understand if you don’t want to — you know, friendship — living arrangements—”

“It’s dumb—”

“It’s definitely dumb.”

“It’s really, definitely dumb.”

“It could ruin everything—”

“Well, I mean, it hasn’t ruined things with—”

You slap a hand over your mouth.

“With who?” He’s laughing. “Who the hell did you fuck? Hobi? Saw that coming a mile away.”

Your cheeks warm. “No. No, it’s nothing.”

He gives you a look. “Nothing?” But when you look down and don’t answer, he doesn’t push. He lets the silence settle. It’s enough of an answer for him to pack it away and leave you with some semblance of dignity. The two of you are still clinging to each other, your wrists held tightly between his hands, your fingers digging into the soft plush of his cable knit sweater. But you’re not holding on for support anymore.

“It’s dumb,” you repeat, but your voice has fallen to a whisper.

“So dumb,” Namjoon breathes. When did he get this near? His face is so close to yours, his breath brushing softly against your lips, tasting of spearmint and something cinnamon-y. “But we’ve done quite a bit of staying smart, haven’t we?”

“We have.”

“Isn’t it okay, you know, if we weren’t so smart for once?”

It feels like Namjoon is standing beside you in your own mind. You are both so different in so many ways, but on this one aspect, you always find companionship. Both of you constantly stand on the precipice of a “good” decision. You both wander aimlessly through the brambles of constant reckoning, comparing, evaluating in the name of being smart. But at the end of the day, it isn’t even about being smart. It is about knowing that if you are going to step off the edge of the cliff and into a decision, that there will be something — or someone — there to catch you at the end of your fall.

So maybe it is okay, knowing that Namjoon is right there beside you. That even if he’s not there waiting at the bottom, that he’s falling right beside you.

So you nod. “Maybe it’s okay to not know. Not to have to know.” The words hardly capture the feeling.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods eagerly, a little smile creeping across his features. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, steps a little bit closer. The speed of your heart feels a little louder in his ears. “It doesn’t have to be smart.”

“Right.”

You’re repeating yourselves at this point. But it’s because it feels like there’s a second conversation, one that’s only happening in the proximity of one another. Glances flicked across collarbones, nervous fingers tracing hairlines, feet shuffled closer together. And then, as he does, Namjoon’s brain catches up to his actions.

“But with everything with Yoongi’s proposition, well, I just—” Namjoon tapers off, searching for the perfect word. And you nod, recalling the brashness of Yoongi’s words: We should fuck. Something like this doesn’t need to be so extraneously complicated. At this point, the conversation is basically a backing track in your mind. “What if it goes horribly wrong? What if something’s missing?”

“Missing?”

“Attraction. What if someone’s not attracted to someone.”

“Oh. Are you really worried about it?”

“Yeah.”

You pull him closer to you and he seems shocked. “Well then, I think we just have to trust that if someone doesn’t want us, want all of us, that they’ll speak up about it. Before we get into this mess.”

You can see how the logic clicks into place in his mind. How his eyes brighten, and he nods. And still, there’s resistance. It’s the same resistance you can feel in your own body, but looking at it through his eyes… Well, it’s different. It’s not so overwhelming that way. “But, you,” he finally says.

“Me?”

“What if something’s missing with you?” It’s a jumbled sentence of simple grammar and vague references, but you understand. Namjoon stands at the boundary lines of you. Desire burns like pine branches lit aflame behind his eyes, and still he’s holding back, afraid of what will happen when the carefully stoked flame is set free.

“Then try it out.” You’re not sure where the confidence came from, but you barrel forward anyways. “See if it’s missing?”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“Uh, no.” It’s the kind of reflexive response you hear from Namjoon when he’s reminding your friends of legislation or expectation: a rule, not a want.

You correct yourself: “You can kiss me—”

“I can?” The phrase brushes over you like a whisper, his question embodied by his whole being. You are both two bundles of hesitation, teetering on the cliff before you.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Uh—Oh.” It’s like a door swings open in his mind. Like until that second he hadn’t considered — couldn’t consider — that you would want him. It takes a second for him to catch up, his mind swirling before you.

But you’ve had enough. Enough waiting. Thought catches up in silence. Becomes monstrous in silence. So before your mind can swirl in the opposite direction, you squeeze your eyes shut, and with the grace of an eighth grader fumbling for their first kiss, reach up on your tippy toes and press your lips to Namjoon’s.

The two of you stand there like that for a second, lips smashed together. Your eyes squeezed shut, Namjoon’s peeled wide in shock.

He pulls back. “Um.”

“Hold on,” you say, diving back in towards his lips and stopping just before they meet. A breath, then: he closes the distance.

Hesitation dances on his mouth. A thousand questions, unanswered, unvoiced — which you know for a fact, if you gave him enough time and space, he would spill eagerly into the silence. But you won’t. You don’t want to see them, the questions, the punctuation, the words, build up between you.

It starts slow this time, lips exploring lips. Both of you holding back, but in a way that invites a kind of soft gentleness into the space between you. You step closer. Press your chest to his. Bring your hand to his cheek. And light bubbles between you at the connection. Like sunlight, spilling through the topmost canopy of trees and glittering gold upon weathered features. As it builds, that golden light becomes a kind of unsung magic. The seasons, transforming beneath your watch.

It grows between you, so slowly and yet so undeniably. Like watching the leaves change from the window. Waking up one morning to the first frost of the season, the crispness alivening. His hands dance at your waist and he tastes sweet as he begins to explore your mouth, unhurriedly, but no longer hesitant.

You sigh into his mouth and he chuckles, pressing you closer, like he can’t get enough of you—

He takes a step forward, pressing your back to the bookshelves. Your hand shoots out to steady your balance and in your groping, a book falls off the shelf and to the floor. For the first time, neither of you flinch. Neither of you care.

And then you both get lost. Run off the well trodden path of the forest, into something tangled and full of brambles.  His thigh slips between your legs, presses against your core. You press back, and sparks light up in your abdomen. Your mouth against his is hungry, desperate, in a way you didn’t know it could be — and he answers it with equal hunger, nipping at your lips, tracing his tongue against the roof of your mouth. One of his arms loops under your shoulder, wraps around your back, tugs him to his body like he can’t bear the idea of a single molecule of space existing between the two of you. And then he grinds his thigh into your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

He breathes your name against your lips before claiming your lips again and the sound of it echoes of earlier: his lip caught between his teeth, his hand tugging on his cock. But this is different. He has you. Has you here. Wrapped up in his arms, tightly bound to his body, just as you should be, he can’t help but think.

The thought shudders through him like a boulder and as quickly as the burning of autumn sun had shone between the two of you, he is purposefully dimming it, untwining himself from you, stepping back. You look on, confused.

“I’m so sorry.” He pulls away, his breath quickening, and runs a hand through his hair. He laughs, a little cruelty falling into the sound of it, and you know the harsh edge is meant for no one but him. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“For god's sake, Namjoon, “ you say, pushing your hair back into place, straightening your shirt. “Don’t you know what you do to me?”

He looks at you, confusion flitting across his face.

“It was, it was just—” He’s trying to make sense of it. Logic his way through whatever the hell it was that just happened between the two of you. And you want to unravel it all. Unravel the spinning thoughts in his mind. The broken damn of words and phrases and calculations you know are clouding his sight and so you step towards him, grabbing his hand.

“You don’t believe me.”

He doesn’t answer, but it’s clear enough.

“Will you let me show you?”

He nods and swallows hard.

Slowly, you guide his hand to your chest, pressing his palm to it. His fingers are stiff, but as you hold his hand there, they begin to relax.

“Don’t you feel how fast my heart is beating, just being this close to you? Nothing’s missing. Not on my part.”

Namjoon nods, but doesn’t take his gaze off of his hand. As you draw it down further, he sucks in a breath as it grazes over your breast.

“And this…” You watch his gaze, checking to make sure that everything is alright. But you have nothing to worry about. The hesitation that once dominated his expression begins to relax. Begins to become replaced by something else. Slowly, you bring his hand beneath the shirt. And then you let go.

“You can touch me, Joon.” He glances up at you. “I want you to. Nothing’s missing.” And as you say it to him, it’s like you’re saying it to yourself, too. With care, he lets his hand rest on your hip before dipping down into the apex of your thighs, beneath your pants. He slides one finger between your legs, sinking into your folds. His eyebrow twitches upwards when he finds you pantyless.

“I did this?” He sounds surprised.

You nod.

He captures your lips again and this time it’s not the warmth of late autumn you find on his skin. It’s the distinct crisp of winter. Stinging and clear and knowing. When he slips his hand out of your pants, he brings his fingers up to your lips, and pulls back far enough to whisper: “Taste.”

You open your mouth, and he slips his index and middle finger into your lips. You taste bitter and sweet and wanting. But before you can swallow, he presses his mouth to yours and drinks your essence off of your tongue, humming in a satisfaction you’ve never seen on him before.

It’s like his understanding of your desire has radicalized him.

Knowing he’s not alone in his want, he unleashes himself against you fully, if not a little clumsily. When he presses his thigh between yours again, he grinds it into you. Grins against your lips when you suck in a shaky breath. And you feel him shudder when you bring your hand down to the belt of his linen pants and trace a finger just around the opening.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

Kisses furious, skin heated, intention frozen into place — everything seems irrevocably true to the moment.

Someone calls out your name and it shatters the moment as easily as a thin layer of ice. The both of you freeze, Namjoon’s thigh still pressing into the apex of your thighs, your hand half down his pants, your lips swollen from his ministrations.

“Fuck,” Namjoon whispers and presses a finger to your mouth. “Shh, don’t let him see you.”

Your name echoes a second time off the walls of the library. It’s Jin. “Hobi is looking for you! Jungkook told me you were here!”

You groan, throwing your head back. “I’m here!”

“Okay, well hurry up! It seemed urgent! He’s in the backyard.”

You wait until you hear the library doors slam shut — why didn’t you hear them open in the first place? — before relaxing and sighing, disappointed, the moment shattered.

“Why don’t you stay for a little while?” Namjoon asks, and the unrestrained eagerness in his eye almost convinces you. But you have other things on your agenda. Other things to complete before you fuck 50% of your friends. The notion almost makes you laugh.

“I have to find Hobi. I promised..” Promised who? Him? Jungkook? Yourself. “I promised I’d talk to him by the end of the day. That’s why I came here, looking for him.”

Namjoon laughs, a full bodied, deep laugh. “Oh god. And look what you found instead. I-I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing! Really. It…” You try to find the words. “It’s not a bad, um, discovery.”

You glance down at your bodies, still pressed together. Namjoon seems to notice at the same moment you do and with a cough, steps back.

“I guess so.” He grins and the tension breaks. “At least, well, at least let me walk you?”

“Yeah,” you smile back.

He turns away and begins down the walkway, as if nothing that just happened existed. Determinately, you hurry to catch up and slip an arm through his. He looks down, blinks a couple times, and his cheeks start to redden.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” you say.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he says quickly. “I like it.”

With a gentlemanly air, he insists on helping you down the stairs. Not that you mind. Especially when the intensity of the previous moment is still reeling through your head.

You wander through the library, side by side, and somehow the massive space seems smaller after everything that’s just taken place. The bookshelves taller. The ceiling darker. The rock walls, well, rockier. Older looking. You even have to squeeze single file through the stacks of bookcases at one point. It’s as if the room itself is trying to push you two closer together.

Namjoon points out various books here and there, noting which ones were worth the philosophical indulgence, which once were more pretty escapist fantasies, and which ones he even had on his bookshelf back home. Although, you suppose, isn’t this now his home? That thought sparks the question that’s been hovering on your lips since you arrived.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask—” He turns towards you, eyes scanning your face.

“Anything. Ask anything.”

He says it so earnestly, gaze set so steady on your features that, despite the inconspicuous question you suddenly feel nervous and suck in a steadying breath before you speak:

“Where did the house come from?”

He blinks as if that’s not the question he expected.

“My aunt.”

“Your aunt’s house?”

“Yeah uh — she passed away. A year ago, actually. And left me this house. I guess it belonged to some lover from long ago that then gifted it to her.” He makes a flourishing movement. “And then on to me.”

“You’re telling me you were gifted a mansion in the middle of the mountains with this library and you decided to stay in our tiny ass, smelly ass apartment?”

He blinks at you, as if the answer is obvious.

“I mean, yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah?! You could have been up here all this time, frolicking in the mountains and living well and not crammed in a tiny little apartment with me!”

“Well, that was kind of the point wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“To be with you. I didn’t want to leave.”

|| series m.list ||

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[jinpanman]

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip and tag as many people as there are words in the line. I didn’t have as many people to tag as there are words so if you’d like to play then feel free to tag me and try it out for yourself!

‘twas tagged by @xpeachesncream <3 tq <<333 i’m excited for yours 👀👀 it sounds very angsty

“Don’t worry. I know it’s not your fault,” she says as she withdraws a dainty wand hidden up her shirt sleeve and points it at Jimin.

😔 my lame ass sentence rip LOL pt.2 of ex villain jimin

26 ppl to tag. i’m sorry if youve been tagged already 😅🙏: @bangtanloverboys @augustbutwinter @ttokeyama @imyourhobiii @joonsgalore @junghelioseok @breadoffoxy @joonscore @secretpeachtea @calixwrites @triviafics @yeoldontknow @yoonia @taegularities @sahmfanficbts @kookingtae @jinfizz @lcksndkys @wwilloww @cutechim @xjoonchildx @ggukcangetit @thatmultifandomhoe @bonvoyagenoona @btsarmy9593 @bangtiddies (whew!!!! my brain was gonna explode LOL)

[wwilloww]

wtf i am in the final editing stages of this chapter how does this happen

(it happens because @calixwrites and @thatlongspringnight are the literal best)

[wwilloww]

I CAN WAIT FOR A MONSTER CHAPTER, I'M GOOD AT BEING PATIENT

AHAHAH the monster chapter. it FEELS LIKE A MONSTER TOO. god it's been so hard to figure out, but after sitting down to brainstorm with the bestest @calixwrites the past couple days everything is plotted out, metaphors are figured out (thank you @thatlongspringnight) and the first half of the chapter is written. i'm so excited, y'all!!!!! so excited!!!!

ooohhh do you all wanna see the banner i made today? i can't share the writing bc u know why, but maybe i can offer you this small token