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melancholy-of-nadia · 2 years ago
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love u lately (m) #1 | myg/knj/pjm
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title: love u lately​ chapter title: #1 - lavender haze​ pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: In the midst of your college journey, life takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself moving into a "pseudo frat" house with your childhood best friends Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin. The college experience you envisioned seems promising, but as Namjoon and Jimin get caught up in flings, their focus shifts away from you, Yoongi, and everyone else in the house. The strong bond you once shared starts to feel strained, leaving you to question your feelings and changing dynamics. Though, the haze of a single night at a party sets off a chain reaction of emotions that leaves you grappling with a question you never thought you'd ask—could you be in love with all three of them? warnings: pwp, swearing, making out, subtle body worship, penetration, cunnilingus, CONSENSUAL!! sex, nipple play, breast play, overstimulation, mutual orgasm, touch of aftercare, frustration bc guys are dumb sometimes note: thank u to @daegudrama (as always) for beta reading and editing my fics. much appreiciated. this is the first fic series i have written in 10 years (i used to be in the anime/pokemon fandoms lol) so i apologized if it isn't that great, but i will keep improving! note 2: this is also for the yoonminjoon stans !! such an underrated subunit! total word count: 8.3k drop date: august 29th, 2023, 1:00pm pst cross posted on AO3 here | Series Masterlist | #2 →
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October 4 (Thursday)
The morning sun streams through the blinds, gently coaxing you awake. You catch the aroma of sizzling bacon wafting from the kitchen as you continue to fight the urge to sleep in longer.
With a quick stride, you open your door to find your close friends, Yoongi and Jimin, seated at the dining table, enjoying breakfast. Their subtle waves are met with your ecstatic waving. You glance at Namjoon standing near the stove wearing a tank top and basketball shorts. He tends to the bacon in the pan as it sizzles and pops. 
"Joon, could you set aside two pieces for me?" you call out, causing him to jolt as he hadn't noticed your presence in the room due to him being in zen focus trying not to burn everyone’s breakfast.
He sighs, shoulders slumping. "You better hurry and brush your teeth, or I might let Jungkook have the rest once he's out of the shower in a few minutes."
Nodding, you hurry to the second bathroom in your home to prepare for the day, aiming to grab some fresh homemade breakfast before your noon class.
This spacious house has been your shared sanctuary with your childhood best friends – Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Park Jimin – since the start of your second year of college in September. Last year, some older guy friends from your hometown who went to the same college as you lived at the house originally. Then over the summer, your best friends moved in with them to take summer courses and on-campus internships. You got added to the mix when you were desperately trying to find housing as the university waitlisted you in favor of the 29,000 new freshmen they admitted to the campus who they prioritized housing for. After looking at expensive off-campus apartments and sketchy leases, the boys couldn’t bear seeing you struggle and potentially homeless, so they let you live with them in their 4 bedroom home. Your housemate Seokjin gave up his single room, with a bit of hesitation, so you could live comfortably. The rest of the boys share rooms with each other. 
With eight people living together, the house unofficially earns the nickname "Beta Tau Sigma," or the “pseudo frat”, as some people around campus called it. While not officially recognized as a fraternity due to various complicated reasons, the BTS house still became known for its "poppin’ house parties” hosted by your lovely housemate Jung Hoseok last year. 
Your friendship with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin goes back to a little over a decade ago. Namjoon became your next door neighbor as a kid, eventually he introduced you to Yoongi who was a family friend of his, and finally, you all befriended Jimin when he transferred to your middle school. You all remained close during high school. Namjoon and Yoongi, being a year older than you and Jimin, graduated and went to college. Eventually you and Jimin graduated, and the two of you got into the same college a few hours away from your hometown as them and attended together. 
However, moving in with a bunch of men was something you prefer that people didn’t know about you. You wanted to avoid any rumors being created, especially considering the guys living with you are popular among the girls at your campus. If there is something that you don’t miss from high school, it is the petty drama and baseless rumors people make to tear others down. For now, people assume you are living in the dorms with your only female friend: Hwasa. You always think that it’s for the best things are this way. You decide not to think too much beyond that, despite the probability that a few people are catching on to the fact that you probably do live with these guys platonically.
After washing up, you enter the kitchen again, taking a seat next to Yoongi who is engrossed in his Twitter feed. He finally acknowledges your presence.
"Took you long enough, huh? Don't you have Stats at 10?" He quips.
You scrunch your eyebrows at him. “Good morning to you too, Yoongs?” You retort playfully. “No stats today. It’s Thursday so I have Finance at noon!"” You exclaim loudly to the room. 
Groans resonate through the kitchen. Yoongi's teasing backfires, much to his chagrin. Taehyung descends from upstairs, puzzled by the commotion in the room.
“What’s wrong with her finance class?” He asks innocently. 
"There’s nothing wrong with the class, but it's the classmate in that class!" Namjoon sighs, leaning on the counter after placing your bacon and avocado toast plate on the table.
"Lim Jaebeom," Jimin snickers, promptly earning a discreet kick from you under the table. "Ow! Hey! No need to resort to violence! Hey! I’m only speaking facts!” He winces as he holds his knee up and rubs the pain away.
Lim Jaebeom, also known by everyone as JB, is the cute guy you met in your Macroeconomics class last year. He is popular as a member of a real fraternity, Gamma Omega Tau and the professional frat, Kappa Psi Pi (or JYP, as some called it?). Part of both fraternities, he radiates talent as a business major and an underground SoundCloud artist on the side. While your interactions remain class-related, he greets you often outside of class even after the course finished, much to your best friends’ annoyance.
Over spring semester of last year and the initial weeks of the current fall semester, you’ve developed a small crush on Jaebeom. Though when it comes to your love life, it’s been a few years since you’ve had some kind of thing going on. There’s only been two people so far: Wonwoo, captain of the Men’s varsity volleyball team who you slept with once when you boldly asked him if he would take your v-card. You and your best friends were going through an experimental era during your junior year of high school. They teased you a lot about being “innocent” but were left speechless when you told them what you’ve done. They said that was the end of the experimental era. Later on you also found out he’s your housemate Jungkook’s cousin. 
The second guy is Yeonjun. You don’t like to talk about him much, but he was in the same year and you guys talked often (much to Namjoon’s dismay). He was your fake date at your housemate Seokjin's brother's wedding the summer after you graduated high school. One thing led to another and you were sneaky links for a while. It didn’t end well though.
"She's got eyes for JB, but is too scared to make a move," Jimin teases, earning him another kick under the table to which he dodges.
"In case you forgot, it took you a month to see Irene Bae wanted you so badly," Taehyung rolls his eyes while a hint of a smile tugs your lips as you struggle to suppress your laughter seeing him call out Jimin.
The Jimin and Irene power couple relationship goes back to spring semester last year. Taehyung needed Jimin to go on a double date with him to the Psi Gamma Epsilon Formal, which is the co-ed fraternity that Taehyung’s girlfriend Jennie is in. While you have many mixed opinions about Taehyung’s tastes when it comes to women, you hate that he influenced some of those tastes on Jimin. Thus, Jennie introduced Jimin to her friend, Irene (the Sigma Mu Epsilon Campus President) and the rest is history. 
Though, you weren't aware that they were dating until a month ago when they had already been dating for three months. You are not sure how they managed to hide it from people for a while.
“Ya!! How was I supposed to know that getting asked to eat ramen together on a Friday night meant anything BUT eating ramen.” Jimin sighs as he gets up from his chair. “Maybe you should ask Jaebeom out for some ramen.” He playfully suggests, emphasizing Jaebeom's name, sending your face into a blush.
"I'm not interested in sleeping with him!" you protest, cheeks burning. In Korean slang, sharing ramen implies spending the night together. You’d rather romantically share ramen like the spaghetti eating scene in “Lady & the Tramp” than fuck him and ruin your friendship.
“Isn’t that what he’s known for? Sleeping with girls, taking sex polaroids, and plastering them on his frat bedroom wall? Taehyung butts in, since he too, knows of Jaebeom’s lifestyle like everyone else on this campus does. You, of course, are aware of it too, which is why you haven’t bothered to try your chance with him. 
“Exactly why I’m okay being the nice friend saying hi from across campus when he says hi instead of becoming a faceless polaroid in his room of him giving me backshots.” You cross your arms as you roll your eyes at him.
“Please don’t give me mental images of that.” Yoongi finally speaks up, groaning at your words again. You playfully elbow his side at your remark. He covers his face immediately as he feels himself blushing at these thoughts.
“Well, when you decide to get the balls to do something, I shall be here to give you advice. Just let me know.” Jimin says as he grabs his bag from the couch and heads to class with Taehyung, leaving you with Namjoon and Yoongi. 
“Wow, can you believe him? He thinks he can talk big now that he’s dating little Miss Sigma Mu Epsilon’s President Irene.” You let out an annoyed sigh as you take a bite out of the avocado toast Namjoon gave you.
At first you were excited for one of your guy best friends to be in a relationship again after years, but that excitement was short-lived as you noticed Jimins’ absence in the house became more evident. He would either be at his dance club, studying in the library, or spending the rest of his freetime with Irene. Maybe doing all of the above with her. 
When you and your best friends were in relationships or flings in the past, they promised that they would never leave or ignore the group to prioritize those other people first.  And they were always true to their word.
But as of lately, not anymore. While you once were used to having Jimin at home or at the dorm common area with the guys for Friday Night Game Night, this sight was slowly becoming a memory. It’s hard to admit how these subtle changes of seeing Jimin prefer to do other activities saddens you. You eventually decided to bottle up your feelings of sadness, not wanting them to see, and focus on other things filling up your plate.
Namjoon wasn’t paying attention to what you said as he uncontrollably smiles at his phone with a Kakao talk chat with someone pulled up, making your eyes narrow at him. 
“O-Oh, sorry. I was texting Jihyo.” he admits blatantly, before widening his eyes at what he just said. “What did you say?” Namoon glances at you briefly.
“Park Jihyo? Your group project partner slash sex–?” Yoongi narrows his gaze at Namjoon, before he quickly launches to cover Yoongi’s mouth. 
What? Is this seriously another sudden revelation incoming this early in the morning? You didn’t think you’d spiral into a pool of further questioning the future of your friendship with your guy best friends. Especially when it comes to Namjoon dating the campus’ kindest angel, Jihyo. Compared to Irene, you don’t have anything snarky to say about Jihyo. You admit she is better in hundreds of different ways than you. You wonder if your friends’ recent dating or fling escapades are a sign of a bigger issue in your friendship with them. You wonder if Yoongi’s also hiding someone away from your sight.
"So you’re also seeing someone?" Your pout is playful, but a hint of disappointment peeks through. "Don't tell me you're bailing on Friday Night Game Nights just like Jimin
"
Namjoon's response carries a weight of hesitation as he takes a thoughtful pause, considering his next words carefully. "Well, kind of
" His words hang in the air for a moment, a sense of complexity in his tone. "It's complicated... and no, I won't be skipping Friday Night Game Night every time like Jimin... except for this week."
The curiosity in your expression is mirrored by Yoongi's raised eyebrow. “What’s the excuse that you so kindly will be telling Yoongi and I?” you ask, the intrigue evident in your voice.
“Well actually, I may need to borrow the house so I was wondering if you guys could have Friday Night Game Night somewhere else.”
“Why should we go somewhere--” As you begin to protest, an epiphany interrupts your words, causing them to taper off. A realization dawns, connecting the dots between Yoongi's earlier comments and the direction this conversation is taking. “Wait what!? KIM NAMJOON YOU-!” 
“You’re seriously going to sexile everyone in this house?” Yoongi's words burst forth interrupting yours, his laced with a mixture of genuine surprise and a hint of humor. His widened eyes are concealed behind a hand that covers his mouth, almost as if he's trying to stifle his amusement at the sudden request.
Namjoon lets out a chuckle, his expression playful as he confirms, "Potentially! But I'm not sure yet. I might go back to her place, but I wanted to keep my options open so we could..."
Your voice cuts in before Namjoon can elaborate further, a mix of jest and sincerity in your tone, "Okay, okay, okay, I get it! We'll move game night somewhere else then!" The words rush out of you as you shield yourself from whatever details might follow that your ears weren't prepared for. You shoot Yoongi a look, seeking affirmation. "We’ll figure it out..right, Yoongi?"
Yoongi doesn't miss a beat as he follows up with a response laced with dry humor, “Right. I really don’t want to hear my best friend fucking while I’m trying to relax at the end of a stressful week.”
A blush creeps onto your cheeks, and you playfully reprimand Yoongi, your palm meeting your face in an exaggerated facepalm, "Yoongi, please spare us from any more visual details." Your laughter mingles with a hint of embarrassment, but you quickly regain your composure. "But thank you for letting us know, Namjoon..."
Namjoon's easy smile returns, and he jests, "Have fun without me, though. I know Jin and Jungkook will keep things lively without me or even Jimin there."
Even without any truly scandalous events transpiring, an air of awkwardness hangs over the conversation. The remainder of your breakfast passes in silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Eventually, you rise from the table, making your way back to your room to prepare for class, which looms just an hour away.
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By the time you come out of your room again, only Yoongi and Jungkook are in the living room doing last minute assignments. You assume Namjoon already left for class with Hoseok and also figure Seokjin left even before that. He’s the only person in this house taking 8am classes. 
This is the norm. On Thursdays, you walk with Yoongi to class, as his class is in the same building as yours. Sometimes, Jungkook joins you guys when he procrastinates the hour before class to finish assignments. 
“Are you ready to go? Jungkook’s done now.” Yoongi gets up from the couch already expecting your response to be yes. Jungkook looks up from his textbook to give you a thumbs up.
“Yep, all ready to go.”
The three of you step out onto campus, engaging in conversation that weaves between the events of the week and the anticipation of the impending game night. As you discuss plans, you consider the limited guests—Namjoon engaged with his "complicated" fuck buddy situation, Jimin on his weekend outings with Irene—leaving only you, Yoongi, Jungkook, Hoseok, Jin, and Taehyung for the upcoming Friday Night Game Night. At least you thought it was just the 6 of you.
Jungkook interjects, scratching his head apologetically. "Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention earlier, but Taehyung and I are going out bowling and drinking with the Woogas on Friday..." His voice trails off with a sheepish smile, his plea for forgiveness evident in his gesture. The Woogas were a group of grad students who were close to Taehyung.
Surveying the group left, you pose a question, preempting any plans that would end up getting canceled. "Anybody else have plans?"
Jungkook takes a bit to contemplate, his mutterings finally clarifying the situation. "I remember Jin hyung texting the gc that he has a Kappa Psi Pi chapter till 9:30 tomorrow—pledging's keeping him busy. He might go out with his frat brothers afterward for drinks. Hoseok is out of town tonight for a competitive dance tournament with the uni dance club."
A collective sigh of resignation hangs in the air as you and Yoongi register the inevitability—it's just the two of you for the upcoming Friday night. Your expressions communicate mutual understanding, as if exchanging an unspoken acknowledgment that it won't be just this one time moving forward.
You bid farewell to Jungkook as he heads off to his own class, then turn to Yoongi with a hopeful glint in your eyes, silently urging him to weave his magic and devise a plan to fill the void left by your absent friends.
"Maybe we could hit that popular bar downtown? What's it called...Arena?" Yoongi suggests, a hint of excitement lacing his words.
A shake of your head expresses your skepticism. "On a Friday night? I heard too many weirdos go at that time, Yoongs.” 
“Then, why don’t we go house party hopping? We haven’t done that since freshman year.” He smirks, as he adds the nostalgic suggestion.
The words "house party hopping" elicit a mix of memories, both good and not-so-good. It's a ritual familiar to college freshmen to excessively drink and dance at multiple parties in one night, but it gets too difficult to do through the rest of undergrad. You, however, have only done this activity of going to multiple different parties in one night, twice. 
The first time, things went smoothly when Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin went to five different house parties on the frat house row. The second time was not so smooth. Contrary to popular belief of Beta Tau Sigma, everyone at the house are light-weights when it comes to drinking, with Yoongi, Jungkook and Taehyung probably being the strongest drinkers of the bunch. That night of house party hopping ended with Namjoon and Jimin getting drunk and losing their student access cards at one of the five houses you went to. Because they couldn’t get into their dorm, you and Yoongi had to carry them back to your dorm and have them to stay at the dorm’s study lounge for the night. At some point, you all almost got caught by the dorm RA making their nightly rounds to make sure everything is good. Yoongi quickly excused all of you being cramped in the small room as “studying for an accounting midterm”, to which the RA didn’t question anything further after hearing the words “accounting” and left you alone for the rest of the night.
Based on that experience, you are reluctant to even try doing that again. However this time, it is just going to be you and Yoongi, the most mature ones in the overall friend group. Or at least you like to think so.
"Well, considering how the last time went..." Your voice trails off, your narrowed eyes revealing your internal debate. "I'll think about it more and let you know."
Yoongi nods at your response and you both say goodbye as you part ways to class.
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Entering your finance class, You secure a seat near the door and the front board, a vantage point that lets you observe the classroom's dynamics. Today, however, your routine is disrupted when someone unexpectedly occupies the seat next to you. 
As you set up your notebook, your gaze lifts, revealing Jaebeom sitting beside you. A faint flutter tugs at your heart, a pulse of anticipation racing through your veins. A steady stream of thoughts races through your mind, echoing, "This is definitely sus." You've consumed enough romance novels and coming-of-age stories to recognize when circumstances take a pointed turn. You've shared casual conversations and greetings with Jaebeom, but sitting next to each other is unprecedented—there's surely more to it.
A subtle "Ahem" draws your attention, and Jaebeom turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours. "Hey, Y/N
 do you mind if I sit here today? I left my glasses behind, and I can't really see from my usual spot."
Your reassurance carries a softness as you reply, "Hi, Jaebeom! Of course, no problem." A smile graces your lips, and he returns it, dispelling the suspicions you had entertained. So you guess there’s no special reason for sitting next to you. 
The rest of class goes by smoothly, but you can’t help but to think that Jaebeom has something else to ask you about. The overthinking from your wild imagination is getting to you. As the class concludes, you hurriedly pack your belongings, eager to continue with your day. Yet, before you can make your exit, Jaebeom's voice halts you in your tracks.
"Hey! I've been meaning to ask," his words are loud, receiving attention from your peers, "Do you have any plans for tomorrow? The Gammas are hosting a party, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming."
Bingo. This is exactly what you’ve been waiting for. Not an invite to a party per se, BUT now you suddenly have something to do with Yoongi tomorrow night after being ditched by everyone else. 
“I’m down to go! I actually changed plans with a few friends so I don’t have anything to do tomorrow night.”
Jaebeom's response brings an even wider smile to your face. “Then I’ll see you there! You can bring a friend with you if you’d like.” And with that, you and Yoongi are definitely booked for tomorrow night.
With those words, your plans for tomorrow night are sealed. The newfound excitement has you beginning to wonder whether it’s actually alright to go considering Yoongi feels indifferent towards Jaebeom. You decide to call him about the plan on your way to the library for your daily fix of iced tea.
Dialing Yoongi's number, you initiate the conversation. "You and me, Gamma Omega Tau house party," you declare, your voice laced with anticipation.
His response holds a curious tone. "...So, I'll take that as a yes to house party hopping."
Chuckling, you clarify, maintaining your stance. "Well, we could do that if you're set on it," You explain, continuing your lowkey refusal to repeat that experience. “...but I actually got personally invited to the GOT party by Jaebeom.”
Yoongi's groan resonates through the line, conveying his reluctance but also a willingness to compromise. "If there's free booze and a chance to catch up with some other friends, then count me in."
“That’s perfect!” Excitement in your voice is clear to Yoongi as you both finalize plans for tomorrow night. Perhaps it’ll end up being a fun night for the both of you compared to what everyone else was doing instead. The upset feeling from all the sudden changes continues to linger in your chest, but you brush it away with the hopes of getting wasted on Friday.
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Friday comes by like a quick breeze. The day passes in a blur of classes, assignments, and hanging out with Yoongi and the rest of your friends. Evening comes around, and you find yourself getting ready for the Gamma Omega Tau party. You choose a cute yet comfortable outfit consisting of a revealing v-bar black tube top and ripped boyfriend jeans, hoping to strike a balance between looking good and feeling at ease. After a bit of makeup and fixing your hair, you are ready to head out.
You walk over to knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He opens the door revealing his outfit: a black tank top, acid-washed ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket to top it off. It definitely makes him exude his signature nonchalant charm. As he greets you with a nod, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement for the night ahead. You guys look so hot and would definitely make the other guys jealous of your totally awesome alternative Friday night plans if they were here.
The two of you make your way to the party a couple blocks away on frat row, the streets buzzing with energy as students get ready to party for the weekend. The Gamma Omega Tau house is alive with music, laughter, and the glow of colorful lights. You both enter the party, and immediately the atmosphere hits you—a mix of pulsating music, chatter, and the distinct scent of alcohol.
Yoongi heads to the makeshift bar in the kitchen to get drinks, while you decide to explore the party on your own. You bump into a couple of familiar faces from classes, exchanging greetings and catching up briefly. Some of these faces included Hwasa, your only dear female best friend who you haven’t seen much since moving out of your shared dorm freshman year. She is a little busy taking shots with who seems to be your old dorm floor neighbors Soyoon and Jieun. But overall, the night is young, and the anticipation of what it could bring is building up inside you.
A little while later, Yoongi returns with drinks in hand—something colorful and sweet for you, and something stronger for himself. You clink your cups together before taking a sip. The music is loud, and bodies are moving to the rhythm all around you. It was a sight to behold—the carefree spirit of college life on full display.
As the night progresses, you find yourself playing various party games, dancing a little with Hwasa, and meeting new people she introduces you to. Yoongi seems to be enjoying himself from a distance, laughing and chatting with a group of guys from his music class. He occasionally watches you from afar to make sure you don’t get lost or that something even worse doesn’t happen. Frat parties can be dangerous after all. It makes you feel a little happy that he does these little things and shows how much he cares about you. More than you thought before. However, there’s a sudden moment in the lively ambience when you start to feel a pang of loneliness. A sense of being adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Time seems to slip away as you’re lost in the lights, and before you know it, you are on your third drink. The alcohol is starting to take its effect, making you feel warm and a bit more uninhibited. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice. Maybe partying is not what you needed tonight to get your mind off of things. 
And these thoughts are only amplified with the next thing you see. In the corner of the crowded kitchen, you catch Namjoon and Jihyo making out, and your heart races. You suddenly excuse yourself from the group you are chatting with and head towards the front door, seeking some space to clear your head. 
However you stop yourself from bursting out of the open door. Instead, you lean against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. The noise and chaos of the party feel overwhelming now rather than numbing your thoughts from earlier. You clutch your cup as you look around, feeling like an outsider in your own surroundings. It’s in this moment of vulnerability that someone bumps into you, spilling their red jungle juice all over your clothes. You look down at your stained jeans emotionless.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the girl exclaims, looking genuinely apologetic as she hands you some napkins. Your vision is blurring and you can’t tell if you know her or not. Her voice sounds familiar though.
Though, you manage a weak nod letting her know it was fine. It is in that unfortunate moment that you see your crush, JB, appearing out of nowhere walking in your direction. In the several hours you’ve been here this is when he decides to show up?! Your heart continues to race faster as he approaches, his eyes locking onto yours. Not right now, you plead to the gods internally that he isn’t coming towards you. But he does.
"Hey, Y/N, are you okay?" JB asks, his concern evident in his voice as he looks you over.
You feel a lump forming in your throat, not wanting him to see you in this state of vulnerability. Your eyes well up, and you fight to hold back tears. This isn't how you want him to see you, at your lowest point, struggling to keep it together.
Just as you are about to break down, a strong hand gently takes hold of your left arm, pulling you away from JB. You are led into the dimly lit hallway, away from the noise of the party. Not many people looming in this area. The door to the bathroom opens as someone leaves, and the person guides you inside before locking the door behind you.
Your visions starts to focus fully again. And you see

It’s Yoongi.
His presence is a lifeline you forgot that you needed moments before.
"Y-Yoongi!" The exclamation trembles in the air, a mixture of surprise, relief, and the weight of your unraveling emotions.
In the dimly lit bathroom, you finally let your guard down, the tears streaming down your cheeks. Yoongi is momentarily taken aback by the intensity of your reaction, but swiftly recovers. He extends a napkin from his pocket, offering it as a gesture of support. His features, though, oscillate between concern and puzzlement, his brows slightly furrowed.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of your turmoil.
You take a shuddering breath, trying to gather your thoughts. The alcohol is making it hard to articulate your feelings, but you manage to explain how seeing Namjoon and Jihyo had triggered a sense of loneliness and panic within you. Jimin dating Irene in what seemed to be a serious relationship also has you spiraling. It all makes you question the stability of your friendships and fear that you are slowly losing the people who once meant the most to you. 
Yoongi listens intently, his gaze unwavering as he lets you pour out your feelings. When you are done, he leans against the sink, his expression thoughtful.
"I get it," he says, his voice soft but steady. "Change is hard, and sometimes it feels like everything is slipping away. But you know, life just keeps moving forward, and people change, I guess. But it doesn’t mean Namjoon or Jimin are leaving you behind."
You nod, sniffing as you wipe away your tears. "I know, but... it's just overwhelming seeing everything unfold."
He reaches out and gently tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze with his warm eyes. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. We're here for you, and we're all figuring things out as we go along."
His words strike a chord within you, a sense of comfort washing over you in the midst of your emotional storm. Yoongi's presence feels like an anchor, grounding you when everything feels chaotic.
Then, without warning, he looks at you intensely and asks, “Since we’re having this conversation, I’m questioning whether you like Jimin based on what you just said
"
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What? No! Jimin's like a brother to me. A reliable brother who understands me pretty well
” You pause a bit and mumble, “Well at least he used to."
He nods, his gaze unrelenting yet thoughtful, as if he's trying to read between the lines of your response. But then he asks another question that left you momentarily speechless.
"What about Namjoon?"
You hesitate, your mind racing. Your feelings for Namjoon have always been a bit more complex, and you aren't sure how to put them into words. Namjoon was your first friend out of the trio of him, Yoongi, and Jimin. He was 7 when he moved in next door from Korea as his dad got a new job working as a Chemical Engineer for an energy company in the US. You got along well with him as kids who both played Pokemon games and he was the only person you could trade with. He’s also the one who gave you his shiny purple Wailmer from his Pokemon Emerald. Eventually as you got older, you both came to enjoy reading books and art history. What does he mean to you?
Before you can muster a response to that, Yoongi suddenly adds another question, his voice gentle yet persistent. “What about me?”
Your gaze flickers to him, and you find yourself locking eyes with him. Then you quickly look away, focusing on the purple lighting in the bathroom. 
This questions starts to add new thoughts that you hadn’t really considered due to your worries about Namjoon and Jimin. However now, the intensity of this current moment is almost overwhelming, and you feel a swirling mix of emotions within you. Yoongi's proximity, his unwavering gaze, and the weight of his questions are all converging, pulling you into a realm of introspection and vulnerability.
Yoongi seems to sense your uncertainty, your inner struggle. He steps closer, his presence enveloping you. His gaze remains fixed on yours, his face just inches away from yours. The air between you is charged, heavy with unspoken words and unexplored emotions. "You can tell me," he urges softly, his voice a gentle whisper that brushes against your skin.
As you look into his eyes again, your heart races. The alcohol has lowered your inhibitions, and in this moment, everything feels so intense, so raw. You try to form words, but they fail you. Instead, you let your gaze speak for you, letting your emotions flow through the unspoken connection between you. Suddenly Namjoon and Jimin are blurring away to only afterimages in your current state of mind. All you see in great focus is Yoongi right now.
Without another word, Yoongi closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. The world around you fades away, and all that matters is the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the rush of emotions that swirls between you.
The kiss is a silent confession, a release of feelings that have been building up for far too long. When Yoongi finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath slightly uneven.
"Y-Yoongi..," you whisper, a mix of surprise and wonder in your voice.
Yoongi chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Sometimes, things don't need to be said. They just need to be felt."
As you stand there, locked in each other's gaze, you realize that this unexpected turn of events has brought you closer to Yoongi in ways you didn’t anticipate. It’s a new chapter, a chance to explore something deeper and more meaningful between you.
With a gentle smile, he leans in to kiss you again, and this time, there is no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the promise of a connection that has been there all along, waiting to be acknowledged.
And so, in the dimly colored bathroom of the Gamma Omega Tau house, amid the sounds of distant laughter and music, you and Yoongi quickly unite lips once again.
As the intensity between you and Yoongi grows, the bathroom seems to shrink around you, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of shared emotion. His lips press against yours with a newfound urgency, a hunger that mirrors the feelings you have both kept hidden for so long. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and warmth that sends shivers down your spine.
His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. The touch of his fingertips against your skin sends a wave of electricity through your body, igniting a fire deep within you. Your own hands instinctively move to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.
The kiss deepens, a passionate dance of lips and tongues that leaves no room for doubts or reservations. Yoongi's fingers trail up your back, the sensation making your breath hitch. The world outside that bathroom seems distant, irrelevant, as your focus narrows down to the connection between your bodies and the raw emotion that flows between you.
A soft moan escapes your lips, a sound that seems to fuel the fire burning between you. Yoongi's lips leave yours, trailing a path of heated kisses down your jawline, his warm breath sending shivers across your skin. His hands move to your hips, pulling you against him, and you can feel his own desire pressing against your abdomen.
With a mix of urgency and tenderness, he captures your lips once more, pouring every unspoken word and hidden longing into the kiss. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly as his lips explore your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each touch, each sensation sending ripples of pleasure through your body.
The soft fabric of your clothes seems like an obstacle now, an unnecessary barrier between your skin and his. Yoongi's fingers deftly work at the buttons of your tube top, his touch leaving a trail of fire along your exposed skin. Your breath hitches as his lips find the sensitive curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin gently, causing a shiver to course through you.
In a moment of boldness, your hands move to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his bare chest. Your fingers trace the contours of his muscles, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. His lips find yours once again, a hungry, fervent kiss that speaks of the intensity of your emotions.
With a skillful touch, Yoongi lifts you up onto the bathroom counter, the cool surface sending a shock through your body. He stands between your legs, his hands moving to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he gazes into your eyes.
"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.
You can only respond with a breathless nod before his lips crash against yours again. Not fully understanding the words that just left his mouth. The kiss deepens, a mixture of passion and tenderness that leaves you dizzy with sensation. His hands explore every curve of your body, memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips.
Your own hands aren't idle either, roaming his chest and back, reveling in the sensation of his skin against yours. The heat between you was undeniable, a magnetic pull that draws you closer with every passing second. And in that bathroom, amid the swirling emotions and the touch of your lips, you feel an unspoken promise taking root—a promise of something more, something real and beautiful.
The outside world fades into insignificance. The party, the noise, the worries about Namjoon and Jimin and everyone else—all of it melts away, leaving only the two of you and the intensity of this moment. As you hold onto each other, lost in the depths of your feelings, you know that this is a turning point that will permanently alter your friendship with Yoongi.
As the kisses between you and Yoongi continue, the electricity in the air grows stronger, pulling you both further into the depths of your shared desire. Every touch, every caress is a testament to the unspoken connection that has been building between you for so long. It’s as if the universe has finally aligned, allowing you to explore the feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface.
A soft, almost desperate, sound escapes Yoongi's lips as he reluctantly pulls away from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto yours, and you can see the raw emotions swirling within them.
"We should... we should get out of here," he murmurs, his voice rough with a mixture of longing and uncertainty.
You nod in agreement, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves course through you. This is a pivotal moment, a decision that could potentially change the course of your relationship. With a shared understanding, you both turn away from the party scene and make your way through the crowd towards the exit.
The cool night air hits you as you step outside, a welcome contrast to the heated intensity of the party. Yoongi's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as you walk side by side down the dimly lit streets. The silence between you is charged with anticipation, every step bringing you closer to a new chapter in your story.
When you finally arrive back at the house, the atmosphere is different—quieter, more intimate. Namjoon didn’t come use the house like he said he would yesterday, you briefly recall. Maybe that’s a good thing. The GOT party is still in full swing, he is there with Jihyo, but you and Yoongi are in your own world here with no one to stop what is happening. The journey up the stairs to your shared house feels like a blur, your heart racing in anticipation of what is to come.
Once inside, you both head straight to your bedroom. The air is thick with tension, the unspoken yet silly question hangs in the air: Is this really happening? As you close the door locking it behind you, the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you in the cocoon of your own space.
Yoongi turns to you, his gaze searching yours for reassurance. Without a word, you step closer, closing the distance between you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you gently against him. The touch of his body against yours sends a shiver of electricity through you, a reminder of the desire that has been building between you.
His lips find yours again, a kiss that holds all the pent-up longing and emotion that have been simmering beneath the surface. The taste of him, the feel of his lips moving against yours, is intoxicating. His hands roam your body with a reverence that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.
With each kiss, each touch, the world around you fades away, leaving only the intensity of the moment. The bed is just a few steps away, an inviting sanctuary where you could explore the depths of your connection in private. Without breaking the kiss, you take his hand and lead him towards the bed, your heart pounding in anticipation.
As you stand at the edge of the bed, your eyes meet Yoongi's, a silent agreement passing between you. With a mixture of urgency and tenderness, you begin to undress each other, the air heavy with the weight of your shared desire. Yoongi's touch is gentle, his fingers tracing every curve of your body as he reveals the skin beneath your clothes.
Soon, you are both standing before each other, bare and vulnerable, yet completely unburdened by the weight of your emotions. You shyly stare down at Yoongi’s dick, admiring its pink, veiny appearance. It looks very girthy, potentially filling to the core. You're embarrassed to admit you might have imagined Yoongi naked before. When you were a middle schooler curiously imagining bodily differences between you and your male friends. But now seeing his beautiful body before you brings some excitement to your soft skin, some heat rushing through your core and nearly down your thighs, onto the floor. Your mouth suddenly dries and you feel self-conscious that your expression may be as plain and eager as it might be. He clears his throat, but that makes him more embarrassed. You bite your bottom lip, unsure of what to do.
He takes your hand and leads you to the bed. Yoongi's lips find yours once more, a kiss that speaks of promises and possibilities. With a gentle push, he guides you onto the bed, his body following yours as the kiss deepens.
The softness of the sheets beneath you, the heat of Yoongi's body against yours—it is a sensory overload, a symphony of sensations that leaves you breathless. You feel the cold sweat of his skin on yours as your bodies press together. His lips are against your jaw and your hands are exploring his body as much as you can with your legs around his hips. He climbs down to your mound and opens his mouth letting his warm, wet tongue lap over your clit. One of Yoongi's hands finds purchase on your hip to help you move with him while the long fingers of his other hand tease your enterance before pushing inside. His hot breath on your clit and his fingers inside you makes you want to beg for more. But the sensation is so intense it has rendered you speechless, the only noise to leave your mouth is a choked, muffled groan that only urges him further.
His tongue on you feels too good and you can only let him explore. You are enjoying the sensation and the way his fingers play your body like an instrument. You let out a loud gasp when you cum, your whole body arching towards him as pleasure washed over you, your thighs tightening around to his back. You feel your insides clench and throb as your orgasm washed over you in waves.
Yoongi smirks at you for a second as he lifts his head, removing his fingers from inside you. He climbs up your body until he reaches your lips. Your hand wraps around the back of his neck and you kiss him with fervor. You taste yourself in his mouth and it makes you hungry for more. You feel the pressure in your abdomen again, desperate for more. His body is hard, but not to the point of being uncomfortable. It’s a gentle pressure, a delicious tension that makes you want more. 
"Y-Yoongi... I need more.." You whimper against his mouth, your tongue running over his bottom lip before you pull away and look into his eyes. "Please, I need more..."
"I've got you, angel." He whispers reassuringly before he moves away briefly to retrieve the condom he keeps handy in his wallet in case he ever needs it. The new nickname catches you off guard as he usually tends to call you Sunshine unless you’re having a serious conversation, like earlier. However you kind of like this name.
He opens the package with his teeth and rolls the rubber on himself. You whimper when you feel the head of his cock press against you. He slowly pushes inside, but it’s enough to make your head spin. His length fills you perfectly and you can feel yourself pulsate around him. He makes his way slowly inside you, pushing deeper until he is completely inside you. He then rests his forehead against yours. You look into each other's eyes and the intensity of his gaze is almost enough to make you cum right then and there.
"You're doing so well for me," He speaks softly, his voice hoarse with arousal. His praises pull a moan from your lips you can't supress.
He slowly pulls out then pushes back in watching as his cock disapears inside you. He pulls out again and does the same thing. His thrusts become faster with each time he pushes back inside. As your moans become louder, his thrusts become more eager. He adjusts himself until he finds a position that has his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust, your legs lifting over his hips and your hands roaming his body to keep yourself grounded.
Yoongi's leaves small kisses along your neck and down to your breasts as he continues to fuck you. He acts carefully with each action he takes, and makes a point to watch your reaction for the slightest sign of discomfort. He never stops praising you, whispering how good you were for him and how much he loves having you like this, taking all of him. His sultry low voice is making you even more sensitive and it’s a bit overwhelming, but it somehow helps make your depressing thoughts from earlier at the party disappear. With him, you felt safe and cared for.
His hands come to cup your breast and you cry out as your body arches towards him. He keeps one hand cupping your breast and takes your nipple between his fingers and gently pinches it, eliciting a softer whimper from you. 
You pull Yoongi against you closing the gap between your bodies, your fingers grip his hair tightly as you cry out, your insides clenching around him. Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm washed over you once again. He fucks you through your orgasm, and when your legs relaxed over his hips, he keeps pushing inside you. The sensation makes you want to cry from overstimulation, but at the same time you beg for more. His cock inside you feels too good, the pleasure is too much. You don't know what to do with your body or if you should be doing something at all. Your hands find their way up his forearms and hold on to them tightly.
"Do it," You whisper intimately. "Cum for me, Yoongi..."
Your words are added motivation for him to do just that. As he moves, his thrusts pushing deeper inside you, a cascade of sensations courses through both your bodies. Your back arches instinctively, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that envelops you. He responds by lowering himself, his forehead meeting yours in an exquisite intimacy that intensifies the connection between you two.
Amidst the whirlwind of ecstasy, a thought flits through your consciousness—a moment of profound gratitude for the intoxicating sound of Yoongi's moans. It's a melody you never envisioned hearing, a symphony of vulnerability and shared pleasure that resonates deep within you. This unexpected harmony adds a new layer to your connection, stoking the flames of desire and amazement that consume every inch of your being. It leaves you feeling content and relaxed.
Yoongi's body shudders against yours, his moans gradually subsiding into contented sighs. With a gentle sigh of satisfaction, he slides his cock out and shifts on the bed, rolling over to lay beside you. Your chests rise and fall in tandem, the rhythm of your breaths slowly synchronizing as you find yourselves tangled in the aftermath of passion.
You both move again, laying side by side. Both of you catch your breath, the world around you receding into a hazy background as your gazes lock. Eyes that have seen each other's vulnerabilities, laughter, and shared moments now reflect a new layer of intimacy that words could never capture. 
The lingering cocoons you both in a silence that speaks volumes. It's Yoongi who takes the initiative to pierce through the quiet, his voice carrying a breathless quality that mirrors the aftermath of your passion.
"How are you feeling now?" His words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy with unspoken meaning. His eyes hold a mixture of curiosity and concern, a testament to his attentiveness even in the midst of his own unraveling.
A playful smile tugs at your lips, your voice laced with a hint of mischievousness as you respond to his inquiry. "Never better," you answer, your words bathed in the soft notes of a giggle that dances between you.
His laughter echoes yours, a harmonious symphony of shared joy that envelops the space between you. It's a sound that transcends the physical, a connection that binds you beyond the realm of touch. In his laughter, you sense a quiet affirmation—a declaration that the bond you've nurtured extends beyond the passionate moments, into the realm of comfort, friendship, and a connection that defies categorization.
As the night wears on and the intensity of your connection slowly ebbs away, you find yourselves wrapped in each other's arms, your bodies intertwined in a tender embrace. Yoongi's touch is reassuring, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as you lay together in the quiet darkness.
"I want you to know," Yoongi's voice was soft, his breath tickling your ear, "that no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you. You mean a lot to me, and I don't want you to ever doubt that."
His words warm your heart, a balm to the insecurities that have been lingering in the back of your mind. In his arms, you felt safe, cherished, and valued—emotions that have been elusive for so long.
"I feel the same way," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've always been there for me, Yoongi, and I'm grateful for that."
The quiet moment between you is filled with unspoken understanding. It is a pact, a promise to stand by each other's side no matter what challenges lay ahead. In this moment, the weight of your fears seemed to be lifted, replaced by a sense of comfort and reassurance.
But the hours drift by, and as the night grows deeper and the two of you grow more sober, the lingering consequences of your actions begin to cast a shadow over your thoughts. The warmth of Yoongi's embrace can't dispel the nagging worry that what you’ve done could have far-reaching ramifications.
It was the alcohol that further fueled your doubts, the liquid courage dulling your ability to rationalize. In the haze of your tipsy stupor, you begin to wonder if the intensity of the night is a result of the moment, the shared emotions, or simply the effect of alcohol clouding your judgment.
Despite Yoongi's assurances, the fear of what could come next gnaws at you. What if this changes everything? What if it ruins the friendship that has been the foundation of your relationship? The questions spiral in your mind, a whirlwind of doubt and uncertainty that refuses to be silenced.
In an attempt to push those thoughts away, you cuddle closer into Yoongi's chest. It is a fleeting distraction, a way to drown out the voices of doubt that echoed in the back of your mind. The feeling of Yoongi’s warmth becomes a welcome distraction from the complex emotions that threaten to overwhelm you.
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A/N: HELLO! Did you like the first chapter?! would it be crazy if i told you I had been planning this fic since 2021 but never got the chance to really delve into it until right now?? Well that's exactly what happened. I'd love to hear your feedback on this fic! pls reblog and like if you enjoyed! I am currently working on chapter 2 and bits of chapter 3, so I hope to get it done by early/mid-September, so please look forward to it!
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kitsunesx · 2 years ago
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@notfrsale
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“You don’t need to be so jumpy, no one’s going to pop out of the woods,” Namjoon teased, shaking his head slightly. But he did have to admit that it was a little eerie out there. It was his fault, feeling a little stirred up.
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muniimyg · 5 months ago
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BAD HABIT // JJK
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06 | big dipper // series m.list
note: hihi ,, thank u for waiting !! this ch is def worth it tbh </3 no warnings ,, just like ... oc goes off on jungkook ,, jungkook gets blindfolded ,, more context on their auras ??? yeah ... tension too ! pls do not be shy and send in ur thoughts !!! i would love to know how u're liking the fic so far as it's my first fantasy au !!!!! (clearly still very nervy lmfao) mwah ,, enj !
//
the past few days have been anything but easy for jungkook.
not that he deserves easy—he knows he doesn’t. if anything, this is exactly what he should’ve expected. what does surprise him, though, is just how well you execute the petty treatment. how effortlessly you lock him out. how, no matter how many times he shuts his eyes, focuses, and tries to slip into your thoughts—he can’t.
it’s like the connection doesn’t exist.
which makes no sense.
because it does.
the string between you is golden and bright, undeniable to everyone who has ever seen it. and yet, there’s this
 knot. this missing piece. it’s so fucking strange. he felt you before—felt the way your heart would race, the heat that would bloom across your skin. he knew when you were sick, when you were anxious. when the bond first tied, his own pulse had stumbled just trying to match yours. he cared so much when it happened...
but now?
now, it’s empty.
like someone cut the string without actually severing it.
he first noticed it that night in the garden.
you had only been soulmates for a few hours, and still, he felt something. at first, he thought maybe he was imagining it. overhyping the entire invisible string phenomenon. but then, the symptoms started stacking—waves of nausea when you were overwhelmed, your voice in his head when you caught his stray thoughts in class.
you’re in his head.
but he’s not in yours.
and if he’s not in your head, then what about your heart?
after that night, jungkook had gone to bed feeling like absolute shit. you told him he made you feel better—but he couldn’t feel it. couldn’t be sure. how could he trust words alone when everything inside you was a blank slate to him?
it freaked him out.
it got to him.
he spent the night tossing and turning, unable to catch even fifteen minutes of real sleep. and then, the next morning, when you walked in well-rested and seemingly fine—it hit him like a freight train.
it’s him.
he’s the problem.
and as fucked up, childish, and selfish as it is—that’s why he called you boring.
because you are.
because you’re blank.
because he, the so-called master of manipulation, can’t get inside your head.
but he sure as hell can get under your skin.
"so everyone, partner up—and obviously, soulmates go with soulmates," namjoon announces, finishing his rundown of the sparring activity.
you barely register the rest.
instead, you watch the class shuffle into place. soulmates move toward each other. friends pair up. the guys—still without soulmates—team up amongst themselves.
and jungkook?
jungkook leans against a tree, one foot propped lazily against the bark, arms folded over his chest. his expression is unreadable, but the tilt of his head, the barely-there smirk, sends heat curling up your spine. he plays with his lighter.
you exhale sharply and motion for him to come over.
he stays put, smirk growing.
then, he mouths, "don’t wanna."
your jaw clenches. you point at him, then to the ground in front of you.
"come here. now."
jungkook blinks, feigning innocence.
you cross your arms.
you wait—a second, a minute, a moment too long.
then, just as you start to turn away, he appears right in front of you.
"you're impatient today," he remarks, voice smooth, teasing. "is that how fast you need me? i can teleport wherever you want me to go. tell me to go away, i'll do it."
you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. before you can retort, he lifts his hands, and with the subtlest flex of his fingers, two sparring sticks float from the pile and dart into his grasp. he catches them effortlessly and offers you one, grinning.
across the field, namjoon groans.
"jungkook, did you really need to use your aura for that? just walk like a normal person."
jungkook huffs.
"wow. it’s like everyone hates me today."
"maybe we do," you mutter, snatching the stick from his hand.
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this was foreseeable.
you don’t need jin’s aura to know how this is going to go. the class knows, too. there’s a shift in energy, hushed murmurs, amused glances exchanged.
from where he leans against a tree, jin exhales a chuckle. “this should be interesting.”
and it is.
because while everyone else has started, you haven’t moved past the first three strikes.
not because you aren’t trying.
but because jungkook isn’t.
you lunge forward, aiming a strike at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch. his own stick twirls idly in his fingers, his gaze flicking toward the treetops like he’s more interested in cloud formations than the fight.
he dodges every attack without breaking a sweat. side-steps. pivots. barely moves.
and worse—he looks bored.
your foot pivots. another strike slices through the air. jungkook steps back just enough for it to skim past his sleeve.
“getting closer,” he muses. “try again.”
irritation burns at your spine. you exhale sharply, feint left, strike right. this time, you land it. the stick grazes his arm—not enough to bruise, but enough to count.
jungkook stumbles back dramatically, hissing through his teeth as if you’d run him through with a blade.
"shit—"
the class falls silent for a beat.
then, snickers ripple through the air.
"oh, come on," you deadpan.
jungkook blinks at you, playing it up even more. "that was—you stabbed me."
taehyung mutters something under his breath. jin actually laughs. namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose.
jungkook sighs, twirling his stick again. then, in a movement so smooth it’s almost insulting, he flicks yours aside with a gentle tap.
wood clashes.
you stumble back.
cheers erupt from the watching trainees. but you just glare at him, chest heaving.
"again."
you grip your stick tighter, eyes narrowing. across from you, jungkook still looks at ease. hands loose. weight shifted just enough to be casual. like he’s humoring you.
the heat in your chest flares.
“jungkook, are you even trying?”
he shrugs, nonchalant.
“dunno. are you?”
jimin chokes on a laugh. "god, jungkook’s asking for it."
your jaw locks.
the room feels warmer. everyone's watching. you’ve never cared about proving yourself before—but this feels different.
nam joon's voice cuts in, sharp. "jungkook, get it together. look at ___! she’s clearly upset.”
jungkook’s eyes flicker toward namjoon. then back to you.
and something changes... his teasing drops. his fingers tighten around his stick.
“you want me to try?”
you swallow, nodding once.
he shifts, expression unreadable. “whatever you want, p.”
then, he moves.
the first exchange is fast. too fast. you counter, but his strikes come harder, sharper. for the first time, he’s fighting back.
and you’re losing.
badly.
his strikes come faster, sharper. his movements are precise. he isn’t holding back anymore, and suddenly, you’re struggling to keep up. the wooden sticks crack against each other, loud against the backdrop of rustling trees and hushed whispers.
then, in a split second, he spins.
your stick is wrenched from your hands. before you can react, jungkook grips it, tugging it toward him—until you’re standing nearly chest to chest.
then—
he taps himself out.
a grin spreads across his face. the trainees erupt into giggles. your shoulders rise and fall as you catch your breath.
jungkook extends a hand.
"good game."
it wasn’t.
it wasn’t fair.
it wasn't good.
it was just so him.
instead of shaking his hand, you shove your sparring stick against his chest and avoid his eyes.
"excuse me," you mutter before turning away from the group and heading towards the garden.
jungkook watches you leave.
he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t move. but, after a few beats, jungkook follows.
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you don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there.
you can feel it.
the ground hums beneath your feet, a faint tremor shifting the soil like the earth itself is attuned to him. the air turns crisp, infused with something familiar—fresh rain on warm stone, something sharp at the edges, something distinctly him. being his soulmate changes everything.
good and bad.
so you make him work for it.
you take the long way to the garden, slipping between hedges, ducking beneath ivy, fingers grazing the thick vines trailing along the palace walls. the scent of jasmine clings to your skin as you move, quiet and deliberate. you don’t look back.
but he follows.
always.
by the time you reach the stone bench beneath the willow, the late afternoon sun drapes golden shadows over the grass. the leaves rustle overhead, and the distant chime of a wind bell carries through the stillness.
he doesn’t speak.
you wait.
finally, after what feels like forever, jungkook exhales.
“you didn’t come last night.”
the words break through the quiet, heavy and deliberate.
“hmm?” you hum, dragging the sound out just enough to make him second-guess himself.
his jaw ticks. “i felt sick.”
the way he says it—careful, measured—betrays him.
a test.
a trap.
you don’t spring it... not yet.
instead, you lift your gaze, watching him with something unreadable.
“exactly how sick were you?”
his expression flickers—just for a second—but it’s enough. the shift. the realization that you know he’s lying. that you didn’t come because you didn’t want to. that he had waited for you, and you had chosen to ignore it.
he doesn’t like that. not one bit.
for the first time since class, he looks at you. really looks at you. and for the first time, you let him.
the garden is quiet this time of day. that’s why you go. but now, the quiet stretches thin between you, taut as a thread about to snap. the leaves sway overhead. jungkook shifts his weight.
then, without thinking, you step forward.
he doesn’t move. just watches.
you lift a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead.
warm. not feverish, but—warm.
jungkook stills.
for a split second, he stops breathing. the world falls away, distant and unimportant, because all he can focus on is your touch. the way your fingers linger before you pull away.
he reacts before he can think.
his hand catches yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not tight, but firm. firm enough to stop you.
you blink.
he tugs you closer.
your other hand lands against his chest, steadying yourself against the solid weight of him.
he is warm here, too. warmer than he should be. his heartbeat is steady, but there’s something frantic beneath the surface, a tension coiled too tight.
jungkook doesn’t know what to do with this. doesn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through him like something foreign. something dangerous.
his voice is quiet when he speaks. almost unsteady.
“what are you doing to me?”
your lips part slightly, breath catching—
then, you push away.
he lets go immediately, like your touch burns.
your expression smooths out, unreadable. you take a step back.
“nothing,” you say. “that’s the thing.”
jungkook exhales sharply, head tilting. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
you hold his gaze. then, deliberately, you let your aura slip. let it expand—thick, unmistakable.
resistance.
jungkook’s breath catches.
“i can’t read you,” he says eventually, voice low, like he hates admitting it. “i... i could for a day or two... but it doesn’t make sense. this does't make sense. you knew i wasn’t sick last night?”
you nod.
“... you can feel—”
“yeah,” you breathe. “i can feel your symptoms. i can feel when your body reacts to me. i can hear your thoughts when you let me—when you want me to. i feel the bond."
his fingers twitch at his sides. his brows pinch slightly, like this realization is foreign. you inhale, steady. then exhale, letting down your guard just enough for him to feel it.
your aura glows—not to the eye, but in presence.
jungkook stiffens.
“resistance,” he pieces together. “that’s
 that’s why i can’t—”
“i had my guard down when we met. i was giving you a chance, and you
” your voice softens, eyes searching his. “you can’t manipulate me. i refuse it.”
his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. then, he scoffs, shaking his head.
“who said i had plans to manipulate you?”
“isn’t that your aura?”
“and if it is?” he steps closer, chin tilting. “come on, p. you think you have me all figured out?”
your lips curl into a small smile. not sweet. not cruel. something in between.
“yeah, i do,” you say. “the truth is, i’m not upset that you find me boring.”
jungkook waits.
“i’m upset that you’re boring.”
his brows furrow slightly. “what does that mean?”
you step back, turning toward the garden bench as you speak over your shoulder.
“you think i’m just a princess? fine. to each their own. you think you’re too good for me—”
“i never said that—”
“what?” your voice sharpens. “you think you’re not good enough, then? see, i’m confused—frustrated, actually. i understand i’m the newbie to the divinity—to this
 to you,” you pause, eyes finding his. “but why should i stand around and let myself be collateral damage to your low self-esteem and ego?”
his expression hardens. offense first, then defense.
“who the fuck said shit about me having low self-esteem—”
“no one,” you almost laugh. “but that’s it, isn’t it? your ego can't swallow the fact that you can't read me. that you can't manipulate your place in my life... that there's a possibility that you can and will fail and have to depend on trust and love to be enough for people like me to stay.”
jungkook clenches his jaw.
"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about," jungkook spits. "do you think you're better than us because you're the divine?"
"no," you answer steadily. "i think i know more because i've been away from the divine. i have perspective. i know what's real—what's out there."
"i know what's out there too—"
"you didn't live in it," you breathe. "jungkook, people in the real world have to do things they don't want to do. no manipulation in time, no manipulation in feelings or things—they face life... you sleep during class. you don’t care when we spar. you don’t care about me—”
“___, you can’t possibly be calling me out and using these as your fucking excuses—”
“i just want you to know it’s okay,” you say it softer this time, like you mean it. “has anyone accepted you... just the way you are? if not, let me be the first one to do so. jungkook, do what you want. be who you are. figure things out or give up—it doesn’t matter. i can live like this, okay? we don’t have to be obsessed with each other. we can fight the bond if that’s what you really want—”
jungkook’s mind spins.
you’re saying so much shit that doesn’t make sense to him. this is escalating too fast. he wasn’t prepared for this. he didn’t know the weight of his words until now.
“it’s not what i want,” he spits out. “___, can you please slow down—”
you shake your head.
“i just want you to know this: you’re wrong if you think i’m the type to tend to someone’s inability to see their goodness. their worth
 their purpose. i’m a big believer in accepting what you think you deserve. if you can’t accept me, that’s fine. maybe i’m not what you deserve. but that’s not on me, jungkook. you limit yourself. you don’t believe in fate. you don’t want this—”
“do you?” he croaks out. “do you want this?”
for a moment, you’re stunned.
regardless of all the shit he’s put you through in the past two weeks, you don’t have it in yourself to lie.
“i want more,” you say finally. “not this.”
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more.
jungkook didn't know what that meant exactly... but this was a start. he isn't an apologetic type, so this is his... version of it.
trying.
again.
he stands in front of you, rolling his wrists, exhaling slow. his eyes flicker over your stance—checking, assessing, adjusting before he even moves.
“keep your weight forward,” jungkook instructs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “you hesitate too much.”
you nod, shifting slightly. he steps in, light on his feet, and you match him, falling into motion as he throws a testing jab. you dodge. pivot. counter. he blocks. you move again.
but it’s wrong.
every strike, every dodge, every block feels a second off. like walking out of rhythm with someone—close but not quite. you follow his cues, but there’s no flow, no instinct, just effort.
jungkook exhales sharply.
“again.”
he moves quicker this time, forcing you to react faster, but it only makes the disconnect more obvious. he shifts left when you expect right. your counters don’t land where they should. his frustration grows, simmering beneath his skin, evident in the slight drag of his feet, the way his breath turns shallow. he shakes his head, readjusting.
you know that feeling—the itch of something not working, of knowing it should but not being able to make it.
you step back, panting, watching the tension tighten in his shoulders.
“can we try something?” you ask, voice softer now.
jungkook pauses. 
he blinks at you, expression unreadable, before tilting his head slightly.
“try what?”
you don’t wait for his response.
“wait here,” you tell him before you turn on your heel, feet light against the stone path as you take off in a quiet sprint. the air is thick with the lingering tension of missed steps, of a rhythm neither of you could quite grasp, but you know—you know—it isn’t just about movement.
jungkook doesn’t call after you. 
he stays where he is, watching as you disappear.
when you return, there’s gold handkerchief is wrapped around your fingers. the fabric glows in the dim light, soft between your hands as you come to a stop in front of him, close enough that you see the slight furrow of his brow.
his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable.
“trust me?” you ask, already reaching up.
jungkook exhales. then, slowly, he nods.
you tiptoe, wrapping the cloth over his eyes, knotting it at the back of his head. his shoulders stay squared, but you feel the way his breath slows, the way he stills beneath your touch. his lashes flutter against the fabric before he adjusts his stance again, waiting.
this time, when you move, he doesn’t see you—he feels you.
“focus on me,” you tell him. 
“h-how—”
“i’ll focus on you too. maybe if we do this properly, our auras will meet. i can put my guard up any time, but putting it down is something entirely different. it’s beyond my control to put it down. it’s a reaction to you—your vulnerability, not mine.”
jungkook swallows, letting your words sink in. 
"how do you know this shit?" he attempts to hide his suspicion.
you laugh. "have you forgotten who my grandparents are? just because i was raised outside this palace doesn't mean i wasn't educated and trained for the divinity."
"you are the divinity."
"that i am, little prince."
you don't know it, but he rolls his eyes.
"and you're a princess."
"that i am not."
he chuckles. so do you. the moment is light.
then, he takes a deep breath and envisions you.
in his head, it’s hazy. there’s only so much of you that he memorized in a short period of time—but he hopes it’s enough. he recalls the way you turn your head and how pretty your neck is. how long your hair is and how your eyes smile before your lips curve into one.
before you know it, the air shifts and he strikes. there’s a slight tremor in your breath when you hesitate—a quiet hitch when he moves too close.
his body reacts without thinking, syncing to yours in a way sight never allowed. he follows the push and pull, the rise and fall of your heartbeat, matching it, learning it. and for the first time, there’s no disconnect—no distance or this
 force that pushes him away. 
no struggle.
just instinct.
just you.
and then, in a way he can’t explain, he knows where you’ll be before you even move. 
he anticipates every pivot, every feint, as if something unseen is guiding him—no, pulling him. there’s a thread between you now, stretched taut between his ribs and yours, humming with energy. it tightens when you step back, loosens when you exhale. he feels it with every shift, with every breath you take.
it’s disorienting at first, the pull, the quiet certainty of it. but it’s right. more right than anything has felt in a long, long time.
his heart pounds, syncing to yours. for the first time, jungkook doesn’t fight it.
instead, he lets it fall.
in so many fucking ways, he lets himself fall.
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you bend over and tug the handkerchief off of him. 
then, you extend a hand.
jungkook squints, adjusting to the night. then, he stares at it for a beat too long, his pride hanging in the space between you. you didn’t exactly win
 but you didn’t lose either. regardless, he feels defeated. 
the garden is quiet except for the sound of both your breaths, still uneven, still trying to settle. the tie had been hard-earned—one final strike knocking him down, leaving him on his back, staring at the night sky like it held the answers he didn’t.
you wiggle your fingers. “good game?”
his lips press into a line before he exhales, reaching up. his palm slides against yours, rough and warm, and you brace yourself as he uses the momentum to pull himself to his feet.
too strong.
the force drags you forward, nearly colliding into his chest.
you stumble, hands reaching for balance, and jungkook catches you before you can fall completely. one hand wraps around your waist, the other grasping your arm, steadying you like it’s second nature. his fingers press firm into your skin, and for a moment, neither of you move.
your palm lands flat against his chest.
a sharp inhale. not yours.
his heartbeat hammers against your touch, wild and restless. the same way it felt when he was blindfolded—when he had to rely on instinct, when the rhythm of his breath synced with yours and something unseen pulled tight between you.
you lift your gaze.
jungkook is already looking.
your eyes meet and it’s like you’re the only thing he sees. you see it. you look into his eyes and freaking see what he sees. 
you. only you.
his lips suddenly part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. his eyes flicker, unreadable, caught between hesitation and something heavier. his grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it lingers, fingertips pressing in like he’s mapping out the shape of you, committing it to memory.
"what are you thinking right now?" he asks rather shyly. “since i
 i can’t read your mind.”
your voice is soft. it curls between you, laced with something you’re not sure you want to name.
jungkook swallows. his grip tightens—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it
 seconds stretch.
then—before anything else, before you let yourself think too hard about it—you smile. you let out a small chuckle, tapping his chest with the back of your hand.
"figure it out, jungkook."
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the walk back is quiet, but the air hums with something
 different. 
the weight of the sparring match lingers between you—his hands on your waist, your fingers on his chest, the breathless moment you shared before you pulled away. now, as you walk side by side beneath the moonlight, the space between you feels impossibly small, as if the night itself is pushing you closer.
your fingertips brush once. a fleeting touch, barely there. but it’s enough to send a pulse through the invisible string that binds you.
twice. his breath stutters. 
three times. 
fuck.
you hear it. 
not aloud, but in the space between your thoughts, in the echo of his heartbeat. it’s his voice though. you know it is
 and it’s the sheer panic in his mind and the way his body that betrays him. you giggle before you can stop yourself, and jungkook tenses beside you, as if caught in something he wasn’t ready to admit. 
his jaw tightens. 
his ears burn red.
you reach your doorstep too soon. your heart is still racing, tangled up in him, in the weight of his presence. and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "i can send a guard to take you back to yours—"
jungkook scoffs, low and amused. “i can handle myself.”
you fumble for an excuse. 
“it’s just that
 it’s dark.”
he glances up, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. the night sky is dark, but the stars shine almost as bright as you. it’s enough for him to know where he’s going.
“the stars are out.”
you follow his gaze. the sky is vast, endless, and speckled with constellations that stretch far beyond the palace walls. the kind of night that feels infinite.
“they are
” you exhale softly. “wow, they’re so bright here.”
jungkook tilts his head. “you do live in the highest point of the palace.”
you laugh, shaking your head.
“still. regardless of where i am, i can never spot the big dipper.”
he hums, tilting his chin toward the sky. “really? it’s over there.”
“where?” you ask, mimicking his gaze.
“made you look.”
you gasp, swatting his arm, and he grins—really grins, boyish and unguarded, like the version of him that slips through when he forgets to keep his walls up. it sends something warm curling in your chest.
you soften, stepping back toward your door. 
“goodnight, jungkook.”
he lingers, just for a moment. the moonlight catches in his eyes, in the way he watches you like he wants to say something but doesn’t. instead, he exhales, the corner of his lips quirking up.
“goodnight, princess.”
you slip inside, shutting the door behind you. the guards reposition themselves and ask jungkook if he’d like to be accompanied back. he shakes his head, declining the offer. then, he puzzles the guards for a moment. 
jungkook doesn’t leave immediately. 
he waits, glancing up at the stars once more. and then, with a quiet flick of his fingers, the sky shifts. the darkness of the night sky almost flickers. the clouds part ever so slightly, rearranging the constellations.
the big dipper, now perfectly clear. 
just for you.
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living-in-a-daydream-24 · 6 months ago
Text
BTS MASTERLIST
đŸ”„SMUT
đŸ©”FLUFF
😈YANDERE
BTS MASTERLIST P.2
OT7/POLY
Boyfriend for Hire by @remedyx đŸ”„ đŸ©”
Shadows We Trust by @remedyx đŸ”„
Masked Miracles by @remedyx đŸ”„
Lovesick by @angelicyoongie đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„đŸ©”
Finding My Pack by @untaemedqueen đŸ”„đŸ©”
Fated to Love You by @untaemedqueen đŸ”„đŸ©”
Eye of the Beholder by @purpleyoonn 😈
Constellations by @luv-gukkie 😈
Mafia + Yandere! Mafia Collection by @ninetailedfoxmanchi đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„đŸ©”
Jin
Payment Plan by @trivia-yandere đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Yoongi
just for me by @luv-gukkie đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Respectfully, his by @yoonlattesworldđŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Platonic by @shumidehiro 😈
Positive by @deepdarkdelights 😈
Stockholm Syndrome by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Game over. By @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Exitus Acta Probat by @bang-tan-bitches đŸ”„
Hoseok
You're Mine (+MYG) by @dream-with-laurianeđŸ©”
Mistletoe (+ MYG) by @deepdarkdelights 😈
Need a friend? + P.2 by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„đŸ©”
Angel by @worldwidemochiguy đŸ˜ˆđŸ©”
Good Girl by @justcallmenikki7 😈
Split by @justcallmenikki7 😈
Namjoon
Baby Fever by @wildestdreamsblog đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„đŸ©”
Wedding Ring by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Ours (rapline) by @worldwidemochiguy đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„đŸ©”
To Be Loved by @taevbears đŸ©”
Jimin
Coming Soon

Taehyung
Black Swan by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Isn't that what brothers do? by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Made for Each Other by @worldwidemochiguy
đŸ˜ˆđŸ©”
Coming Back Home by @worldwidemochiguy 😈
something about him by @kooktrash đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
These Things Take Time by @laughing-with-god😈
Exploitative by @rialikesbts 😈
Jung-kook
Just Take It by @ahgasegotarmy116đŸ”„đŸ©”
Metamorphosis by @trivia-yandere đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
do I wanna know by @joonberriess đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Polarity by @darkestcorners đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
romantic dreams by @kooktrash đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Fallin' into the trap by @jmstoesblog 😈
Why, you? by @jmstoesblog 😈
lifetime. by @blackswan446 đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
A father’s job by @aft3rhrs đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
Making of a Lover by @smileyoongle 😈
Next door by @sugaimhome đŸ˜ˆđŸ”„
CEO by @letjungcoook7đŸ”„
Flawless by @joonberriess đŸ”„đŸ©”
Everything in You + Ch. 2 by @jjungkookislife đŸ”„đŸ©”
Baby O Baby by @aajjks 😈
Sweets by @worldwidemochiguy đŸ˜ˆđŸ©”
588 notes · View notes
glossdebut · 10 months ago
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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ MASTERLIST
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✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader
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✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.
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✧ TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat
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✧ WARNINGS: SLOW UPDATES, explicit sexual content, agonizingly slow burn, jealousy, hurt/comfort, emotional baggage and trauma (LIKE
 EVERYONE), alcohol and drug usage, yoongi is kind of an asshole but i promise he isn’t irredeemable, everyone is bad at feelings and the communication of those feelings, The Music Industry is a warning of its own, blackmail, sexual harassment*, coercion*, quid pro quo*
* happens prior to the start of the story, not committed by the main characters.
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✧ WORDCOUNT: 49.9k and counting!
✧ STATUS: ongoing
✧ SERIES PLAYLIST: spotify & official post
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✧ CHAPTERS ✧
CH 1: ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE VAMPIRES!
CH 2: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST
CH 3: WHAT DO YOU KNOW?
CH 4: E-X-P-L-O-D-E
CH 5: TOO FAR TO GO BACK
CH 6: WHY CAN’T I MAKE A MISTAKE?
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『 askbox ★ masterlist ★ ao3 ★ taglist ★ anonymous feedback box 』
601 notes · View notes
ktownshizzle · 4 months ago
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Nerd & Nerdier | Finale
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✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a
 rap battle.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected (kinda)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: MDNI 18+, overuse of the word fuck, yoongi GOING THROUGH IT!, pop culture references (pokemon, inzoi), drunken shenanigans, second hand embarrassment, unprotected sex (be smarter tho), everybody gets a happy ending
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6k hooray! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: April 1, 2025
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Not a joke! The finale is here!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6
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Yoongi yeets himself out of the apartment. Gets the fuck out of there and walks to the ends of the earth for all he cares.
He stuffs his hands inside his pockets. It’s freezing but the wind feels like a welcome punishment against his face. He needed to be numb.
Shit. He’s already down to his last cigarette, and he’s barely halfway through the block when he lights it with shaking fingers.
The smoke burns. His throat burns.
And still, not as bad as what he saw. And in his own home no less.
Granted he shared it with you and Wonwoo. But that doesn’t give you fuckers the right to
.
He stops and knocks his forehead against a lamp post. Twice. Thrice.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He’s gonna kill Namjoon for forcing him to go to that songwriting retreat. And Hoseok for sending Namjoon that email invite.
The last 10 minutes stick in his brain like gum—right on the amygdala, where all the worst things like to linger.
The way you kiss Wonwoo like he was it. Like he was the one. Like the last few weeks meant nothing. Like your message yesterday meant nothing.
He doesn’t know why he stood there long enough to register the way Wonwoo touched your face, the way you let him.
The way you said you knew it was him from the beginning. He didn’t wait to hear the rest. 
Didn’t need to. Couldn’t bear to.
Fuck that shit, honestly. Wonwoo wasn’t the only gamer in that house. You played him, too.
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After walking around, picking up stuff (alcohol, cigarettes), Yoongi ends up at Genius Rkives.
The place is empty—blessedly, quietly empty as Namjoon is probably just getting settled in his own home. As he should.
The studio smells like incense and a bit like old wood. It’s comforting, in a way. At least this place hasn’t changed even if everything else fucking has.
He slumps onto their old leather couch and stares at nothing for a long, long time. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink (probably).
Just sits there, hoodie over his head, cigarette ashes still clinging to the smell of his skin, contemplating how the hell he got blindsided.
Before he blacks out he does one thing that he’ll regret in a few days. He blocks you.
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He spends the next few days in the studio, hunched over tracks he is unable to finish. Everything sounds hollow now. Like someone else made it. Like none of it fucking matters.
He doesn’t eat. Drinks more coffee than water. Doesn’t sleep unless he passes out from sheer exhaustion.
“You look like shit,” Namjoon says casually, tossing a banana on the table. “Eat something.”
Yoongi doesn’t even look up. He does take the banana, peels it, and scarfs down half in a single bite.
Namjoon studies him for a second. “Wanna talk about it?”
Mouthful of fruit, Yoongi exhales a humorless laugh. “Nah.”
And that’s that.
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On the fourth night, when the silence is too loud and even his own thoughts start sounding like white noise, he opens Instagram. You’ve posted something a few minutes ago.
Just a dim photo of the living room. One mug on the table.
The photo is accompanied by a single word: Empty
Yoongi stares at it and his throat dries up.
It’s his coffee mug. The same one he uses everyday because he is a creature of habit.
“Shit,” he mutters to no one.
Because he doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if it’s about him. Doesn’t know if he wants it to be.
All he knows is that he hasn’t stopped thinking about you.
About how you said you missed him. (And the fact that he misses you, too. So damn much.)
About how he thought—really thought—he was the one you wanted.
But all he can picture is the way Wonwoo held you like he probably had every night he was gone. 
And now he’s feeling just like your caption.
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He hasn’t been getting your texts. But he has been getting Wonwoo’s.
Wonwoo: Hyung. Can we talk?
Yoongi stares at the notification.
Nah.
Talk?
Talk about what?
Talk about how he was standing there—hands on your waist, mouth on your lips—the girl Yoongi was in love with?
Yeah, no thanks.
He doesn’t answer. Just slips on his headphones and drowns himself in half-finished mixes until the sky turns pink and the ache in his chest numbs into something dull and half-dead.
The next morning, another message comes in.
Wonwoo: Unblock her
Yoongi scoffs, almost laughs. Who the fuck does he think he is, barking orders like that?
He’s ready to swipe and block his ass too when another message lands.
Wonwoo: She chose you Wonwoo: Not me
That one stops him cold.
He stares at the screen until it fades to black.
He doesn’t reply.
Not right away.
Not until five hours later, halfway through a bottle of Cass, a dull burn crawling up his throat, your voice echoing in the hollow of his skull like some stubborn loop he can’t mute.
He types.
Deletes.
Types again.
And finally hits send.
Yoongi: Didn't look like it
Then shuts his phone off completely.
Because if he sees one more message tonight, he might actually break.
He’s pissed. And hurt. And yeah, maybe Wonwoo doesn’t get to boss him around. But he followed the instruction anyway.
He unblocks you.
And then passes the fuck out.
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The moment he opens his phone. A barrage of pings irritates his eardrums. He’s mildly surprised it’s all from you.
You: Yoongi. Are you okay? You: Please come home You: I miss you You: It was a mistake
You: I’m sorry
He wishes he had it in him to hate you.
It would be easier. Cleaner. Simpler.
But all he feels is the ugly twist in his gut. That soft ache behind his ribs. That voice in his head that still wants to believe there’s a version of the story where you picked him first.
He throws the phone across the couch and covers his face with his hands.
His chest rises, falls. Rises, falls.
He breathes like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
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You’re drunk.
Not a little tipsy. Not that cute, flirty kind of drunk. You’re talking full-blown, slurred speech, bit of drool on your chin drunk.
And the worst part?
So is Wonwoo.
“Where the fuck is he?” you whine from the floor, your head tilted back dramatically against the couch as you shovel cold ramyeon into your mouth with chopsticks.
Wonwoo lets out a groan from where he’s collapsed half-on, half-off the bean bag. “You think he died?” 
You blink at him. “He viewed my Instagram story three days ago.”
Wonwoo nods solemnly. “So not dead. Just dramatic.”
You groan and roll onto your side. “God, he’s such a little bitch.”
“Agreed,” Wonwoo mutters, clinking his empty glass against your half-full one. “Still hot, though.”
Present-you accepts that as a drunken truth. But future-you would look back and wonder—Did Wonwoo just call Yoongi hot?
“Stupidly hot,” you mumble to your drink anyway.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then you both burst out laughing. Hysterical, ugly, half-sobbing laughter. You’re crying into your noodles. Wonwoo is hugging an empty soju bottle like it owes him money.
You sit up suddenly, noodles still hanging from your mouth.
“I’m texting him again.”
Wonwoo lifts his head. “Do it.”
You fish your phone from the couch cushions, squint at the screen, and thumb open your messages.
You don’t even think about your words before hitting send
 multiple times. Afterwards, you throw the phone onto the couch like it’s on fire and collapse into a giggling mess.
“I did it,” you whisper, horrified and proud all at once.
Wonwoo lifts his fist for a drunk high five. “You’re so brave.”
The phone remains silent.
But somewhere in the dark, you hope Yoongi is reading those texts—and that maybe, just maybe, he’ll find it in his heart to give you a chance.
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Yoongi isn’t drunk, but he is a little buzzed.
The kind of buzzed that makes the edges of his thoughts feel a little cottony, blurry.
He’s sitting on the couch in Hoseok’s apartment—legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a beer, the other lazily scrolling through his phone, until your name pops up. And it’s not one text. It’s
 a flood.
You: yo You: yoongi You: yoooooooongiiiiiii You: you crusty sexy neckless bastard You: why did you ghost me You: your flowers are DEAD You: i’m DEAD You: wonwoo’s crying You: not really You: but i am You: pls COME HOME You: i can explain You: im sorry You: IDIOT You: i miss youu 
He groans.
Hoseok in the kitchen calls out, “What’s going on, hyung?”
Yoongi just grunts, because what the fuck.
He reads the messages again. And again. He scrolls up and down like the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to process.
His thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Then pulls back.
Then hovers again.
He should ignore it. It’s drunk nonsense. He can hear your voice in the excess vowels.
But it’s the last one that fucks him up.
He swipes a hand over his face and exhales sharply, the sound catching somewhere in his throat.
Yoongi doesn’t melt easily. He’s not the type. He gets pissed before he gets soft. Gets silent before he gets sentimental. But goddamn you. Goddamn the way your words still manage to punch through the walls he’s put up.
He opens your text thread and coincidentally another message slips through.
It’s a gif. A Pokemon gif of all things. Of Ash throwing a poke ball saying: Pikachu I choose you.
God you are so fucking WEIRD. But saying that did not endear him to you further would be a vicious lie.
He groans. Stares at the blank message and finally types..
Yoongi: you idiot Yoongi: i’m coming home
Then he grabs his coat, slides on his headphones, and steps into the night.
He misses you too. Bad. But he doesn’t say it back. At least not through text.
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Yoongi doesn’t expect a grand homecoming when he pushes the door open. But a little groveling wouldn’t have hurt.
Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of you passed out on the couch, limbs tangled in a blanket, lips parted in the softest little snore. Wonwoo’s slumped nearby, equally unconscious, an empty soju bottle balanced dangerously on his knee.
A cornucopia of soju and ramen, and chips lie in the center like it was The Hunger Games and these two lost.
He shakes his head, sighs. He should be angry. But all he feels is that he missed you. Both of you. Being here and being home.
First order of business: get Wonwoo to his room. Yoongi somehow manages it, half-dragging, half-guiding the much taller man down the hall. Tucks him in, even takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the bedside table so he doesn’t roll over them in his sleep.
Then there’s you.
Still curled up on the couch, one sock half off, hair a mess, hugging an unopened bag of shrimp chips like it’s a stuffed animal.
Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and exhales before crouching down beside the couch.
You’re drooling a little. And your shirt is halfway riding up your stomach. 
He mutters a curse under his breath, hooks one arm beneath your knees, another around your shoulders, and lifts you up—bridal style. You’re actually heavy and your limbs flop like you’re some tranquilized wild animal (in some ways you are), but he grunts and tries his best not to drop you.
You stir slightly as he wobbles toward your room.
Then you blink. And blink again. Before your eyes go wide. “Oh my God.”
Yoongi pauses. “
What?”
“Are you—are you real?” you whisper, voice raspy and full of awe. “Is this really you, Yoongi?”
He blinks. “Yeah?”
“You look so gooood in person.”
Yoongi huffs a laugh. “Shut up.”
“Your arms are so toned, oh my god. Did you work out when you were away?”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re hot.” You grin. “I’d totally hit that.”
He mutters a very pained “Jesus Christ” as he kicks your door open.
But he’s smiling. He can’t help it. He’s so fond.
You look up at him with those glassy eyes, and your voice softens, barely a whisper now. “I love you, you know. Like, a lot. I cried every night you were gone.”
Something in his chest squeezes. Almost painfully. Before mild annoyance settles with it. This is not how we thought he would hear those words for the first time. Why are you like this?! But fuck, you love him.
“You’re drunk,” he says again, but this time his voice is lower, shakier.
You nod solemnly. “And honest.”
He lays you down gently on your bed, pulling the covers over you with the same care he gave Wonwoo earlier. 
He disappears into the bathroom for a second, comes back with a warm washcloth, and kneels by your bed to wipe the sheen of soju from your cheeks and the corner of your mouth.
You hum under your breath. “Stay.”
Yoongi pauses mid swipe.
“Stay forever,” you add, breath catching. “Please, Yoongi?”
He looks at you. Really looks at you.
And maybe it’s the way your voice broke when you said his name, or the way your fingers weakly reach for the sleeve of his hoodie, or the way you look so impossibly small and soft in the dim light—but he knows he’s not going anywhere.
Not tonight.
Not if he can help it.
“Okay,” he whispers.
He climbs in beside you, lets you curl into him without hesitation. Big spoon to little spoon, arms wrapped around your middle like he’s willing to protect you from all kinds of harm.
You sigh. Melt into him like you were made to fit there.
And finally—finally—Yoongi sleeps.
Not the restless kind. The kind he can only get when he’s home.
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The first thing you register is the headache.
The second is the unfamiliar weight around your waist.
You blink blearily at the soft morning light spilling through your curtains, your mouth dry as sandpaper and your brain moving at the speed of a buffering livestream. Everything hurts. Your body, your stomach, your eyeballs.
You shift slightly—just enough to turn your head.
Shit.
Yoongi. Yoongi is in your bed.
Your erstwhile missing roommate, Yoongi.
Your potential boyfriend but you fucked it up by getting caught making out with another man, Yoongi.
Yoongi, whose legs are tangled with yours beneath the blanket, one arm snug around your waist like it belongs there.
Mild heart attack. Bile threatening to rise up. You need to get out of bed.
But before you can do that, a deep, groggy voice rumbles behind you. “Stop squirming.”
You freeze like an Inzoi character on pause. You don’t even breathe so you're starting to get lightheaded.
Yoongi inhales deeply against your hair, retracts his arm.
“Drink your aspirin,” he murmurs. “It’s on the table.”
Your eyes flick to the nightstand. Sure enough, a glass of water and a single pill sit waiting. Your hand trembles slightly as you reach for it, trying not to disturb him, which is hard because the bed is tiny and he’s very much in your space.
You wash it down in one gulp. Set the glass back.
“You’re awake,” you whisper.
“No shit,” he grumbles, still not opening his eyes. “You elbowed me in the ribs three times.”
You wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he exhales, the air warm against your nape. “Was worth it.”
Your heart stutters.
And then—
“Holy shit,” you whisper, panic climbing in your throat as some memories start to flood back in–lots of junk food and soju with Wonwoo, laughing and then crying, Yoongi’s face close to yours, telling him you love him. “Did I—what did I say last night?”
Yoongi’s silence is a little too smug, and he shifts to roll away from you.
“Yoongi,” you hiss, trying to turn him, but he is immovable.
“You were drunk.”
“I know. I mean, did I—” You bite your lip. “Just tell me what I said.”
A beat passes.
“You said I was hot.”
You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Please tell me that was it.”
“You also said you’d totally hit that.”
“Oh god.”
“And,” Yoongi continues, drawling now, “you confessed your undying love.”
You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”
He chuckles. “Nah.”
He shifts to face you back and this time you’re the one to pull away but the weight of his arm around you sinks in. You’re both lying there, warm, drowsy, tangled up in the morning haze.
“
You stayed,” you whisper.
He hums. “You asked me to.”
Your fingers curl into the edge of the blanket. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just presses a gentle kiss against your clothed shoulder, his breath slow, steady.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk later.”
You want to ask what later means. Want to know where this is going. But for now, your head is pounding and Yoongi’s body is warm against yours and it feels like the safest place on earth.
So you let him hold you.
And you close your eyes.
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You must’ve dozed off again because the next time you wake, Yoongi’s no longer spooning you (sad)—he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
He looks like he’s been sitting there for a while.
“Yoongi?”
He doesn’t look at you immediately, just rubs a palm down his face. When he does glance your way, his expression is hard to read—tired, maybe. A little wrecked around the edges.
“We should talk,” he says quietly.
You sit up, pulling the blanket around you like armor. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches for a few seconds.
Yoongi looks down at his hands.
“I saw you,” he says. “The night I came back.”
Fuck. You knew this fact, but shame pricks at you anyways as he says it.
“Wonwoo.” His jaw clenches. “You. In the living room. You were saying things to him.”
Your stomach sinks.
He exhales through his nose, sharp and fast. “You said you loved me. But what was that?”
You bite your lip. Hard. “Yoongi
” You move forward, reaching out—slowly—until your fingers graze his wrist. “I didn’t pick him.”
His eyes flick to you, guarded.
“I know.” You nod, guilt curling tight around your ribs. “I know what it looked like. And I don’t blame you for leaving.”
You swallow hard, gathering the words you’ve been holding back.
“He asked me to pretend. Just for a second. Just to know what it felt like to be loved back. And I—I should’ve said no. But he looked so hurt, so I just
 I should have said no.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.
“It was wrong,” you continue. “It wasn’t fair to you. Or him. But I swear, that night, and even before that, I already knew it was you. I was just waiting for you to come home to tell you. But yeah, that happened, and, fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi is quiet. Too quiet. His face was unreadable. God you royally fucked this up.
You shift closer, your voice softer now. “I love you, Min Yoongi. It’s not a drunk confession, it’s not a mistake. I wanted you from the start. I still want you. And I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
You hold your breath. Wait.
Then—
“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, running both hands through his hair. “How do you say shit like that and expect me to stay mad?”
You let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you.
He turns to face you fully now, his gaze softer—still raw, but softer. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
You blink. “Obsessed?”
“Biblically,” he deadpans, lips forming a straight line.
Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it.
Yoongi leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t do that again.”
You shake your head.
Then he kisses you, just lightly, before pulling you back into the cushions with a grumble, “if Wonwoo ever asks to roleplay as me again, you tell me and I’m gonna kick his ass.”
You snort, settling into his arms. “That feels fair.”
“Damn right it is.”
And with that, Yoongi wraps you up like he’s never letting go again.
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It takes a couple days.
Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to avoid Wonwoo—but he doesn’t go out of his way to talk to him either. They move around the apartment like polite strangers. It’s getting super awkward and depressing. You almost wanted to start scheduling the bathroom in shifts.
But you give them space. Let them figure it out. Because before you came into their lives, they were good friends, almost brothers even. And you know they’re both good men whose love for each other runs deep despite their stoic facades.
Sometimes you’d leave Yoongi’s favorite album quietly in the background whenever you’re in the living room, because you know Wonwoo still lingers near the door when it’s on. You know he misses him too.
The truce finally comes on a Wednesday.
You’re out grocery shopping—on purpose—when it happens.
Yoongi’s in the kitchen, a mug of black coffee in hand, when Wonwoo walks in wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and the face of someone who’s been up editing for twelve hours straight.
They stand in silence for a second.
Then Yoongi gestures to his mug. “You need this more than I do.”
Wonwoo blinks. “Hyung...”
“Yeah, yeah, just take it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively.
Wonwoo’s fingers finally close in on the mug, bringing it towards his lips. “
Thanks, hyung.”
Yoongi hums, looking out the window.
Wonwoo hesitates. “I’m sorry. For
 all of it.”
Yoongi doesn’t look at him. Just stares into space. “I know.”
Wonwoo exhales. “Shoulda taken the L like I promised. But I just—liked her. I thought maybe I had a shot. Thought I could handle it. But I didn’t expect to care about you both this much.”
Yoongi finally glances over, eyes tired but not unkind. “Big mad I had to see that shit, though.”
Wonwoo cringes. “Yeah. I know.”
“You kiss sloppy.”
“I was crying, hyung.”
Yoongi smirks. “I’m just saying.”
They stare at each other for another beat.
“We good.” Yoongi tells him, and the stress on Wonwoo’s shoulder eases tenfold. 
Wonwoo grins, “good.”
And just like that, the tension breaks—fragile but real. Not erased. Not forgotten. But healing in the way only true friends can.
When you get home an hour later, you find the two of them huddled over Yoongi’s laptop, arguing about which 8-bit sound effect is better for Wonwoo’s Youtube channel’s opening beat.
Yoongi looks up briefly when you step in, bags at hand. “Why do you take forever in Olive Young?”
“You two are talking again.”
Wonwoo motions you to be quiet. “Shhh. Don’t jinx it, noona.”
Yoongi just shakes his head, clicking away.
“Chimaek, tonight?”
Two thumbs ups.
Ah. It feels good to be finally home.
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One month later

Wonwoo’s already at the table, sipping his coffee. His hair is still damp from a shower, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through something on his phone.
Yoongi’s plating up some eggs, bacon already looking crunchy and so good on another plate on the counter.
You glance between them, heart tugging at the sight.
It feels almost like the early days again—before all the mess and the pining and the rap battles and the ghosting. Just three roommates, slightly chaotic, mostly functioning.
Wonwoo clears his throat. “So
 I have some news.”
You and Yoongi both look up.
“I, uh—so my channel’s been blowing up.”
You smile. “I know
”
Wonwoo nods, lips twitching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. One of my compilation clips hit a million views. Then two. It’s a little crazy that I’m getting millions of people watching my streams. And now this creator house in Osaka, they’ve reached out. They want me to join them full-time.”
Silence.
You blink once. Twice.
Yoongi’s egg slides off his chopsticks and hits the table with a soft splat.
“You’re moving?” you ask quietly.
“In two weeks.”
The words hang heavy in the air, like steam that won’t quite dissipate.
You swallow. “Wow. That’s
 amazing, Wonwoo. Really.”
He chuckles softly. “Yeah. I’m still trying to process it. But I think—I think I want to go. It’s a big opportunity. They’ve got a deal with Netflix and everything. It’s wild.”
Yoongi doesn’t speak. Just stares down at his bowl, jaw set.
Wonwoo looks at both of you, his expression soft. “Also
 I think it’s for the better.”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs lightly, but there’s nothing careless about his words. “You two need space. Real space. I’ve seen how careful you’ve been around me—like you’re always tiptoeing, trying not to
 like, I get it. But it’s okay.” He smiles then, genuine and a little bittersweet. “I don’t want to be the third wheel anymore. I want to see you guys figure this out for real.”
You open your mouth to disagree, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right. You have been walking on eggshells around him.
Yes, you and Yoongi have had the talk, have shared the quiet moments and the whispered promises—but living with Wonwoo meant holding back. Kisses stolen in the hallway. Frantic touches under the covers. Making out like teenagers afraid to get caught by their parents. You haven’t even fucked—not properly—because you don’t trust yourself to stay quiet. And the last thing you want is to make things more uncomfortable than they already are for Wonwoo.
You sigh, reach for his hand, squeezing it. “We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you both, too. But we’ll still game. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Thank god,” you say. “I need someone to carry me in Valo, ‘cause this one’s useless.”
Yoongi still hasn’t said a word even as you maligned him. But when you glance at him, his head tilted toward his bowl, you notice the way he lifts a hand—just briefly—to brush beneath his eye. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
You don’t call him out for it.
Instead, you quietly nudge your foot against his under the table.
He looks up, finally, and you offer a soft smile.
He exhales, then lifts his head, trying to school his expression. “Congrats. You deserve it.”
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Two weeks later, Wonwoo’s bags are packed. Two suitcases by the door, gaming headset carefully wrapped in a hoodie and tucked into his carry-on. His favorite mug is still in the drying rack. You hope he forgot it, just so you can have something to hold onto.
He’s still coming back in a month’s time to wrap up everything else he wasn’t able to box or sell before he flies out. Some equipment he won’t need because they’re giving him a new system, plus a couple of odd items here and there. There’s still his bed, some clothes, old games, some extra cameras—it honestly still feels like he lives here and has just gone away for college.
You walk him to the door.
He turns to face you, lifting his brows like he’s expecting a lecture.
You step closer, fixing the strap on his backpack. “Keep up your Duolingo streak. Get that English sharp. The fans are gonna eat it up.”
“‘What’s up, guys, it’s your boy, Wonwoo, welcome back to the stream,’” he deadpans in a flat accent.
You snort. “Exactly.”
For a moment, you both just stand there, silence pressing in around the edges.
“I know hyung will take care of you. Probably even better than I could.”
You reach for his hand, squeezing it once. “You’ve taken care of me more than you know.”
He smiles—small, sad, but grateful. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Oh I am sure you’ll forget me what with all your new fangirls
 what do you call ‘em? Your baby chocolats?”
He laughs, a short, bright sound that makes your throat sting a little. Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.
“I’ll text you when I land.”
“You better.”
And with that, you step back and let him go.
You go towards the window where you see him meet up with Yoongi on the street, helping the driver lug his boxes on the compartment of the SUV.
You don’t hear what’s said. Don’t try to.
But you do see them stare at each other for a second too long, then—awkwardly, almost reluctantly—move into a hug. A real one.
Two introverts. Two non-huggers. And still, there they are, arms around each other, no jokes, no snark.
Just something soft. Something understood.
Damn. You never thought you’d see the day.
When the car finally drives off, Yoongi looks up and your eyes meet. There’s sadness in it but there’s also something else.
Like something new is finally about to begin.
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Roommate Rule #5: Always check for blinking lights
 you’ll know why

It was weird at first when Wonwoo left.
It was the lack of him being there between you and Yoongi. Because no matter how close you and Yoongi had gotten, the space between you was always padded with caution.
Too careful.
Too considerate of the younger one in the house. You loved Wonwoo, and Yoongi loved him too—in the gruff, brotherly, could-murder-you-but-won’t kind of way. But the care you had for him, the quiet hesitance of not wanting to hurt him, made everything feel just a little restrained.
Now, with just the two of you, it’s different.
Better.
There’s a fluffy kind of freedom in being able to kiss Yoongi whenever you want. To drape yourself across his lap on the couch and whisper the dumbest shit just to hear him chuckle against your neck. To argue about which records to play, who left the light on, how many mugs he’s used and not washed. You fight more. You make up more. You say what you feel. You say it often.
And tonight? Tonight, you finally said you wanted him. 
Really wanted him. 
Like inside you. 
Bad.
So now here you are, stumbling into the apartment after a romantic dinner, laughing between messy kisses, giddy and tipsy and so stupidly in love it’s honestly embarrassing.
You yank his silly leopard hat off somewhere near the entryway.
“Wait,” you murmur breathlessly, lips brushing his jaw. “Where?”
Yoongi, already halfway out of his shirt, pants, and possibly his mind, blinks at you.
“My room?” he offers.
You hesitate. “Your bed’s too far from the wall. I can’t brace myself if we’re—”
He stares at you, smirking. “You’ve thought about this.”
You don’t deny it. You also don’t even justify why your feet take you to Wonwoo’s room.
“Neutral ground?” Yoongi says, tilting his head.
You shrug. “Yeah. Feels
 fair.”
You don’t talk much after that. Because Yoongi, goddamn him, is rendering you speechless. The way his mouth trails kisses along your neck, breathing softly against your skin. You arch into him, fingers curling into his hair, his shoulders, wherever you can touch and pull and hold. 
Yoongi lays you down on Wonwoo’s bed gently. His mouth never leaves yours, just soft kisses turning messier and dirtier as the tension finally, finally unravels between you. 
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps into your neck, trailing his tongue towards your earlobe. “Been thinking about this for so fuckin’ long.”
Your hands tangle in his dark strands, tugging lightly, and he groans—rough, needy. The sound of it punches heat straight through your core.
More clothes come off in a haze of giggles and curses, until you’re naked, flushed, and sprawled beneath him. Completely exposed. Completely his. But you don’t feel shy. You feel
 safe. Because that’s how he has always made you feel.
Especially when Yoongi looks like he’s staring at the fucking Mona Lisa. His eyes rake over your nude form, before he exhales a soft “fuck,” and lowers himself to mouth at a taut nipple. He swirls his tongue over the bud before giving it a long suck, encasing it between his teeth with a slight tug.
“Shit,” you arch your back, electricity surging from your chest.
When his hands slide between your thighs and his fingers slip inside, your head falls back with a gasp.
“Yoongi—”
“I got you, baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
And he does. 
You’re already shaking when he finally slips it in, filling you inch by inch as he whispers praise against your ear.
“Fuck,” he mutters, warm breath seeping into your moist skin. “You feel—God.”
He moves like he’s laying down the beat of his life. Every roll of his hips perfectly in sync with your ragged breaths, every soft moan you make dragging curses from his throat.
Your nails make crescents into his milky skin. Your legs wrap tight around his waist like a vice grip.
And when you come, it hits you so hard you think you’ve gone blind. He groans your name desperately and follows right after, buried deep, falling apart against you with one final buck.
You lay there after, chest to chest, sticky and hot, your heart pounding..
He brushes your hair back from your forehead and plants kisses all over your face. Butterfly kisses that leave you emotional at how gentle he is. 
“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours.
You smile, boneless. “I love you, too.”
He hums low. “So we’re doing that again. Obviously.”
“I can’t feel my legs,” you confess.
He smirks. “That’s how you know it was good.”
You swat at his chest. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’re
 welcome.”
You both fall into a comfortable silence, staring up at the ceiling, smiling at nothing.
Until—a soft blinking red light catches your eye on the corner of the room.
You frown. “Yoongi.”
“Hm?”
“
Is that—?”
You both sit up, squinting at the CCTV camera that’s starting you down like an evil eye.
Your stomach drops. “No. No fucking way.”
Yoongi squints. “That better be off. That better be—”
Your phone vibrates. Then Yoongi’s.
Both of you freeze. You already know what it is. Actually, you already know who it is.
And there goes the single message in the “Roomies” group chat to confirm your suspicions.
Wonwoo: Thanks for the nudes 😉
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The End (Or is it?)
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A/N: And another K series done and dusted. I am gonna miss these 3 honestly. They’ve been such a joy to work on. I loved being in their world and writing this unhinged and chaotic plot line that all started because I wanted to write a silly little rap battle.
Thank you so much for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo
Serve safe and serve well, Wonwoo my baby chocolat! <3
Let me know in the notes what you thought! A reblog would be an amazing gift if you enjoyed reading :) Love you, guys!
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Permanent Taglist: (the rest to follow in a reblog)
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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)
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rika-mmendmethings · 3 months ago
Text
Against Blood & Water l Sylus
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Chapter 2
←CH 1 l CH 3→
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Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.
Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: mentions of blood and drugs, self-suturing, minor character deaths, stalking, some comfort in this one.
Word count: 1.8k
Playlist coming soon.
Notes: New chapter every Thursday! This story is for the Sylus girlies' who consider Luke and Kieran their babies. A little information on the timeline: in this story, the reader is 35 with Luke and Kieran being 17. Sylus never felt like 28 to me so he's a hot ass 39 year old man (bear with me). The timeline is a bit confusing I know but soon it'd be cleared too. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me and I'd try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added in the tag list for this series. ♄
Tag list: @babyx91 @pillarofsnow @beyond-the-stars-fairy @yuki-sama6 @sylviewrites @idiashusband @sadmonke @monophobix @lunarvolley @stxrrielle @fries11 @gremlinartstudio @lillycore @novthirty @animegamerfox @cathedralofaudra @nm4565natty @69-gojos-wife-69 @eolivy @namjoons-toenails @silverianni @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @justpassingdontworry @ruyaya
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The warehouse loomed like a tomb swallowed by the night, its skeletal frame etched against the bruised sky, whispering secrets of violence and forgotten deals. Flickering neon lights spilled weak, jaundiced glows onto the cracked concrete floor, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like specters of the past. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, oil, and the faint, acrid bite of burned rubber. 
You ran for your life through the chaos like a monkey with its tail on fire. Bad idea. Your mind had screamed at you an hour ago as you snuck into the warehouse to investigate further the drug traces that led to it. But you rarely listened to your brain, and that habit had brought you to this exact moment — hidden behind a few metal racks, your hand gripping your gun beneath the armor of your tailored black blazer.
You’d made the rookie mistake of visiting the warehouse without double-checking if it was truly empty. Some men from the drug-dealing gang were dozing off on makeshift beds after consuming too much liquor. Being light on your feet, you’d made sure not to make any noise just in case, and you were almost done collecting evidence when things went south. You’d pulled out your Polaroid camera for instant pictures of the drug packets, but after a few mechanical shutter sounds, you heard other noises in the background.
You ducked behind metal containers, your heart halting when you peeked and saw burly men searching around. Thus began your little cat-and-mouse game.
Back in the present moment, you analyzed the situation after calming yourself down. Four men on the ground floor of the warehouse, rifles in hand, with you on the first floor. You had a gun, of course — you weren’t that stupid — but taking all of them down would be a hassle, especially with a limited number of bullets. Soon enough, they’d come up to search.
You quickly formed a plan: distract them by aiming at your far left, behind the metal containers, then jump off the first floor and hurry out through the small cavity in the wall you’d come in from. You smacked your forehead with your hand when your mind began to play the Subway Surfers theme song as if it were the musical backdrop of a film starring you.
You were all set to put your plan into motion when you heard their raised voices. But their angry spouts weren’t directed at you — they were directed at someone else who had entered the warehouse. A complete silence fell over the space, and as you strained your hearing, you could make out a new, huskier voice.
Soon after, loud, painful screams echoed before abruptly stopping. You heard footsteps retreating, presumably out of the warehouse.
You blinked once, processing the turn of events. The men who were targeting you were probably lying dead on the ground floor right now — victims of another man who wanted them dead. Strange. You thought, glancing at the Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. At least the evidence was safe, and you were alive. You’d think about who your guardian angel was later. For now, you need to head back to your temporary apartment in the slightly safer regions of the N109 Zone.
You rolled back your tensed shoulders and moved out of your hiding spot, making your way downstairs via a mostly hidden and rusty staircase. Your gun was still tightly clutched in your right hand, just in case. You were about to weasel out of the wall cavity when two pairs of footsteps had you freezing.
You immediately whipped around, aiming your gun at the origin of the sound, and shot without thinking twice.
The tall person you’d shot groaned, knees buckling as he fell to the ground. Beside him, another man in the same uniform, groaning just a second later, clutched his arm before also crumbling to the ground. You gasped, realizing they hadn’t even been on your trail — they were walking over to the dead, burly men.
You felt bad, okay? You knew anything could happen if you moved closer to the unknown individuals, but you didn’t wish to leave them in that condition — especially since they hadn’t even targeted you. They were probably henchmen of your supposed guardian angel if their matching black costumes and crow-themed masks — with horns and beaks concealing their faces — meant anything.
After an internal battle between your logic and your conscience, you finally decided to approach them. You were still on guard but had put your gun away in its holster under your blazer. You nudged the men, but they didn’t even budge, so you assumed they’d passed out from the pain. You pondered why the second man had passed out if he hadn’t even been anywhere near the bullet.
Rushing to your motorcycle, you grabbed your medical kit and hurried back to them.
Luckily, the bullet hadn’t entered anyone’s body — it had only grazed the first man’s arm. It left an angry, gaping gash, though, which was currently bleeding. You rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder and began stitching it. You needed to get this done before they woke and swore mortal enmity against you. You tried to hurry, not really wanting to know if the stitches were messy, but some unknown feeling had you slowing down and being a lot more gentle than you could possibly afford right now.
After some time, you were done tending to the first man’s wounds and had even checked the second man for any injuries for inexplicable reasons. You quickly stood up, double-checking if you had everything you owned on you before rushing out of the warehouse to where your bike was hidden. You put your belongings in the saddlebag before zipping it shut. As you were about to grab your helmet, a small tap on your shoulder caused you to freeze mid-air.
You glanced at the two sets of shadows stretching on the ground just behind yours. It seemed you’d wasted too much time, and now you were about to be barbecued by the probably angry young henchmen. With no backup plan in mind, you turned around with your hands raised in surrender and eyes clenched shut.
“Thanks, missus.”
You’d expected a gun’s muzzle to your head or a hand around your neck, strangling you. And out of all the other wild things you’d expected, thanks was the last of them. You thought you were dreaming until another calm voice brought you back.
“You shot us unknowingly out of human instinct. But you still tended to us, so we decided to drop by and let you know we appreciated that.”
You were hyperventilating, you were sure of it. Until the first man spoke with a lilt:
“Your aim is super cool, though, missus. We were actually awake but wanted to see who had shot us, so we played dead, and it worked.”
You slowly lowered your hands as you heard them burst into hearty laughter. You opened your eyes, rigid as you took sight of their faces beneath the masks. The injured one wiped the sweat off his forehead with a napkin, and the other rubbed his chin — all the while laughing.
It wasn’t their near-identical faces that threw you off — no — it was the color of their eyes. Their irises were the same hues as yours: electric grey, intense as storm-churned clouds.
A gripping realization churned your heart as you silently noted the inky, curly locks — like those of the father of your late twins — and the resemblance to you in their facial features and height. Your lips wobbled, and the smarter side of you willed you not to jump to conclusions. But how could you ignore the unfamiliar warmth and contentment in your chest as you watched them laugh and interact?
Still, the lawyer in you knew better than to claim anything without evidence backing it up, so you remained quiet. They looked quite young, probably in their late teens, and that assumption caused your mind to race.
You pulled yourself together as both of them started speaking simultaneously:
“Anyways—”
The twins narrowed their eyes at each other, and you suppressed a smile.
The uninjured one continued, “We have to deal with the dead scums inside and be back before dusk, so sayonara, missus.”
Both of them saluted you as if you were some sort of general before turning on their heels.
Before they were out of earshot, you called out, “Wait.”
The twins turned around, looking at you quizzically. You shuffled on your feet, asking reluctantly, “What are your names?”
The twins nodded. The injured one pointed at himself and introduced, “The one who you shot is me. I’m Luke, the elder twin,” he pointed to his brother and trailed on, “And this is Kierran, the younger twin. Now, we really ought to dash before boss-man has us in a tight spot. Bye, missus.”
The twins waved you goodbye in sync before hurrying back into the warehouse.
You felt as if lightning had struck you. All doubts, all what-ifs — cleared. You’d crocheted a pair of blankets when you’d found out you were having twin boys seventeen years ago. Your mother had suggested adding the names you’d chosen for them on it too, aside from the cartoons.
Luke and Kierran.
You’d smiled in pure bliss that day as you told your father the names you’d chosen for your kids from the crocheted blankets. A smile of the same kind, albeit even happier, now bloomed on your face as you realized that fate had found a way to reunite you with your children once again.
And you weren’t letting them out of your sight ever again. 
A joyful smile curled across your face as you slipped into the dim confines of the apartment — your so-called temporary hideout. The door clicked shut behind you with finality.
You dropped onto the couch, sinking into the worn-out plush. Their faces played over in your mind, every gesture, every word. You were already thinking of the next move, the next encounter. You’d make it happen. You always did.
But then
 a pause.
Your brow furrowed, the grin faltering just slightly as a thought cut through the haze like a blade.
“They mentioned some boss-man
” you muttered, voice low, nearly lost to the silence. Your gaze flicked to the window, unfocused. “Who exactly are my children working for?”
The room gave no answer.
But if you'd been paying closer attention — if you'd listened to the silence — you might have caught the almost imperceptible flutter of feathers, or the faintest click of talons on steel. A pair of glowing, crimson eyes blinked once from the darkness, then vanished. The answer to your question, however, did not linger.
The spy departed, slicing through the night sky until it reached the edge of a sprawling mansion. It landed softly on the calloused fingers of the very man you were trying to uncover. The bird gave a mechanical caw as a red hologram burst into life, casting a ghostly light across the man’s face.
There you were, speaking, pacing, questioning. Vulnerable. Unaware.
“Interesting,” the man said, voice like fine velvet. His eyes burned with something unreadable — part curiosity, part calculation.
He leaned forward, watching the screen closely.
“Very
 interesting.”
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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago
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Chasing Cars | ch 13 (jjk)
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☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?
☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)
☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff
☆warnings: college anxiety, angst, Gabrielle, Lisa, alcohol, cursing, mentions of cheating, a frat party, explicit content: implied sex
☆word count: 8.9k
☆a/n: more angst oop- I hope you guys like it :') thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3
☆series masterpost
☆add yourself to the taglist here!
☆☆☆☆☆
If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
☆☆☆☆☆
Friday, August 30
Summer came and went. Like everything in life, it became just a moment in time, a short movie consisting of flashing scenes of friendship and fun and sun, of pools and tanning and hikes. Summer was perfect, summer was healing, yet summer couldn’t heal everything.
Summer hasn’t healed a doe-eyed boy from your heart, but you think it’s okay. You think, perhaps your love for Jungkook is just everlasting, another one of those memories you know you’ll cherish for the rest of your life.
You reckon, if you were to have kids one day and they’d asked you who your first love was, you wouldn’t be able to answer their father.
It will always be Jungkook, no matter the bitterness and the pain of the ending.
It’s his necklace you wear on your heart every day after all.
You’ve worked all summer, amassing money to cover your expenses for the year. You’ve gone back home with Taehyung for a week your mother had off, and you spent it camping like you did when you were kids, gaze getting lost in starlight and sun rays on the water, reflections of light that left afterimages on your retina.
Much like Jungkook is an afterimage on your heart. Never fully erased, yet the pain isn’t as sharp anymore. Like the time soothed its edges, reminding you of the good part, allowing you to let go of the bad.
The first news you had of Jungkook this summer was stories posted on a Saturday evening, of him and Lisa and friends in New York City. Turns out Lisa landed an internship at an architect firm in New York through her father’s connections, and turns out it was all she needed to be welcomed into Jeon Jungkook’s world over there.
You’d been jealous back then, bitterly so. Yoongi, bless his heart, had forced you to hang out at his place, claiming the empty room needed to be repainted before Namjoon moved in for the semester. It’d been a good distraction, and by the end of the weekend, you’d realized that Jungkook was allowed to have friends, to move on from your idyllic moment in his life.
It hurt, but it was a sign of healing.
You got closer to Yoongi over the summer. Learned all about his past, about his high school and how his parents were supportive when he came out, yet reluctant when he brought his first boy home. He’d told you how he met Hoseok in his last year of high school despite not attending the same school, and how their friendship had immediately blossomed.
Only to wither in April, when Hoseok had chosen to leave. None of you or your friends have had any news of him since then, like he wiped his existence from all of your lives like it was nothing. It’s been hard for Yoongi, harshly so, so you’ve made sure to always be available for him, too.
Namjoon and Nabi’s relationship didn’t suffer such a fate. They’ve only been growing stronger over the summer, proof that despite Namjoon getting out of his relationship with his ex and jumping in the one with Nabi right away, they were meant for each other. In truth, you’ve never seen anyone love each other like Namjoon and Nabi do, and maybe that most of all has healed your bleeding heart.
There has to be someone out there who’ll love you like you’re the one who paints his every sunset. 
Seokjin wasn’t on the receiving end of such a relationship. He’d confessed to Ria halfway through the summer, telling her that he couldn’t do the see-saw anymore, that he needed everything or nothing, and in good Ria fashion, your friend ran. She ran and ran, until Seokjin told her he was ashamed of having believed she deserved to be loved.
The blow has been hard on Ria, and she hasn’t been with anyone since then. Hasn’t mentioned Seokjin once either, but you know that, whenever you go out, he’s the one she’s looking for. 
The strangest part of this summer happened on a random Tuesday evening when you’d just come home from work. Taehyung and Ariane, ever so the lovebirds, had been hanging out in the living room when you’d crossed the threshold. Taehyung’s gaze had shot to you, and he’d uttered words you think have been carved into your brain.
“Did you know Jungkook is the heir of JJS pharmaceuticals?” 
You did. You knew about his father’s company - he’d told you once when you’d been lying with your head on his chest, one of the rare times he’d talked about his family after your weekend escapade to New York.
But you knew Jungkook’s existence had been mostly a secret, his father refusing to announce his existence to the world because Jungkook had refused to study at an Ivy League College.
At the confusion on your face - or rather, the masked pain you’d been hiding for weeks and months - Taehyung had added, “There was a conference press, and he’s all over social media.”
He was. You found out quickly enough, articles and articles about him showing up on your Instagram as well. You’d seen pictures from the press conference: though his father had been smiling wide, Jungkook had only been staring at the camera, like he’d wished he could disappear.
You don’t know what led him to accept a position at his father’s company before he’d even graduated, but you knew then and know now that it had to not have been his choice.
So indeed, summer came and went until it became just a memory, and the new semester now looms over the horizon, a reminder that though your skin might have been sunkissed these last few months, it’s now time to return to reality.
You’re sitting in the kitchen, indulging in Buldak noodles as you read a book about Faes and High Lords and a Night Court. You’ve started reading again over the summer, another way to escape that helped fill your breaks at work when you didn’t go out for lunch with your coworkers. It was nice to reconnect with your previous love for reading - indeed, you’d spent years in middle school and high school getting lost in fantasy and dystopian worlds, and recovering this part of you might have been another way to heal.
It’s reminded you that every story is worth telling, even those that don’t end well.
So you sit at the kitchen table, halfway done with your noodles, when the front door opens and closes. 
“Hello!” you greet out of reflex.
Taehyung and Ariane were out shopping for groceries, and though they haven’t left a long time ago, you assume it’s them coming home.
“Do you need any help?” you ask as no one replies, which is strange.
They’re always talking about everything and nothing, joking around like they’re the only people in the world. It’s something you do find cute, but that always grates your nerves in all the wrong ways.
Where Nabi and Namjoon have been making you feel hopeful when it comes to love, Taehyung and Ria have made you jaded too.
The silence prolongs, and you don’t even hear them taking off their shoes. You furrow your brows, wondering if they’re trying to prank you. So you put your book down even though you are in the middle of a good scene, and you push up from the table, heading towards the kitchen’s doorway.
You reckon, maybe you should have expected it. You’d known he was coming back at some point - he still has a year left of college. But you didn’t think he’d show up on an early Friday evening, clutching his duffel bag and standing by the door like he’s a guest in his own home.
He’s changed. The first thing you notice is that he’s changed: he doesn’t have the eyebrow piercing anymore, his hair is shorter - almost entirely shaved at the sides - and though he still has the lip piercings, he looks different than what you remember.
As if a few months was enough to blur your memories of Jeon Jungkook, and the wound you’d thought to be healed over the last few months reopens, pouring liquid lava on your entire body until you think you’re burning, and not in a good way.
He’s dressed in all black, like some things don’t change after all. He looks more built than he was last semester, like he’s gone to the gym a lot more over the summer. His tattoos have also changed - they’ve been coloured, some of them, as if he tried to put colours back into his life.
You hope it worked. But when you hold his gaze, the heaviness making you want to disappear through the floor, you think maybe it didn’t work at all.
“Y/n,” he greets.
His voice has changed too. Or maybe it’s just the emotions, maybe it’s just the fact that the last thing he ever told you were those words in the letter you keep hidden in your night table, words you’ve romanticized every night trying to fall asleep.
Not that you would tell anyone.
“Jungkook,” you reply in the same tone.
He nods once, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he takes off his shoes. You watch him, dumbly standing in the doorway, and he shoots you a look once his shoes - black boots that look far too warm for the summer - are off.
“How are you?”
His three words throw you off. They make you feel like last semester might have been a construct of your imagination, but then again you hold that letter too dearly, and the memories of him have been your favourites for months now.
“I’m okay,” you reply, nodding once. “How are you?”
He pulls on his piercings, the gesture familiar yet so different than how you’ve been imagining it every night. “I’m chill.”
He starts to walk towards his room, but he stops halfway there, glancing over your head into the kitchen. 
“Want something to eat?” you ask, and you wonder if he hears your heart as it picks up in your chest.
You see the moment he spies the Buldak noodles on the table. He smiles softly, with his eyes first, and you think maybe this is it.
Maybe he came back home.
Came back home to you.
But then his features fall, the smile vanishing and darkness invading his gaze. He shakes his head no, nodding towards his room. “Thanks, but I gotta unpack.”
You watch him walk the rest of the way towards his bedroom. He turns the knob, pushes the door open, yet he freezes there. His shoulders tense, and even though you don’t see his features, you know he wants to say something else.
You hope he will, hope he’ll say something that might mend the bridge between the two of you. That might erase this abyss between you and him until the ending disappears.
You know it’s because you haven’t seen him in a long time. Know that, when it all comes down to it, you wouldn’t go back to him - he broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to return to him. But you like to imagine that you would as he stands there, that you’d run to him if he turned and said the right words.
But he doesn’t. He sighs, and then he walks into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. And as he disappears from view, you feel yourself stumble, like you’ve taken a hit right to the chest. You lay a hand over your beating heart, almost expecting to feel blood trickling through your fingers.
As if he’s just broken your heart all over again, torn it from your ribcage. Yet it breaks - you didn’t think he still had that power over you.
Hell, you thought you’d been moving on.
You walk back into the kitchen, the room spinning around you. You drop in the chair you were sitting in before, eyeing your book. And though you want to get lost in the fantasy world again, you’re bleeding out on your chair, pain burning along every single one of your nerves.
How are you supposed to share a roof with the one that broke your heart?
The answer is easy. You can’t.
You need to get out of here, and quickly.
Monday, September 2nd 
Your first day back to college is long. You’ve got two classes - a morning and an afternoon class, both of them three hours long. 
When the second one ends - luckily half an hour early ‘because it’s the first day’ as the professor said - you make your way out of class with Nabi. She’s typing away on her phone, likely asking Namjoon when he’ll be home, yet she follows you as you head to the dorms.
You’ve been crashing at the girls’ dorm over the weekend, as you try to figure out what you should do. You haven’t figured anything yet - Taehyung’s been telling you that you shouldn’t move out, asking if it’s because of Ariane moving in, and though you’ve been good at avoiding mentioning Jungkook, there’s just so much you can do before you burst and admit that it’s because of him.
But it’s okay - Nabi’s been staying with Yoongi and Namjoon, so you have her bed all to yourself, and Ria and you have been treating it like a massive sleepover, doing face masks every night and getting mildly drunk on Saturday.
Nabi sighs as you walk towards the dorms, and you throw her a look. 
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel like this semester is about to be the worst,” she admits, slightly shaking her head. “Namjoon basically confirmed it.”
You hook your arm with hers, resting your head on her shoulder. “Baby, it’s fine. We’re in this together.”
“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the top of our class.”
“And you’re the second,” you remind her. “We’ll be okay, I promise.”
She nods, heaving out a heavy breath again. “Is it bad that I’m already anxious?”
You don’t reply right away, as you pass through a group of engineer students gathered in front of a class, most likely getting ready for an evening class. An evening class on the first Monday
 
You feel bad for them.
“It’s not bad,” you reply once you’ve finally walked past. “It means that you care about your grades. You just need to not let it eat you alive.”
“I think I’m just realizing that getting into med school might be harder than we thought,” she says with a sigh.
You stop, tugging on her arm so that she stops too. “No, I’m not having any of that,” you tell her. “We’ll both get in, Nabi, I promise.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, folding her arms on her chest.
“Yup.” You nod forcefully. “Dead serious. And after that, it’s smooth sailing until residency. And then we get a residency together, and we become sexy doctors.”
“Bruh,” she lets out, and she chuckles.
You’re happy your distraction works because you truthfully didn’t know where you were headed with it. “I promise!” you insist. “Give us a couple of years, and we’ll have our own practice.”
“You want to be a surgeon, and I want to be an ophthalmologist,” she reminds you. “Not quite sure we’d practice at the same place.”
You shrug, and you start walking towards the dorms again. “To be fair, we’ll probably both end up at a hospital. We just need to find a way to work at the same one.”
She purses her lips. “That sounds doable.”
You smirk mischievously. “Damn right.”
*****
Nabi ends up staying with you and Ria at the dorm for a couple of hours after class, and you order takeout that you eat sitting in a circle on the floor like you usually do when you do pre-drinks before a party. It’s fun, more chill than a pre-party gathering, and Ria tells you all about how she ran into Seokjin on campus today.
“He didn’t even look at me,” she admits. “What a dick.”
You exchange a knowing look with Nabi. “Maybe he didn’t see you,” you try.
“He ignores me when we all hang out together too,” she points out. “He’s doing it on purpose.”
Nabi scrunches up her nose. “Yeah
 you did lead him on for months.”
“Not my fault if he fell in love,” Ria grumbles, her gaze dropping to the rice bowl she’s eating.
“It might not be your fault, but you still led him on,” Nabi pushes.
Ria huffs a breath, scoffing, but she doesn't say anything. She never really does when it comes to Seokjin anyway.
“Why are you so against the idea of being with him again?” you ask.
The scalding look you earn would put a dragon to shame. “Because I don’t want to be in a relationship,” she says, sounding like you a year ago when your friends had been pestering you about Hoseok.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
“We all know he’d treat you like a goddess though,” Nabi says. “The guy’s a hopeless romantic.”
Ria rolls her eyes. “Cringe.”
You playfully push her, and she bursts out laughing. You don’t miss the way her cheeks have dusted with pink though - and neither does Nabi - but you don’t mention it.
You have a feeling Ria is lying to herself more than she’s lying to the both of you, but you’d never dare tell her. She’ll figure it out on her own or not, and that’s what being in college is.
You try stuff; some of it works, and some doesn’t. 
Jungkook invades your thoughts, your chest aching all over again. You reach for the peach at the end of the chain, playing with the pendant mindlessly as if that can tame the ache, push it back to the back rooms of your mind.
It barely works, yet you manage to be able to let go of him after a few deep breaths, and a prolonged silence of Nabi staring at Ria while the latter is solely focused on eating. Your unease went unnoticed, which you reckon is a relief.
Confiding in them about Jungkook has helped over the summer, obviously, but there are some things you want to keep to yourself. Because Jungkook deserves the centrepiece in all of the secrets you’ve ever held - he was the grandest of them all last semester after all.
Still is, considering you’ve been lying to Taehyung about him all summer. Not that you really had to lie. You just avoided mentioning Jungkook, staying vague about your semester while Taehyung told you everything about Paris. 
And so you end up saying goodbye to Nabi when she decides to go over to Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment - Namjoon was quick to take Hoseok’s old room, seeking to leave the dorms once and for all - and you and Ria watch Demon Slayer, her favourite anime.
Coincidentally one of Jungkook’s favourite animes too, not that it matters.
You sigh - reminders of him are everywhere lately, and though you have been moving on over the summer, the ache has been revived. You wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he at home, watching anime or playing video games? Is he hanging out with Taehyung, with Jimin and their other friends? Or is he locked up in his room like he was all of Friday, before you fled the apartment?
It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Because Jungkook will always matter: he meant too much to you. Still does, and you don’t know what to make of it.
Ria sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts as the episode finishes. You glance at her - you’re lying side by side on her bed, a laptop in between you to watch the show.
“What’s wrong?” you ask her.
She purses her lips, shrugging, though it proves to be awkward considering the position. “I don’t know. It’s just
 Is something wrong with me?”
A concerned crease appears between your eyebrows. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know
” She pauses, gaze still focused on the laptop screen as if she can’t bring herself to meet your own. “Why am I so opposed to relationships? To love in general?”
Oh. 
“Oh Ria
” you let out.
“Don’t,” she warns. “I don’t want to be pitied.”
You press your lips in a tight line, nodding once. She chuckles, and then she starts the next episode, like she needs a moment to collect her thoughts.
“It’s just
” she says as Tanjiro fights a demon, the fight continued from the last episode. “I’m aware that Seokjin would be good for me. I enjoyed spending time with him too. But the second he mentioned feelings
”
“It turned you off,” you complete for her.
She nods. “It really did.”
“Why do you think it did?” you ask, even though you know it has to be because of her ex.
She sighs deeply. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know. I had a loving family growing up, so I can’t blame it on that. I had friends too, good friends, but then when my ex cheated
”
“It broke the part of you that could trust easily,” you say. “And it’s understandable, and totally valid.”
“I guess so
” she trails off. “I just feel like letting someone in is too much of a vulnerability.”
“That makes sense,” you say. “You like being in control, and you feel like being in a relationship would make you lose control.”
She glances at you, eyes slightly narrowed. “Sometimes I swear to God you sound like a therapist.”
You laugh - it’s not the first time you’ve been told that. Yoongi said so last semester too, when you’d helped him get over Hoseok.
“Don’t ask me for advice though,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “I don’t think I’d have any good advice.”
“Not to be mean, but after what you put yourself through last semester, I don’t think your advice would be really helpful,” she teases.
You widen your gaze. “That was mean.”
She pouts, offering you puppy eyes. You push her on the shoulder, and she rolls on her back, laughing. “No, but seriously,” she says. “I don’t blame you. You fell in love, and that’s not your fault, is it?”
You remain silent, not wanting the conversation to turn to Jungkook. 
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes after a few seconds of silence. “You’re right, that was mean.”
“You’re not wrong, though,” you reassure her. “I saw all the red flags and chose to ignore them.”
Ria turns on her side again, facing you. “That’s love for you. Everyone ignores all the red flags the moment they start having feelings for someone else.”
Like Seokjin, but you don’t say it. You highly doubt she needs to hear it.
“Cheers to that,” you say, though you are void of any beverage at the moment.
You’ve left your water bottle on the floor, too far to reach from where you’re lying in bed.
“You know what we should do?” Ria says a while later, when the episode is coming to an end. “We should go to the party on Friday. The one Dave’s frat is hosting.”
The name Dave rings an extremely distant bell - you think you went to a party hosted by his frat last semester, but you’re not quite sure.
“I thought we were already planning to go.”
Ria looks at you, mischief slowly filling her gaze. “We should go and find some cute guys to forget about all of our problems with.”
You laugh. “Men aren’t the solution to everything, you know that, right?” you tease.
“Oof. They’re the root of the problem most of the time, I know.” She pauses, purses her lips. “But we’re due to have fun. You know Nabi and Namjoon will come for an hour or two and disappear anyway.”
“What about Yoongi?”
“We’ll find him someone too! He deserves it.” She nods, clearly convinced that her plan is the best she’s ever come up with.
And Yoongi does, you think that out of the three of you, he’s the one that deserves a healthy relationship the most. 
So you nod your head, saying, “It’s going to be lit.”
You can only hope that it is and that you don’t end up crying because of a certain doe-eyed man you should have let go of months ago.
Friday, September 6th  
[11:17 am] brïżœïżœtherđŸ‘œ: just letting you know that Gaby is in town so Ari will be staying with her [11:17 am] brötherđŸ‘œ: come home
The texts Taehyung sent to you in the morning sit unanswered on your phone. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say - he still firmly believes you’ve decided to move out because of Ariane, and you think it might have killed a possible friendship with her in the bud.
If only they knew why you truly left. It likely wouldn’t be any better - Jungkook would be dead in a ditch somewhere, and you’d be grounded by your older brother like you were when you were in high school.
You know Taehyung is likely only going to grow suspicious if you ignore him, but you really just don’t know what to say. He’s likely going to be at the party tonight - you’ll make an effort to speak to him, to reassure him, and then you’ll disappear with your friends.
That is, if Jeon Jungkook isn’t with him. Because if Jungkook’s there, you’ll avoid Taehyung like the plague, no matter if that might make him even more suspicious.
“I literally cannot physically wait,” Ria says next to you, and you shoot her a quick look as she puts mascara on.
She’s going all out tonight, and you wonder if it’s because Yoongi mentioned Kim Seokjin will be in attendance. Obviously, you don’t want to attract her ire, so you don’t say it, but you reckon Seokjin has been a ghost in every conversation since last Monday.
Much like Jungkook has been, but you’ve been good at pretending he hasn’t.
“I really hope they’ve stocked up on free alcohol,” you say, knowing you’ll need it, mostly because if Taehyung is in attendance, then Ariane will likely be, and so will Gabrielle. 
Your heart sinks in your chest at the thought - you haven’t told Ria, not wanting to ruin her enthusiasm. 
“Do you want to curl your hair?” Ria says as she finishes with the mascara. 
You shrug. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it natural,” you answer. “But you should curl yours.”
She narrows her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror. “You know what, yeah, I should.”
You chuckle, and then you both busy yourself getting ready. You apply more makeup than you usually do, only because you know it’ll be a mask you’ll use all evening.
Does Gabrielle even know about your existence?
You finish getting ready, stealing from Ria’s closet to get dressed. You settle on a pair of black leather pants, along with a black crop top t-shirt that hugs tight to your frame, revealing just an inch of the bird tattoo you got done on your right ribs in May.
You stare at the ink, thinking about Taehyung’s reaction. He’ll likely be pissed at you, but you’re done caring. If he wants to be mad, then so be it.
“Your ass looks amazing in this,” Ria compliments from behind you, and you snort as you turn to look at her.
She’s wearing a sage green corset that leaves little to the imagination. You compliment her in return, and she winks at you, before suggesting to down a couple of shots before leaving. You immediately agree, and you’ve got a light buzz by the time you leave the dorms, heading to the frat house.
It’s already crowded by the time you get there, the loud music having attracted all the party-goers on campus. The front lawn is cramped, and Ria grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd to head to the house proper.
You make it to the hall, and luckily enough, there aren't as many people here. You’re able to navigate to the living room, where Dave - he really is the guy from last semester - finds you, offering drinks to the two of you.
You grab a beer, not trusting the questionable punch that Dave claims was prepared earlier today. Ria follows your lead, and you clink bottles with Dave, who admits he has no clue what’s in the punch when you’ve all taken your first sips.
“Bruh, why were you trying to sell it to us then?” Ria asks, eyebrows raised.
Dave laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Colton said it was good.” 
Colton
 you wonder if it’s the same Colton that had warned you about Jungkook once.
“And we’re supposed to trust Colton?” Ria teases.
Dave winces. “Not really, no, he’s already drunk.”
Ria nods as you take a sip of your beer, the bitter liquid heady on your tongue. You turn your head to the side, noticing a very distraught Yoongi walking into the living room, followed close by an even more distraught Seokjin. You wave them over, and Ria and Dave both turn their heads towards the new arrivals.
You notice Ria tensing from the corner of your eye, and Seokjin looks just as uncomfortable as he stops next to you. You hug Yoongi hello, and he doesn’t let you go right away, whispering in your ear, “This place is a shitshow, I don’t think we’ll stay.”
You pout as you pull away. “We said beer pong,” you remind him.
He rolls his eyes, though you know he’s always liked playing beer pong. So you manage to convince him to go for at least one game, though you know you’ll have to wait in line for a while before it’s your actual time to play. It makes for an awkward waiting - Ria and Seokjin are both ignoring each other, and Yoongi and you are standing in the middle, trying to engage in conversation.
You’re finally on the side of the table when you recognize your brother’s laugh, a sound you were sort of hoping not to hear in this crowd. You look to your left - he’s by the garden doors that lead to the backyard, Ariane cuddled up against him, and you think the girl standing with her back to you has to be Gabrielle.
“Shit,” you let out.
Yoongi furrows his brow at the sudden curse. “What’s wrong?” You motion towards the door, and his eyes widen. “Is that who I think it is?”
He knows about Gabrielle. He’s stalked her with you, during one of your many downward spirals, and Gabrielle has that kind of aura that is all too recognizable, even if you’ve only seen her once in a picture.
“I think so,” you reply, and Ria finally leans in to join the conversation.
“Is that Gaby?” she asks, loud enough for the people around you to hear.
You tap her arm, giving her a warning glance, though you’re pretty sure no one’s actually listening. Even Seokjin didn’t glance towards you at the outburst.
But Taehyung notices you, and you quickly turn away, pretending to be focused on the game unfolding on the table in front of you. There’s one cup on the left, three on the other side, and the girls playing are clearly more talented than you: they both shoot it in the lone glass when their turn comes, hugging as they shriek in happiness from their victory.
“Let’s go,” Ria says, and she pulls you to one end of the table as soon as the girls have moved. 
Yoongi and Seokjin take the other side, even though Seokjin truly does appear like he wishes he wasn’t here, and you put the cups back into their spot, reorganizing the table.
Your brother appears next to you before you start, and you offer him a tight-lipped smile.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. 
“Me?” you let out, your voice uncharacteristically high. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says through gritted teeth, the typical Kim temper flaring up.
You grab the neon orange ball Ria hands you, shrugging your shoulders. “I haven’t. Just been busy.”
He clenches his jaw, yet remains silent as you focus on the table, preparing for the first shot, the one that determines who between you and Ria or Yoongi and Seokjin will play first.
You’re against Yoongi, so you know you’ve already lost when you shoot. To your surprise, Yoongi misses, his ball bouncing off on the side of a cup. Yours flies way off the table, and you wince.
“That was trash,” Taehyung comments.
“Thanks,” you fire back.
Ria and Seokjin throw, and Ria surprisingly manages to get the shot. You clap your hands as she offers you a thumbs-up.
“Seriously though,” Taehyung asks, handing you the ball that Seokjin threw. “What’s wrong? Why did you move out?”
“Hold on,” you say. 
You take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety of his questioning away, and you throw. The ball stays on the table this time, bouncing right next to one of the cups.
“Honestly it’s just so that I can spend time with Ria,” you answer, motioning to your friend. “She’s going through shit.”
Ria tenses next to you, offering you a quick glare before she focuses on shooting, unfortunately missing the cups.
“Oh,” Taehyung lets out. “I thought it was because of Ari.”
Speaking of Ari, you don’t see her anywhere near. You wonder where she went off to - are you lucky enough that she and Gabrielle left the party?
“Not at all,” you reply, and then you focus on the game as Seokjin and Yoongi prepare to throw. They both make it into a cup, and you clink your almost empty beer with Ria’s, taking a long sip before you move the cups to the side. “Ari’s super sweet.”
“She’ll be relieved when I tell her so,” Taehyung admits. “She was saying she could leave if it was an issue with you that she moves in with us.”
“It really isn’t,” you reassure Taehyung, feeling momentarily guilty for making Ariane feel like that. “I’ll probably come back eventually too.”
Taehyung’s eyes light up. “That’d be sick. We need to start doing Taco Tuesdays again.”
Taco Tuesdays. You’d forgotten all about them last semester - you’d spent every Tuesday last fall eating tacos with Taehyung, Jungkook joining once in a while. It was a tradition you’d had growing up with your mother too - when she wasn’t too busy working.
“I’m down,” you reply, and you get ready to throw.
To your surprise, you make the shot, landing it in the first cup at the front. Ria throws hers, and it bounces on the rim of one of the glasses before Seokjin catches it expertly. 
“Is Jungkook coming tonight?” you ask.
Everything stills inside of you. You don’t even know why you asked - you didn’t even think about it before the question fell. But then again, you think it makes sense that Jungkook would invade your thoughts now. 
When does he not?
Ria throws you a curious look at the question, though you don’t miss the disapproval in the furrow of her brows. 
“JK?” Taehyung says, as if he wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so. He says he wants to focus on college this semester.”
You nod curtly, getting ready to defend your cups as Seokjin and Yoongi throw. To your luck, they both miss, and you let Ria shoot first as you focus on Taehyung again.
“Makes sense now that he has to work for his father’s company, no?” you say, trying to sound as if you don’t care.
As if Jungkook is not the center of your universe, still to this day.
“I guess so,” Taehyung comments, and you throw, entirely missing the table again.
Ria lands hers in a cup though, which leaves four cups in front of the boys and three in front of you and Ria.
“I still can’t believe the motherfucker is rich and he never told us,” Taehyung adds.
You get the feeling. You still think New York was a fever dream - even more so now that you’ve lost Jungkook. The thought makes your heart ache in your chest, and it trickles down your body, burning all along the way.
“It’s crazy,” you let out, and it sounds just as flat as you feel - like maybe your heart just flatlined in your chest.
Taehyung makes a non-committal sound, and you’re able to focus on the rest of the game without any interruption. You evidently end up losing to Seokjin and Yoongi, and you shake hands with the boys, congratulating them for their win, even though you’d all expected it. 
“I’ll go get something to drink,” Taehyung says when you finally glance his way again. “Stay away from the punch.”
And then he leaves, and you mimic him as he walks away, raising your middle finger to his back. Ria snorts next to you, and you laugh along with her.
“He’s making me want to have some of the punch,” she says, and you laugh harder.
“Hard pass,” Seokjin says, and Ria stiffens next to you. “I tasted it, and it tastes like piss.”
“Wouldn’t even be surprised if someone pissed in it,” Yoongi says. “This party is
”
“Juvenile?” you provide.
Ria laughs, though it sounds a little forced. “It’s fun, stop.”
She sounds just as unconvinced as you think she seems, yet you all don’t mention it, which you reckon happens a lot around her lately. 
“I think we’ll head out,” Yoongi says after a few seconds. “Want to have a beer back at my place?”
“And disturb the lovebirds?” Ria answers. “No thank you.”
Indeed, Namjoon and Nabi chose to stay in tonight, and you don’t have to use a lot of brain power to imagine what they might be doing right now, when they finally have full privacy in the apartment.
“Right,” Yoongi lets out. He winces, then shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we’re stuck here for a couple of hours, then.”
He says that in Seokjin’s direction, who runs a hand on his forehead before nodding. “Can we at least go outside?”
“Sure. You girls coming?” Yoongi asks, motioning to the backyard.
Ria doesn’t even wait for you to reply, instead tugging you towards the garden doors. You stop her, glancing over your shoulder. “I actually really have to pee, but I’ll join you guys outside?”
She narrows her gaze in suspicion, and you furrow your brows. She leans in, whispering, “Are you trying to leave me alone with Seokjin?”
You snort. “Not at all,” you reply, patting her hand on your arm. “I genuinely am just about to pee myself. You know how I am with beer.”
She fake-gags, and you playfully push her as she bursts out laughing. “Ayt, we’ll be outside.” 
You wave them goodbye, and Seokjin awkwardly waves back before following Yoongi and Ria. You chuckle at the sight before heading to the bathroom, which you think is probably on the second floor.
So you make it towards the staircase you see in the corner, squeezing through the crowd and apologizing all the way, though most people are too drunk to even notice you. You successfully make it to the staircase, and you walk around the group of girls sitting on the steps, making it to the second floor unscathed. 
“Bathroom?” a guy who clearly looks like he belongs to the frat asks you.
You almost startle at the unexpected question, though you recover quickly, nodding your head. 
“Last door on the left,” he tells you. “I think someone’s in there right now though.”
“Should I not wait then?” you ask.
He chuckles. “From what I saw when I exited it was just one girl alone so, you should be good.”
“Thanks,” you answer, offering him a small smile, and he nods once before heading down the stairs, though he quickly realizes that it might be too big of a feat. He indeed just plops down on the stairs, striking up a conversation with the girls there.
They look like they know him, so you walk away, heading to the last door on the left. You lean against the wall outside, pulling your phone out of your pocket. 
No notifications greet you, so you push it back into your pocket, right as the door unlocks, and then opens.
You freeze, just as much as she does. Both of your gazes widening, until she lets out a small, “Hello”, the word heavy with a French accent.
Of course, the girl in the bathroom had to be Gabrielle.
“Hi,” you reply, and you try to smile, though you’re not sure it works.
“You’re Taehyung’s sister, aren’t you?” she asks.
You nod curtly. “The one and only.”
She smiles. “Thought so.” There’s a pause as she doesn’t move from the doorway, and you just wait, awkwardness filling every inch of you. 
Her next sentence throws you off the axis you’ve been spinning on for months now, and you just stare at her in disbelief. 
“You’re not with Jungkook tonight?” she asks.
You feel hot and cold at the same time, your heart rate picking up uncomfortably in your chest. Your palms turn clammy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if sweat appeared on your temples.
“I’m sorry, what?”
She frowns. “I thought Ari said
” she trails off, and then she shrugs her shoulders. “Whatever.” She smiles gently. “I’m happy he’s got you now.”
You think your eyes are bulging out of your head. They have to - the conversation isn’t making any sense, and you aren’t drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol.
“What?”
Her frown reappears. “Aren’t you two dating now?”
You laugh. It’s a sad, pathetic laugh, and Gabrielle looks at you like you’re crazy.
“He cheated on me with you,” you say. “Why would I be dating him?”
The frown falls, replaced by utter surprise. Her mouth opens on a silent ‘Oh’, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say. It takes her a few seconds to collect herself, and then she says, “Non mais putain qu’il est con.”
You don’t speak French, so all you can do is cock an eyebrow quizzically. And then she lets out a small disbelieving laugh, shaking her head.
“I told him to tell you,” she says, and she closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. “But he’s really stupid sometimes.”
“I’m sorry?”
She offers you a small smile bordering on pity, and you brace yourself for what she’ll say next.
“Fille, I’m gay,” she says. “Jungkook was always only pretending to be my boyfriend so my family wouldn’t know. I didn’t know about you when I kissed him in Paris, and I only kissed him because Ari was growing suspicious.” 
You think you’re frozen in place. Like, stared into Medusa’s eyes and turned to stone frozen in place. All you can do is stare at Gabrielle, unblinkingly, as her words spin round and round in your head, caught in a dizzying tornado you can’t follow.
“I told him to tell you,” she repeats, and she sounds far too apologetic for the erratic beating of your heart. For the realization that she just hit you with.
You think she hit harder than a physical slap would have.
“What?” you say, voice small and weak and oh so broken.
Months. You’ve been breaking for him for months
 and for what? For a promise he refused to break, one that would have explained everything in a way that would have made you work.
You would have forgiven him, no hesitation. Hell, you reckon you would have told him you loved him, would have told him you wanted to be with him from now on until you turn to dust.
But he had to choose to respect a promise he made years ago, to an ex that wasn’t really an ex after all, was she?
Just a friend from high school.
She was, after all, just a friend from high school.
She nods. “Yeah. He told me all about you.” She smiles again, though this time it’s just sad, like she knows just how shattered you are over this man. “I was rooting for you two.”
“He didn’t tell me,” you whisper as if Gabrielle hadn’t already pieced that together. “Why?”
She sighs. “He’s stupid,” she says as an explanation. “He’s the kind that’ll sacrifice himself if it means helping someone else. I suppose you know that already.”
You nod, because you do.
He sacrificed himself for you last semester when you got home crying on Valentine’s Day. And he sacrificed countless parties over his promise to Taehyung to look after you.
And he sacrificed you to protect Gabrielle’s secret.
“Holy shit,” you let out.
“Talk to him,” she says softly. “Go talk to him now. I’m not letting him lose you over me.” She scoffs, the frown she’d sported earlier returning. “I should have realized before. That he didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Your gaze widens, and you shake your head no. “Oh, no, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
It’s not your fault if he broke my heart.
It’s always just been his fault, hasn’t it?
But then again
 you know now. You know that he never cheated on you, that he was right when he was saying that it wasn’t what you thought it was. 
You know that he was there, with you. That he felt for you what you felt for him, that he was chasing cars around your head, too.
And if there’s a chance you can salvage that, repair two hearts in one stone, you know you have to do it.
“I have to talk to him.” You say the words with quiet conviction, and Gabrielle nods, offering you an encouraging smile. “Fuck.”
“Go to him, fille,” Gabrielle says. “And tell him he’s an enfoirĂ© for me.”
You highly doubt you’d be able to repeat that word, yet you still say, “Will do.”
And then you take off, entirely forgetting that you had to pee. You have one goal in mind, and it’s to run home, where you know he has to be according to what Taehyung said. You don’t even stop to text him, to confirm that he really is.
No, you run down the stairs, through the crowd and outside. The front lawn isn’t as crowded as earlier, and you easily make it to the sidewalk, skidding to a halt just long enough to change direction. 
And then you’re running home. Running home to him, your heart beating wildly. For the right reason this time. And as you run, lungs struggling to get enough oxygen in, thighs burning with heat, you feel infinite. You feel like you’re a star in the sky above, or maybe the moon returning to her lover. You feel like a bird soaring high, like a dolphin riding the waves.
You feel young and old and small and big, all at once. Like nothing is ever going to stop you again. You feel in love, you are in love, and after all the months of suffering, you reckon it’s the most beautiful feeling you’ve ever experienced.
You didn’t know you could sprint like you are right now, yet even though your body is straining, you’re not slowing down. You’ve pulled your phone out of your pocket to make sure it doesn’t fall as you run, yet you don’t slow down.
You can’t slow down anymore, not when your gravity finally aligned with his again.
Like it was always meant to be. Because it’s always been meant to be you and him, hasn’t it?
You make it home in a record time, climbing up the stairs
 only to realize you don’t have your keys. They are back at the dorms, but it’s too late.
You try the door, and to your surprise, the doorknob turns, and you barge into your home, barge into this life with him.
You catch your breath as you stop in the hall, doubling over when you realize you’ve actually ran - sprinted - for nearly a mile. You’re lucky the frat house wasn’t further away - you highly doubt you would have made it home if it was any further.
“Y/n?” Jungkook says from his bedroom.
You straighten, trying to catch your breath. And the second your eyes land on him, you know it was all worth it.
Every single second of suffering was worth it to be here with him tonight.
“Jungkook,” you say in between two heaving breaths.
He’s shirtless, his honey skin just as warm as you remember it to be. He’s in fact only wearing grey joggers, and his hands are lost in his pockets like he’s trying to look nonchalant.
The concern on his features tells you he, as a matter of fact, isn’t as nonchalant as he’s trying to appear.
“Shit,” you let out. “Jungkook.”
“Yes?”
You laugh. You know you might look crazy, but you literally just ran a mile for this man, and each foot was worth it. 
The grandest journey of your life, wasn’t it?
“She told me,” you say.
He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”
“Gabrielle told me everything.” You surprise yourself by blinking away tears, and you let out a small laugh as you go to dry them.
Jungkook remains silent, just staring at you with horror slowly inching into his gaze. You don’t know how, or why, but it only occurs to you then that he might not be alone right now. 
“Kook?” you whisper, unable to say it louder.
Not when you’re slowly crashing down from the high.
“Y/n, I
” he trails off. He closes his eyes, head hanging low. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
You gulp as you swallow. “Yeah, huh.”
You look down, noticing a pair of sneakers you’ve never seen before.
It takes all of the courage you can muster up to look back up when the door of the bathroom opens, revealing a dishevelled Lisa, in only a t-shirt you recognize all too well.
You’d used to sleep in that t-shirt, too.
Lisa sees you after you see her, turning beet red. She’s naked under Jungkook’s shirt, or at least you think she is.
You assume she is considering that he’s shirtless too.
“Oh,” you let out.
Choke out might be a more appropriate word. Because you’re crashing, and you’re crashing hard. Hitting the wall at 120 mph, splattering on it until there’s nothing left of you. Nothing left of that hope you’d found at the party, the hope Gabrielle had so kindly gifted you even though she owed you nothing.
Someone’s screaming. You think someone’s screaming - is it just in your head?
“Hey, Y/n,” Lisa says awkwardly. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“I live here,” you reply, voice empty of any emotion.
She purses her lips, nodding once, and then she hesitantly walks out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry I
 I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
Neither did you. Neither did Jungkook - it would have saved everyone a whole lot of breaking if you’d known. 
If you’d known that having hope for Jeon Jungkook was futile and useless. 
How could you even think you were meant to be with him? There is no universe for you and him out there. Just different worlds of breaking. Because it’s all your soul knows how to do - all your soul knows is to break for him, to shatter and crash and fracture for the man standing in front of his opened bedroom door.
“No worries,” you say, though this time your voice does wobble.
This time, the pain does colour your tone in heartbreak blue.
Jungkook just remains silent, like he’s suddenly gone mute. You think it’s better like this - if he were to say anything right now, you think you’d likely break down here. Instead, you take a deep breath, pat your pockets and say, “I think I forgot my keys at the party.”
Unable to help yourself, you glance towards Jungkook once. He meets your gaze - he looks infinitely pained, the heartbreak stark on his features too. There’s some reassurance in knowing that he’s breaking, too. That you’re doing it together. 
Heartbreak isn’t as lonely when you’re doing it together. 
“How did you
” Lisa trails off, but she doesn’t finish.
She falls silent, clearly hearing the screaming in your head too.
You’re outside a second later, carefully closing the door behind you. Carefully severing the rest of your relationship with Jungkook, until all that is left is the memories.
You take a step back, looking at the door, thinking he might open, might come see you.
Thinking he might be your home after all.
But he doesn’t, the door staying stubbornly closed. You get the message - your souls were never meant to merge. The songs that you thought were about him, about you, about the two of you together, they were never about you. You were never meant to lie down and forget the world with him. 
Or maybe you were, but it came with an expiration date.
You reckon you and Jungkook have always had an expiration date. You just forgot tonight, became blind to it thanks to false, treacherous hope. And so you leave, walking down the stairs as you blink away the tears that are clinging to your waterline.
You embrace the heartbreak, let it sweep through you until you think it’s all you’ve ever known. And like a true companion, the heartbreak carries your steps through the night.
Prev | Chapter 13.5 | Next
☆☆☆☆☆
do I feel bad for the amount of angst I wrote into this story? Maybe a little. I promise one day things will get better for these two, but in the meantime, what did you guys think?
All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.
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rottingbedpost · 2 months ago
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You & Me: Master list
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Characters - Idol / Canon ! Yoongi x 8th Member / Idol / Fem ! Reader
Tags - Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, 8th Member Au, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Summary - You have loved Min Yoongi since the moment you met him, but as you skyrocket into becoming the biggest K-Pop group in the world, how will your relationship unfold.
Part 1 of a two part series.
18+ Only
Current Word Count - 13,559(Ongoing)
Series Playlist . Series Pinterest
my masterlist
PARTS:
Prelude: Our First Kiss
Ch 1: Can We Be Friends?
Ch 2: Girlfriend/Boyfriend
Ch 3: Slow Dancing . . .
- Namjoon's Interlude -
Ch 4: . . .
Ch 5: . . .
DRABBLES...
- drabble requests open
- asks open
- taglist open
© rottingbedpost do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
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smartkookiee · 5 months ago
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How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days || Ch.4 — jjk.
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❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀° ❄pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❄genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❄chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, some family drama, crazy and manipulative mom stuff, movie night, some domesticity, they are cute for like five seconds before everything goes to shit (whoops), Jimin and Tae being little shits, Jin being a real homie, some heavy misunderstanding and miscommunication ❄word-count: 7.1k ❄Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❄|| Next chapter ❄Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. a/n: Hi everyone I know this is a short chapter but I hope you enjoy anyway, this chapter introduces some important stuff so I really like it. Enjoy <3 ❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°
Day 07
“12 dates is hilarious.” 
Jin, Ronnie, and Namjoon all snickered as you explained your last date with Jungkook, explaining the end and your sorry excuse to get out of his apartment. 
“I couldn’t think of anything else! I needed some excuse to leave and then he asked me how many dates, and I just thought of the first number that felt ridiculous.” You run your hands through your hair, laughing at yourself. The four of you gathered in your small living room, you had taken to laying on the floor. Picking out fibers from the rug you had. Jin sitting next to you and Namjoon and Ronnie on the couch. 
“What did he say?” Ronnie asked.
Suddenly a buzz from your phone, a small piece of you wondering if maybe it was a text from him. Seeing who it was, your disappointment became evident but you tried to play it off. Not in the mood to respond to who that text actually came from. Setting your phone down on the coffee table face down. 
Thinking back to the shocked and then cool and collected look Jungkook had on his face was amusing, “Oh he was fine with it, maybe a little surprised. Said he just needed to plan for ten more dates.” 
“At least he’s got some class.” Jin poked your forehead. The disappointment from whatever text you got was evident on your face.
He had a lot more class than any of you had given him credit for. “So what comes next for the two of you?” Namjoon asked, curiosity had filled the room the whole morning about what your next steps would be.
Another buzz comes from your phone, you don’t need to check it. You know who it’s from. You ignore it and continue, “Well I think I can start to turn up the heat.” You sit up. “Which is the hard part of all of this.”
“Oh you’ve got this. If you can almost break your own nose in front of him, surely anything else will be a piece of cake.” Ronnie assured you with a wink and you roll your eyes. 
“Still sore to be honest.” You say touching the end of your nose. Remembering the concern on Jungkook’s face when you had hit yourself, it was sweet. 
“When are you going out next? I want to help you plan.” Jin bounced in his spot next to you. 
You placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t even heard from him.” Another buzz from your phone, you ignore it again. Wishful thinking would make it be Jungkook. 
“Why not call him? Who says you have to wait on the guy?” Namjoon suggests. 
“You think I should?” You felt a little nervous and unsure. 
Ronnie nods, giving Namjoon a pat on the shoulder. “Namjoon's right, plus you’ve already called him so the ice is already broken!” 
Jin, grabs your phone from your coffee table, holding it to you, “Oh do it now! We can help!” 
You take your phone but right at that moment you get another text. Putting it at four already, your face dropped a little as you just ignored them opening your phone. Finding Jungkook’s contact and almost pressing call but suddenly you realized how close everyone was and they were all staring at you with big and intent eyes. You very quickly understood what it felt like to be a fish in a bowl. 
“Okay freaks, I’m doing this in the other room.” You stand to your feet, but Jin pulls you back down and they all protest. 
“No! No no we’ll be good I swear.” Ronnie said, sitting straight up in her spot like you were a teacher. 
“Swear.” Jin crossed over his heart.
“...Fine.” You groan.  You decided to press call. Waiting for a moment, immediately regretting your decision. You didn’t have a single clue what you were going to say. 
The phone rang and rang, it was possible he was busy and you were almost going to hang up. Just as that moment line picked up, there was shuffling on the other end before the line cleared. 
“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the line, he sounded groggy and probably not awake. It was 11 you didn’t think it was too early to call. 
“Hi.” Your voice is turning lighter than you would normally use it. “Uhh good morning! Did I wake you?” 
You look to the others and Namjoon is gesturing for you to put the phone on speaker but you wave him off. One, for the off chance one of them laughs and completely embarrass you. Two, you didn’t need every second of this situation invaded by your friends. 
Jungkook let out a tired laugh, “Yeah but I don’t mind
 Good morning.” 
"I was just sort of calling to say hi
" You hesitated, then smiled. "Which I’ve already done, so I guess I could just hang up now."
Jungkook hummed, amusement slipping into his tone. "Well, it’s a good thing you called. I was just having a crazy dream about us." 
“Oh us?” 
"Yeah. Something about you coming over and us having a movie night
 details are fuzzy, but that was the gist of it."
“Hmm sounds like a pretty lame dream.” 
"Lame?" Jungkook scoffed. "I thought it was sweet. A classic date formula."
"I’m teasing, can’t mess with a classic. Well, speaking of that." You started, shifting your phone to your other ear. "I was actually going to see if you were free today
 or tonight, I guess."
Jungkook made a dramatic show of shuffling around on the other end of the line, as if checking a nonexistent schedule. "Let me see
 yep. A whole lot of nothing planned for today."
"Wow, what an eventful life you lead."
"I know. Truly, I’m booked and busy."
You bit back a laugh. "Okay, can I come to yours again? I have some errands on that side of town."
A small fib. You didn’t actually have errands, but you weren’t ready to have Jungkook over at your place. 
"Yeah, that’s fine." Jungkook said easily, followed by a yawn. "Text me some snacks you like, and I’ll go get them."
"Oh, you don’t have to do that."
"I have nothing better to do today anyway." There was a sound of sheets rustling, like he was stretching. "Text me when you’re on your way."
"Alright. See you later."
With that, you ended the call, exhaling deeply before finally looking up—only to find three pairs of eyes locked onto you with identical expressions of giddy anticipation.
You groaned. "Okay, I’m leaving."
Namjoon smirked. "It’s your house."
You stand just to go into your kitchen, honestly trying to step aside. Because you got five more texts in the span of that call. You knew exactly who from, and you were finding your anxiety building on your stomach. Twisting and turning as you read the messages, Jin coming over to you in your focused concern. 
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” He says it quietly, Namjoon and Ronnie distracted with some conversation by themselves. 
You don’t look at him shielding your phone, “That easy to tell?”
“You looked like you saw a ghost when you looked at your phone, then continued to intentionally ignore it. I’m a bit of a  detective” He leans on one hip bringing his pointer finger and thumb up to his chin. Obviously trying to make you feel better. “Let me guess, back in the country?” 
“I guess so
” You pause, you get another text. 
Are you going to respond to me? Hello?
You sigh, shoving your phone in your pocket, Jin sighs. “You can talk about it if you would like.” 
"No." You shut it down quickly, then, realizing how defensive you sounded, cleared your throat. "No
 it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It goes like this every time." 
Jin arched a brow. "Yeah, and every time, you give in." 
"I know." You murmured. "It’s just
 sometimes hard to say no."
"But you have to." His tone was firm but not unkind. "It won’t be like last time, right?"
You swallowed. "Right."
Jin was clearly not convinced, but he let it go. "If you need backup, let me know. I’ll hover around you like a helicopter if you need."
You let out a weak laugh. "I won’t need that. I just have to keep details short. If I talk about my promotion at all, it’ll turn into a whole thing."
"I know. I was there last time." Jin said, voice laced with frustration—not at you, but at the situation. "Just
 don’t let yourself get guilt-tripped into giving her money again. You know it’s not going to where she says it is."
“It’s
not always like that
” A lie, a knee jerk excuse. One you had been trying to stop making.
“Uh-huh." Jin gave you a look. "Just try to remember how bad things got. I know she’s your mom but she has a way of convincing you things aren’t so bad.” 
There it was. Mom. Or as she liked to put it, your best friend.
"As long as she doesn’t start showing up at my house, it’ll be fine." You said, picking at your nails. "After that, it’ll be hard to get her to leave
"
Jin watched you closely, eyes scanning your nervous fidgeting, but instead of pressing further, he simply bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Come on," He said, his voice deliberately lighter. "No more talk about her. Take out your anxiety on Jungkook instead."
You snorted, shaking your head. "That’s not how that works."
Jin smirked. "Could be. Just make his life a little difficult for fun." He gave you a playful shove back toward the living room.
"So," Ronnie said as you rejoined them. "What’s your plan for tonight?"
You let out a slow breath, feeling a familiar little spark of mischief flicker in your chest.
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Jungkook spent the day tidying up his apartment—not that it was messy to begin with, but he wanted things to be nice. After all, you were coming over. He even grabbed some snacks, per your request, carefully picking out a selection he thought you'd like. It had been a while since he spent a Saturday night in, but honestly, he was looking forward to it.
Last week getting to know you had been easy, comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected. If the next month went like this, he’d coast through without a hitch. That is, as long as there weren’t any more unnecessary interruptions. Like Channel.
Except tonight, he had a different interruption to deal with.
A series of loud knocks echoed through his apartment just as he was pouring chips into a bowl. He sighed, already sensing trouble before he even reached the door.
"Jungkookie!" Taehyung’s familiar voice called from the other side, followed by the sound of muffled laughter—Jimin, no doubt.
Jungkook frowned as he swung the door open, revealing both of them standing there with far too much excitement for two people who weren’t supposed to be here.
"You’re not dressed." Jimin pointed out immediately, gesturing to Jungkook’s sweatpants and oversized t-shirt like they personally offended him.
"Am I supposed to be?" Jungkook asked, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.
"Uh, yeah. We have plans." Taehyung said, pushing past him into the apartment without hesitation. Jimin followed, shaking his head in disappointment.
Jungkook turned, face scrunching in confusion. "No, we don’t."
Jimin scoffed, crossing his arms. "We always go out on Saturdays. It’s tradition. Like breathing, or me looking better than Taehyung."
"You wish." Taehyung muttered before grabbing a handful of popcorn from Jungkook’s snack spread.
"Well, not tonight." Jungkook said firmly, closing the door and facing them with finality. "Y/N is coming over. We’re hanging out."
Jimin raised an eyebrow and did a slow scan of the room, eyes landing on the array of snacks, the neatly arranged couch, and the cozy atmosphere Jungkook had set up.
"Oh. Hanging out." He echoed, a teasing lilt in his voice.
Jungkook narrowed his eyes. "Not like that. Actually just hanging out."
"So you’re ditching us?" Taehyung asked, feigning a dramatic pout as he stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.
"To hang out with her? Absolutely."
Jimin gasped, clutching his chest. "Who are you, and what have you done with my party animal Jungkook?"
Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Nothing’s changed. I’m just taking our little bet seriously."
The moment he mentioned the bet, Taehyung and Jimin exchanged glances—silent, knowing, mischievous. They weren’t about to lose to him that easily.
"Come on, we came all this way." Taehyung tried again, leaning dramatically against the counter like he was truly heartbroken.
"Yeah, and I feel so bad." Jungkook deadpanned. "Now, please leave before I throw you out."
He ducked into the bathroom before either of them could protest further.
The second he disappeared, Jimin and Taehyung snapped into action.
"Okay, we have to do something." Jimin whispered.
Taehyung’s eyes flickered around the room before landing on Jungkook’s phone sitting on the kitchen counter. A slow, devious grin spread across his face.
"Don’t." Jimin warned, though he didn’t actually mean it.
Taehyung was already moving, snatching the phone up swiftly.
"We’re just gonna... help him out a little." He said, winking.
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Later, another knock sounded at Jungkook’s door.
He wasted no time opening it, revealing you standing there, smiling brightly. You were also dressed down. To his surprise in some very bright pink sweatpants, which were Ronnie’s, but he would never know. You also wore a very cutesy graphic t-shirt with my melody on it to match the vibe. Nothing wrong with them at all but not your usual vibe but this choice of outfit was more of an experiment. 
Jungkook didn’t seem to blink at it.
"You wear glasses?" The words tumbled out before you even said hello, your eyes locked onto the frames perched on his nose.
Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. My contacts were irritating my eyes, so I went with these tonight."
He stepped aside to let you in, watching as you barely moved, still staring at him like he had just unlocked a whole new level of attractiveness.
"No, they’re super cute." You said quickly, almost tripping over your words.
You actually pull your eyes away though as you make your way to the living room. Needing to bite on your something since you were a stupid sucker for glasses on anyone. Realizing Jungkook had indeed gotten most of the snacks you requested and some you assumed were to his preference. 
Everything was spread over his coffee table with some precision it seemed, like he thought about where to place things intentionally. 
This was a great opener to turn on your new “Charm” that Jin had helped you perfect most of the day earlier. “Awe! This is so sweet Jungkook.” Pitching up your tone almost borderline in a baby voice. Having to fight back at cringing at yourself. Taking a seat down on the couch.
Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, “I tried. I got a couple things for the both of us.” Acting all nonchalant. Strolling around the couch and taking a seat next to you. 
You force yourself to giggle a little too obnoxiously. Hitting Jungkook in the chest with a little too much force but in a playful manner, “So what are we watching?” 
Jungkook rubs the spot where you hit him, you had much more strength than he gave you credit for. “I was going to let you choose. I’m not too picky when it comes to movies.” 
“Oh yay!” You clap your hands together, god you really hated this. This was not you, Jungkook seemed to be a little thrown by your giddiness but it was whatever. You grab the remote he strategically placed on the table. Guess he had prepared for this. “What to pick, the choices are endless.” 
Which it actually had you in a small panic, you weren’t ready to have to pick the movie. You had a hard enough time just telling Jungkook what snacks you wanted. While you began to pursue, Jungkook’s phone sounded with the dig from a text.  You glanced sideways for a quick second, Jungkook pulling out his phone to see who it was from. 
Jungkook's expressions seemed throne and confused by the text that came through. Then another ding. The expression seemed to twist further. Your interest peaked. 
“Something wrong?” You look at him, glancing down to his phone then back to him. 
Jungkook locks his phone and sets it down on the couch beside him. “No, I think a wrong number is texting me.” His tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression.  
You nod, turning back toward the TV, scrolling lazily through the endless options. “Okay
 are you opposed to any genres?”
“Nope.” He smirks, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Do your worst.”
You hum thoughtfully, but you’re already scheming. The goal isn’t to pick a good movie—it’s to pick the worst one possible. Something Jungkook would definitely find boring. But just as you’re debating between a painfully slow documentary or an overly dramatic romance, his phone vibrates again.
And again.
You don’t glance over, but you hear it—persistent, insistent.
Jungkook sighs quietly and checks his screen. More texts.
Taylor: Hey remember me? ;)
Taylor: Busy 2 night?
Taylor: Wanna get a drink??
Taylor: Hello?
He hadn’t hooked up with any Taylors recently. At least, not that he could remember. He locks his phone again, deciding it’s best to ignore it. Hoseok had drilled it into his head not to be on his phone when hanging out with someone—it was rude, and Jungkook actually wanted to be present.
But the buzzing doesn’t stop.
Meanwhile, you keep scrolling, eyes fixed on the screen, but you’ve already started keeping count. How many texts? How many times is he checking? The more his phone vibrates, the more you start tallying numbers in your head.
“Oh! Miss congeniality!” You cheer, a pick that actually really was a favorite of yours. Not a total favorite of any guys you had watched it though. 
Jungkook raises an eyebrow, glancing at the banner image. “What is it?”
You tuck your legs under yourself, shifting to look at him. “Sandra Bullock is an FBI agent who goes undercover at the Miss United States Pageant to stop a terrorist attack. She gets a really awesome makeover halfway through.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “Alright. I’ll bite.”
“If you hate it, we can change it.”
“No, I always commit once I start a movie.” He didn’t seem to be bullshitting you here.
“Perfect.” You don’t hesitate to hit play.
The movie starts to play and Jungkook seems to actually be true to his word, the two of you sat close but he didn’t try to make a move or anything. He had these big brown doe eyes watching and would smile or laugh a little too himself. 
But something still gnaws at you.
His phone sits in his lap, and every time it vibrates, you hear it.
And it’s vibrating a lot.
Jungkook ignores it for as long as he can, but eventually, he caves. One quick glance at the screen, and his stomach drops.
Over thirty new texts.
From Taylor.
Taylor: I CANT BELIEVE YOU
Taylor: YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHO I AM
TAYLOR: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
The texts continued like that. Not to mention he was also getting texts from another girl who he seemingly had no recollection of, Jemma.
Jemma: You aren’t going to tell Taylor that we hooked up right?
Jemma: Jungkook she can’t know she like
 super likes you 
Jemma: Like for serious likes you 
Jemma: Jungkookie?
Jungkook stares at the screen, brain scrambling to place the names. Who the hell are these people? His memory isn’t that bad—if he had hooked up with someone recently, he’d remember. Right? Jungkook sighs and quickly types a response, hoping to shut this down before it gets any worse. Whatever was going on was certainly getting noticeable.
Which you had indeed noticed. You kept tally, and you were trying to find a window when you could use this. When could this play to your advantage tonight? 
Jungkook begins to type furiously trying to find something to say that will end this for the night or until he can figure out what is going on another time.
Which is when you take your moment to jump, “Who are you talking too?” You ask casually, looking over at his phone. You had already seen the girl's names on his phone already.
Jungkook immediately pulls his phone closer to his chest. “It’s no one.” 
Which was not a lie because Jungkook was trying to figure out who these people were. 
Your eyes flick to his phone, knowing full well that’s not true. “You seem to be getting a lot of texts.” You remark, folding your arms. “Seems like someone really needs your attention.”
Jungkook notices but figures he can diffuse the situation once he figures out what's going on. He doesn’t respond but continues wracking his brain for a moment as he looks at the texts trying to place these names. 
You take the silence as a good opener, having to psych yourself up a bit. “Who is she?” 
Jungkook blinks, finally looking up at you. Your eyes are locked onto him, sharp and expectant. “Huh?” 
“The girl you are clearly talking to, who is she?” You pressed, your voice was now more accusing and you were waiting to see what kind of answer he was going to give. 
“I’m not–” Almost like on cue Jungkook’s phone begins to ring in his hand. The big bold name Taylor is fully visible on his screen for the both of you. “Oh my god this can’t be happening. I swear I genuinely don’t know who this is.” 
“You expect me to believe that? Your phone has been going off all night.” You huff and look away from him and keep your eyes locked on the movie. Having to bite the inside of your cheek so as to not laugh at how ridiculous you sound right now. 
Jungkook looks lost. Completely lost. He declines another incoming call, his frustration growing. But the silence only fuels your ‘annoyance.’ He was confused how you immediately Jumped from A to Z so quickly. Jungkook grits his teeth and scrolls through the messages again. He scans every name, every interaction—until finally, it clicks.
Only to come to the realization

“Oh those fuckers.” Jungkook says under his breath. “I will be right back.” 
Your eyes widened because was he really going to leave while you were upset right now? Fake upset but still. “You’re actually going to take that call?” 
“It’s not what it looks like, just let me take care of this. Then I will clear this all up.”
“Not what it looks like? It looks like you’re going to take another phone call with another girl during the movie? Are you serious?” You wave your arms around a little dramatically but it sells it.
Jungkook is unsure of how to navigate this. “I just need to resolve this so that we are no longer interrupted. I swear it’s not what it looks like.” 
Jungkook gets another call from the “mysterious” Taylor. Jungkook answering it and stepping out the front door of his place to take the call, “You guys are really fucked up you know that?” 
There’s a dramatic throat clearing on the other end, followed by an overly high-pitched voice. “What do you mean, Jungkookie? I’m Taylor.” 
Jungkook closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Had your fun? Played your games?” 
There’s muffled laughter, and then Jimin’s voice replaces Taehyung’s. “We were just screwing with you, man. We were pissed you bailed on us. By the way, how’s your date going?”
Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thanks to you two idiots, she thinks I’m screwing around. So not great.”
“Oh no.” Taehyung deadpans. “So sad. Taehyung's voice mocked Jungkook but Jungkook was actually mad. 
You were already hesitant to date him in the first place and this looked really bad. Your reaction may have been a little strong
 and confusing since you were pretty rational. It did look bad though and Jungkook couldn’t deny that.
“Fuck you guys.” He mutters. “We were actually having a nice time.”
“You never said we couldn’t interfere.”
Jungkook ran a hand over his face. “Because that’s fucking insane? I didn’t think I had to say it.”
“Fine, you’re no fun. We won’t interfere from here on out.” Jimin swears” Jimin’s voice was mockingly sincere but Taehyung wasn’t going to make the same promise.
“Goodnight.” Jungkook was too annoyed to deal with them anymore. 
“I hope she dumps you-” Taehyung calls into the phone as Jungkook didn’t even dignify that with a response; just hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket. He let out a slow breath before heading back inside.
The apartment felt heavier than before, quieter, except for the hum of the movie still playing in the background. You were still on the couch, but your posture had changed. You weren’t curled up comfortably anymore; instead, you sat stiffly, chewing on popcorn in the kind of silence that was loud. You wish you could see yourself, it was a very convincing performance after all.
Jungkook hesitated before stepping closer. “I’m sorry about that.”
You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, okay.”
He winced. “You’re mad.”
“Well, duh, Jungkook.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you stared at the screen. “You were texting and talking through the movie when we were supposed to be hanging out. If you’d rather be somewhere else, you could’ve just said so.”
Jungkook sat down beside you, carefully, like you might bolt at any second. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.” His voice was quieter now, sincere. “I’ve really liked getting to know you. I actually wanted to watch this with you, but my idiot friends decided to mess with me.”
You shot him a skeptical glance. “Friends. Right.”
“I swear.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “They were pissed I bailed on them tonight, so they changed their names on my phone, spammed me, and set me up.”
You hesitated, but Jungkook was already unlocking his phone. He scrolled up in his messages, showing you the texts. “See? Just last week, their real names were still here. This whole thing was just them being assholes.”
You narrowed your eyes at the screen, scanning the evidence. A pause. Then, finally—“Wow. Your friends kinda suck.”
Jungkook let out a relieved laugh. “Just a little.” He shook his head. “They thought it would be funny. And, okay, maybe it was—”
“It wasn’t.” You deadpanned.
He smirked. “Yeah well, not for me.”
You sighed, your shoulders relaxing just a little. “I guess I
 overreacted. I just have a thing about people being on their phones during movies.” You scratched the side of your head, looking slightly sheepish.
Jungkook grinned, happy to take the win. “No more phone.” He picked it up and placed it far away on the couch. “Easy.”
It was a nice gesture but completely unnecessary. “You’re cute but it’s alright.” 
“Nah. No more phone. I’ll never look at it again.” He teases as he scoots close to you, “You’re much more interesting to look at anyways.” 
“Wow, that was really cheesy.” You teased, shaking your head.
Jungkook just grinned.
Despite the earlier hiccup, the night had settled into something easy and comfortable. You rewound the movie to the parts he missed, both of you sinking back into the cushions as if nothing had happened. There was no tension, no lingering frustration—just soft laughter, playful commentary, and the occasional reach into the snack pile.
“Okay, but like, I would let Sandra Bullock beat me up too.” Jungkook commented, nodding in approval at the screen.
You turned to him, raising a suspicious brow. “Masochist?”
“I’ll never tell.” His smirk was effortless, teasing, but what you hadn’t quite realized was how close the two of you had shifted throughout the night. Your legs had found their way over his lap at some point, and his arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, his bicep doubling as a makeshift pillow. His other hand rested absentmindedly over your calf, tracing absent-minded patterns against the fabric of your sweatpants.
Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he had just sat with someone like this—no expectations, no rush, just the quiet hum of companionship. It was
 nice.
You, on the other hand, were still determined to find another opening to be difficult, but as the night wore on, you were reluctantly realizing that you might have to try again another time.
Jungkook had kept his word, his phone untouched for the rest of the evening. Not that he was missing much. Whatever was happening in the group chat could wait—he was too busy being here. With you.
“You’re all techy and whatever.” You mused, tilting your head up at him. “Would you ever be an FBI agent?”
Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I don’t think I’m smart enough to foil a terrorist plot
 or go undercover without blowing my own cover.” He absentmindedly played with his lip ring, his voice dipping into something thoughtful. “What about you?”
You exhaled a small laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m a writer, not an agent, that’s for sure.” You paused, considering it for a moment before adding, “Although, I think I could do undercover.”
Jungkook glanced at you, intrigued. “Oh yeah? You could be a Gracie Lou Freebush?” He referenced Sandra Bullock’s alias in the movie.
“Oh, absolutely.” You said with zero hesitation. “Plus, I’ve interviewed and hung out with a lot of pageant girls in the past for my writing.”
His brows lifted in genuine interest. “Wait, what? How come?”
“I did a piece in college about pageantry and got to know a lot of girls who did it professionally. They were really sweet, honestly.”
“That’s so cool.” His voice was laced with admiration. “What else have you written?”
You hesitated, suddenly shy. “Oh god, I’ve written about a lot of things, but nothing worth the time.”
“That can’t be true.” Jungkook’s voice softened, his curiosity undeniably genuine. “I’d love to read something
 I mean, if you’ll let me.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard. His big, expectant eyes searched yours, but there was no teasing, no ulterior motive—just pure interest.
A warm flush crept onto your cheeks. “Okay.” You murmured, cursing the lovesick way your voice wavered. “Maybe I can find something that’s not totally terrible.”
Jungkook grinned like you’d just given him a prize.
Neither of you had been paying much attention to the screen, and at some point, the movie had ended.
“Alright, your turn.” You pat Jungkook’s arm, the one still draped around you, before shifting your legs from his lap, giving him space in case he needs to move.
Jungkook leans over to the coffee table and retrieves the remote from the coffee table. Shuffling through the choices. He thought for a moment what he should select. If he should stay on the romance vein or go down another path. 
Eventually landing on, definitely a left turn movie for the night. 
“Okay, I know this totally changes the tone, but I love this movie.” He clicks on Across the Spider-Verse. “The animation is insane, and I really love Spider-Man.”
You laugh. “You don’t have to sell it to me. I’ve seen it before.”
“Good.” His excitement is almost tangible. “I’ve been wanting to rewatch it.”
Without a second thought, Jungkook casually lifts your legs back over his lap, a move that catches you off guard.
“I was cold.” He feigns innocence.
“Uh-huh, I super believe you.” You giggle, settling back against his arm just as the movie begins.
You couldn’t have gotten a minute in before you felt your phone vibrate like you were getting a call. It was in your pocket and you intended to silence it but you wouldn’t be so lucky to ignore it. Your mom’s ID popping up on the screen. You pretty quickly decline it, hoping, no praying it wouldn’t be pushed further than that. That was until the text that it was immediately followed up with. 
Mom: Baby I’m coming over. You keep ignoring me. 
Mom: I have so much to tell you about!!!!!!
Oh no. Oh no no no. 
She was going to your place. You aren’t at your place. 
Panic spreads like ice through your veins. You sat up in your place away from Jungkook, hiding the sick feeling that spread across your face. You had to call her. If you didn’t call her back she would go to your place and ask so many questions. She didn’t have a key but she would still manage to get in.  Right after you just made that whole stink about Jungkook being on the phone earlier. 
You couldn’t ignore her. You have to call her back. 
She won’t let it go. 
Jungkook was worried for a second when you moved away from him so suddenly and now you were suddenly standing. 
“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is tense. “I need to take a call.” You hesitate before meeting his gaze. “It’ll just be a second—I need to step into the hall.”
Jungkook for a second almost doesn’t think about it but you just made a whole fuss about him taking a call. “Are you serious?” 
“I know.” You say quickly. “I know what I said.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No.” Your phone vibrates again. Another text.
Mom: I’ll be there in 30 minutes.
Shit.
“I’m sorry.” You say again, already moving. You weave around the couch, heading straight for the front door before Jungkook can protest.
You shove your feet into your shoes and step into the hall, needing somewhere private; somewhere your mom won’t hear even the faintest trace of Jungkook in the background.
The elevator.
You dial her number and you press the button for the elevator to go to the first floor. The phone on the other end ringing for what felt like forever in your ear. Feeling more and more sick to your stomach with each ring. Dreading hearing her voice on the other side.
The line picked up as you reached the first floor. “Baby!” Your mom’s voice bursts through the speaker, cheerful and chipper like she hadn’t just threatened to ambush you. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah, I know. Mom, why are you going to my place right now?” A headache forming in the back of your mind. 
She sighs dramatically. “I miss you, baby. I’ve been gone for three months!”
“Yes Mom-...”
“And yet, you don’t even want to talk to your own mother?” Her voice shifts, just enough to press guilt into your ribs. Her saddened voice on the other end, hitting you in the same familiar place in your gut.
You exhale slowly, biting down the automatic frustration. If you say the wrong thing, she’ll cry. If she cries, you’ll have to go see her. “Of course I want to talk to you.” You say carefully. “I’d love to talk. But I’m busy.”
“Busy with what? Where are you?” Her interest clearly piqued that you could possibly have plans that had nothing to do with her.
“I’m out with some friends. Nothing special.” There is zero chance you’re mentioning Jungkook.
“Oh no, no, no. How many times have I told you those friends of yours are no good?” Her voice is all silk. “Come meet me somewhere instead.”
“How about I come see you later this week mom. I am busy with a work project but I’m all yours later this week
” You grit your teeth. You hope this might be enough and she hums on the other end. 
“All weekend?” She counters. “I get to have you all weekend? I just miss you, baby. And I have so many clothes from Europe that don’t fit me right—you’ll love them.” Typical. Dumping overpriced, ill-fitting designer pieces onto you so she doesn’t have to feel wasteful. 
“Yes. We can go through them together.” You nod to the air around you almost like she was here or that she could see you. Like the look on your face right now wouldn’t send her into an immediate spiral. 
“Oh, perfect! I’m so excited.” She cheers on the other end and it in some sick way brings a smile to your face. 
“Okay I really do have to go.” 
“Alright, baby. Call me tomorrow!” She sounds almost
 normal. But you know better. If you don’t call tomorrow, she won’t let it go.
The moment the call disconnects, you sag against the elevator wall, pressing your palms to your face. Needing something to bring the anxiety that had welled up in your chest back down to a normal level. Your fingers tremble slightly, the weight of the conversation settling in like lead in your stomach.
This was such a bad time for your mom to be back in town. If she got even a whiff of your promotion, she’d find a way to turn it into something about her. And if she caught onto whatever this
 thing was between you and Jungkook, she’d find a way to ruin it.
Maybe you should just sic her on Jungkook. That would send him running for sure.
In hindsight, if this were any other date, it would probably look bad. You had disappeared in the middle of the night, left without much of an explanation, and now, you were returning like nothing had happened. It felt messy, inconsiderate even. But everything with your mom is an emergency.
The problem is, you can’t say that.
With that thought, you start the slow walk of shame back to his apartment. The door is still unlocked from when you left, and as you step inside, the difference is immediate. The air feels stiff. The movie was stopped. The room is too quiet.  You slowly stepped further inside, Jungkook was leaning against his counter looking at something on his phone.
You hesitated, stepping inside and slipping off your shoes. "Sorry about that." You said quietly.
Jungkook doesn’t look up right away. "It’s
 fine."
It isn’t.
Not really.
It’s obvious in the clipped way he says it, in the tension sitting in his shoulders. He’s irritated, trying not to show it, but you can feel it lingering between you.
And honestly? You get it.
You were the one who had made a big deal about him being on his phone earlier. You were the one who rolled your eyes at him answering a call, told him to be present. Then, the moment your own phone rang, you left the apartment with little word.
So yeah, you get it.
"It was just an emergency." You offer, though even you can hear how weak of an excuse it sounds.
Jungkook finally glances up then, dark eyes flicking to yours. "Right. Just a little frustrating though, don’t you think?"
Your stomach twists. "I know."
He exhales sharply, shaking his head as he sets his phone down on the counter. "I mean, you gave me so much shit about being on mine. Accused me of something you didn’t have any information about. Then you not only take your call—you leave the floor for it."
"I get it." You say quickly. "I do. And you’re right. It was hypocritical of me."
Jungkook studies you for a moment, expression unreadable. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "Was there a reason you had to take your call downstairs?"
“What?” 
“Well I stepped into the hall to make sure everything was okay but you had totally fled the floor. What’s up?” Jungkook coming off even more defensive now
You freeze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard.
"I—" You start, before quickly regaining composure. "It was private."
Jungkook’s brows lift slightly. "And mine wasn’t?"
You inhale, feeling an edge of frustration creep in now, not necessarily at him, but at this entire situation. At how suddenly complicated something as simple as a movie night had become. How your mom had complicated a simple movie night. Something for your job.
Then you remember. This was for your job. The thing that got you into this situation, for one reason only

So you switched gears "You were being really suspicious and weird about who you were talking to. Plus who even calls people anymore.” You say, keeping your voice measured.
Jungkook lets out an incredulous laugh. “You literally just took a call.”
“Yeah, but mine was an emergency,” You stress, as if that explains anything.
He narrows his eyes. “Oh, so when I answer my phone, I’m talking to some girl, but when you answer yours, it’s a crisis hotline?”
You shrug. “Correct.”
Jungkook pauses having to think about what was even going on before bouncing back, “Yours seemed much more like a call from another guy than mine seemed like a call from another girl.” Jungkook was frustrated but he was falling back on an old habit. He was falling into that old routine of finding an excuse to run. Except he couldn’t in this situation, so he needed to switch gears just like you. 
You let out a slow breath. Acting a little too casual for the situation at hand. "Maybe we call it a night, doesn’t seem like we will see eye to eye on this.” 
Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a moment, but eventually, he nods, stepping away from the counter. "Yeah." He mutters. "Probably for the best."
You don’t miss the way his voice shifts, slightly more closed off than before, and something about it stings more than you expect it to.
But you don’t say anything else.
Instead, you slip your other shoes back on, grab your things and leave. It wasn’t okay for him to just automatically assume that you were talking to another guy. Then again that's exactly how you started. It didn’t matter though, having this night go wrong actually helps. It helps push Jungkook away and maybe after tonight he might ghost you who knows. 
It would certainly make your article short but you could make a good narrative, losing a guy in 6 days. 
Still a small pang of guilt was eating at your stomach. Usually you would fight to explain yourself but you were doing your best to fight those normal instincts. This was the assignment, even if a part of you was actually starting to like Jungkook a little bit. He put in a lot of effort for just a few dates which was completely unexpected. 
Maybe in another life where you didn’t have to act insane.
❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀。‱ *₊°。 ❀°。❀ ‱ *₊
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queenofhalloween94 · 1 month ago
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Master list: Ch. 1
Summary: You are the beloved human mate of seven ancient vampires — Jungkook, Jimin, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Taehyung — who are cold, cruel, and utterly obsessed with you. Though they hate humans, you're their exception.
Warnings: 🔞This chapter is mainly SMUT very little plot. 🔞 blood drinking, vampire sex, p in v sex, possessive, dark BTS
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Ch 2 Needs Full Filled
“If I am an angel, paint me with black wings” -Anne Rice,The Vampire Armand
Namjoon knelt between your legs, his large hand stroking your stomach softly as your chest rose and fell in shallow pants. His gaze was heavy, filled with a different kind of hunger — one that was almost reverent. "You know what you’ve done to us, jagiya," he rumbled. His voice sent another pulse of heat between your legs even as you whimpered under his touch. "You’ve made us greedy."
“Completely insatiable,” Jin murmured beside you, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your breast, where faint little bite marks started showing on your skin.
Yoongi leaned in close to your ear, his voice like silk wrapped in danger. “We’ve fed from you. Claimed you. But now... now we want something more permanent.”
Jimin’s lips brushed your jaw. “Something that makes you ours in a way no one can undo.”
Your breath hitched as realization bloomed inside you, even through the hazy fog of exhaustion and overstimulation. “You... you want to—”
“Breed you.” Taehyung’s voice was low, dark, and possessive. His fangs peeked out, eyes hooded and glowing. “Fill you until you carry us inside you.”
Your thighs involuntarily tried to close at the words, but Namjoon easily held them open, gently but firmly, with a growl of warning.
The thought sent a fresh rush of wetness between your legs — something they all immediately smelled, their sharp senses honing in on your response like a predator finding weakness.
Hoseok chuckled softly, his voice dripping with pride. “Your body wants it even more than your mind does.”
Namjoon shifted forward, his massive cock heavy and hard again, the tip brushing against your soaked entrance.
“Do you want it, sweetheart?” he whispered. “Do you want to be bred by your monsters?”
Your whole body trembled. “Y-Yes... please.”
That was all it took.
Namjoon pushed inside you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch stretching you open again. You cried out — not from pain, but from how full he made you. The sensation was overwhelming. “So perfect,” he growled, hips snapping forward to bottom out inside you. “So fucking made for us.” He started to move, slow at first, but gradually building a punishing rhythm. The slick sound of him fucking into you filled the room alongside your broken whimpers.
The others didn’t stay still.
Yoongi's hand slid under your stomach, pressing down just enough to let you feel the bulge of Namjoon’s cock every time he drove into you. “Already so full. We’ll fill you again and again.”
Jimin’s tongue flicked over one of your nipples while Hoseok bit lightly at the other, alternating between pain and pleasure. Jin and Taehyung held your legs wide open, whispering filthy praises as they watched you come undone.
"You'll look so beautiful, swollen with us," Jin rasped, eyes hooded with possessive lust.
Taehyung licked a trail up your thigh. “You’ll carry all of us. We’ll make sure of it.”
Namjoon growled deep in his chest as his thrusts grew rougher, hips slamming into you over and over, the sound of skin against skin filling the air. "Jagiya," he panted.
You sobbed his name as your orgasm tore through you again, your body convulsing around him. The clenching of your walls triggered his own release — with a final sharp thrust, Namjoon buried himself to the hilt and emptied inside you, filling your womb with thick, hot spurts of his spend.
But he didn’t pull out. “Stay full, sweetheart,” he rasped, breathless. “Don’t lose a drop.”
As Namjoon finally eased out of you, Jungkook was already there, replacing him in a single sharp thrust that made your eyes roll back. “My turn,” Jungkook growled. “You’ll take all of us. One after the other.”
You could only moan helplessly as he began pounding into you, the mixture of his cock and Namjoon’s cum dripping from you, making everything slick and filthy.
Jungkook was rougher — more desperate. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place while he fucked you with primal hunger. “Gonna breed you full of my pups,” he growled. “Mark you so deep you’ll never forget who you belong to.”
"You already belong to us," Jimin whispered breathlessly, watching you from above. “But we’re going to make sure the whole world knows.”
Yoongi leaned in again, his fangs dragging lightly over your pulse point. “You’ll carry the next generation of monsters. Our monsters.”
Your body was barely able to keep up — one orgasm crashing into the next, leaving you completely wrecked under their endless need to claim you.
As Jungkook finally spilled inside you with a feral snarl, filling you just as Namjoon had, Jin was already guiding himself between your trembling thighs next.
One by one, they all took turns — filling you again, and again, and again — until you could feel the mixture of all of their cum pooling inside you, your womb overflowing, your body utterly drenched in them.
By the time Taehyung finally finished, pressing his cock as deep as he could and groaning your name as he emptied inside you, you were barely conscious — your eyes fluttering, lips swollen from whispered promises and rough kisses.
You whimpered softly as they gathered around you, stroking your flushed, marked skin reverently.
“So full,” Yoongi whispered, his hand resting over your bloated stomach, a wicked, satisfied grin on his lips. “You’re carrying all of us now.”
Namjoon leaned down, kissing your temple gently, voice a deep, rumbling purr. “You’ll give us beautiful little hybrids. Our legacy. Our bloodline.”
“I—love—you
” you managed to whisper sleepily, completely ruined but completely cherished.
“All of us love you, sweetheart,” Yoongi whispered as his cool fingers caressed your cheek. “Forever.”
As exhaustion finally dragged you under, you heard Taehyung’s final whispered promise — dark and sweet like poison. “And tomorrow
 we’ll break you and put you together again.”
â€ïžđŸ–€â€ïžđŸ–€â€ïžđŸ–€â€ïžđŸ–€
Thank you for reading!
Thinking about expanding the story more, let me know if that’s wanted! 💜
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warisaracket777 · 2 months ago
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𝙖 đ™˜đ™šđ™§đ™©đ™–đ™žđ™Ł đ™§đ™€đ™ąđ™–đ™Łđ™˜đ™š
Ch. 1: đŸđšđ„đ„ đ­đžđ«đŠ
❣ yoongi x f!reader ❣ musicteacher!yoongi x englishteacher!reader; high school teacher au; rivals 2 lovers ❣ cw: crack, slight angst, eventual smut; american public school system (yes, this is a cw); eventual smut ❣ MDNI ❣ Word Count: 4.6 k ❣ Chapter 1 Summary: Kicking off the new school year with several petty spats, the halls of Bangtan High School echo with the insults and bickering between two otherwise very respectable teachers. You think you might str*ngle Min Yoongi before fall term ends.
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❣ Author's Note(s): → I love all my public school teachers, can’t wait to be one of y’all.
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àŒ„Ë–Â°.☕.àłƒàż”đŸ“š*:ᝰ.📓🗒ˎˊ˗
early september 
“Why is it that every time there is a problem, it’s always you two chucklefucks?” Vice Principal Kim Seokjin reprimands from behind his desk. It was hard for you to take him seriously. 
Well, it should be hard for anyone to take him seriously when his daily uniform consisted of a bow tie and a sweater vest. 
“Way to fuckin’ loud, dude, turn it down,” Min Yoongi groans from his spot on the armchair facing Seokjin’s desk. “It’s not even 8:00 am.” His lips formed a small ‘o,’ blowing the steam from his coffee before taking a flinchy sip. 
He looked uncouth, dress shirt unironed and hair unkempt, earrings glinting at you as it swung under the fluorescents. He wore his glasses today — that was new, too. You note the blue of his wrinkly shirt. You were fuming, hoping that he could feel the daggers you were staring straight into his skin.
“It is week one of the semester, Mr. Min,” Seokjin raps his ruler against his desk. Each tap of the wood deepened Yoongi’s winces as he rubbed his temple. “What seems to be the problem?” The sound of Yoongi’s obnoxious sipping is grating on your nerves. You huff, at the both of them, too irritated to sit in the chair next to Yoongi.
“HE —“ you point a manicured finger straight at the criminal, “stole my reservation for the library on the shared faculty calendar!” 
Yoongi just rolls his eyes.
“Everyone knows it’s not permanent if it’s written in pencil,” he shrugs.
“I have been here for three years now and I’ve never heard that rule,” you seethe. “Plus, it’s not written down anywhere in the employment rule book and contract we signed. I checked.”
Yoongi snorts.
“You hear that, Jin? She checked. Back me up here,” he says, nonchalant. Jin, the shrill little worm, gives you a sheepish shrug, conceding to the criminal. (“It’s Mr. Kim during school hours,” he hisses at Yoongi quietly.)
“It is my understanding that the shared calendar must be filled out in pen to be considered official and permanent.”
“See, Ms. LN?” Yoongi smugly looks up at you through his glasses. “It needs to be reserved in ink or else it’s not permanent.” His eyes, way too bright and gleeful. 
“What if I stabbed you with this pencil, huh Mr. Min? Do you think the scar would be permanent?” You address him formally in an exaggerated, sugary pitch. 
“Yah! Ms. LN. There will be NO stabbing in my office.” Seokjin intervenes, slapping the ruler on his desk again. “Do not make me bring Principal Kim into this.” You had to laugh at that threat. 
“Please, Namjoon isn’t going to do shit,” Yoongi echoes your thoughts. 
“So now what? Are we just operating by unofficial rules now?” You snap at both of the men in the room, frustration licking up your throat. “How is this fair to me?”
“Can’t you just reserve another week?” Yoongi asks you, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And you’re absolutely incensed.
“It is the principle of the damn thing. You should’ve had the courtesy to ask me before you erased my reservation.” Your tone is accusatory, and you’re determined to prevent any wavering, any weakness, from leaking through to the surface. Truth be told, it wasn’t a big deal for you to shift your lesson plans by a week, you didn’t need that particular reservation date. But the library had the only projector in the school, and you had promised a viewing of Romeo + Juliet for your students at the end of the month after they’d read through the play in class. Namjoon and Seokjin, no matter how hard you lobbied them, steadfastly maintained that there simply wasn’t enough money in the annual budget to purchase more projection screens for the classrooms. It felt like half of your job was spent in front of Seokjin’s desk, trying to bully him into putting more money into resources for your students.
“What’s done is done,” Seokjin interjects. You thought him a clown. “Next time, Ms. LN, just write your reservation in pen. Problem solved.” He looks happy with himself.
It takes everything you have not to scream at the both of them. Not this early in the year. Doubtless there will be a more lively confrontation the next time the likes of Min Yoongi decides to push one too many of your buttons. So you take a deep breath. Yoongi looks up at you, eyebrow arched in teasing curiosity.
One.
Two.
Three.
Release breath. 
“Fine.” You grit your teeth. 
“Hey, YN?” Yoongi interrupts the awkward silence.
“What?” You’re practically barking with rage.
“Unclench,” Yoongi says, as if he had the authority to command you. You think you feel the rage forcing a twitch in your eye, right under the waterline. Seokjin fails at suppressing his snort. You take another 3-second deep breath.
Chin held high in promise, eyes narrowing; your expression is murderous.  
“One day, we will have an HR rep who actually cares about what goes on in this place.” You lace as much venom as you can into your threat, all smiles and simpering. 
The two men just stare at you, wide-eyed and unsure of what to make of your malice. “And on that day, I will dance upon both of your graves.”
You huff, tighten your cardigan around you, and march out of the office, making sure to slam the door on your way out. Satisfaction from snatching the last word for yourself provides brief respite as you make your way to your classroom.
✎
By 8:30 am, your homeroom students had settled into an excitable chatter, with the morning energy only present in young classmates who had spent three long summer months apart. A few kids scattered themselves in your reading corner, cordoned off by bookshelves and a secondhand loveseat you had haggled away one of the pearl-clutching monsters on the PTA. 
Months spent scrimping and saving for secondhand furniture, used books, and a dinky little speaker that eked out soft classical music throughout the day. In the corner stood a few drawers of mini personal hygiene products and extra school supplies, paid for out of your own pocket (as was the case with the majority of the teachers in this school district) on your own meager salary. You avoided the overhead fluorescents like the plague, opting for the yellow warmth of fairy lights and some antique Tiffany lamps you’d snagged at an estate sale. And despite the broken desks, the bucket catching water from the leaking ceiling, you had made a sanctuary for you students out of your classroom. 
By 8:45 the clang of the bell signals the official start of the school day.
“Alright, kiddos. Into your seats and settle down for morning announcements, please.” You sip your mug of tea and pull your cardigan tight around you; your classroom was always so cold despite the countless times you’d put in a service request to Hoseok the janitor. You watch your kids make their way to their assigned desks, basketball shoes scuttling on linoleum, backpacks dwarfing their figures, you bask in your morning routine. “Remember, legally, we cannot make you stand to say the pledge,” you waggle your eyebrows at your students with mischief, jokingly sneering at the striped flag dangling next to the door of your classroom. A gaggle of giggles breaks out just as the intercom system beeps and Seokjin’s voice comes over the speakers, all static and haughtiness.
“Good morning, Bangtan High!” The screech of the microphone feedback and a few taps (which only exacerbated the screeching) disturbed the sacred calm of your room. “Testing, test— Jimin! Stop messing with my microphone!” More feedback screeching. “No I’m not spitting on the mic, now fix the feedback or you’re fired.” A few of your kids are giggling, hands over their ears. You just roll your eyes as you write the date and the day’s lesson objectives on the chalkboard.
“Okay, let’s try this again. Good morning, Bangtan High! This is Vice Principal Kim,” his screeching replaces the microphone feedback, only slightly less grating to the ear. You listen as he runs through the announcements for the day — slop for lunch (gruel for vegetarians), applications for hall monitors, varsity soccer tryouts to meet in the fields behind the gymnasium, the moronic cult-like recitation of the pledge of allegiance — you were grateful for the morning routine you had, even if your boss was incompetent. And you were excited about your assignments for this year.
“And finally, there will be a mandatory faculty meeting today at 4:00 pm in the lounge. Light refreshments will be provided.” You groan internally, just now remembering that you had to attend that god forsaken meeting. “This is Veep Kim, signing off! Go Scouts!” 
“Ms. LN, does this mean that today’s debate team meeting will be canceled?” Irene asks. By far, one of your favorite students, and captain of the debate team that you coached as required by your contract.
“Yeah, unfortunately, kiddo. Can you send out a text letting the rest of the team know? We’ll just meet next week.” 
“Yes, ma’am,” Irene responds.
“Alright, 9:00 am!” You look at your reliable old Casio, ready to start your lesson. “Starting next week, we will be reading Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. In each of your desks, I have placed a copy — if yours is damaged or dirty, please bring it to our librarian Mr. Kim Taehyung and he will get you another copy. I will be assigning roles based on preference.”
“Oh, Mr. Kim is the hot new librarian,” you hear another student next to Irene whisper, all girlish gossip and hushed tones. You fight to keep a hold on your chuckle. 
“Is there a problem Wendy?” You look at her, brows raised with authority, even though the situation was amusing. 
“No,” her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry Miss LN,” she says sheepishly.
“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” you tease her before resuming focus. “Back to business. Extra credit will be awarded to the two of you who will read for Romeo and Juliet. Please submit your preferences to me by email before Sunday night. If you don’t submit your name, I will assign roles randomly until we have each role casted.” You do your cheesy little snap and finger guns, saying “Capisce?” with a bright smile on your face.
The students just groan and repeat “Capisce,” back at you.
It was your thing.
✎
By 2:00 pm, Min Yoongi’s back was starting to hurt from having to tune thirty instruments every hour. Violins with bows missing one too many hairs, guitars with broken tuning pegs, and a roomful of pubescent monsters hyped up on Monster energy drinks and sugar — dreams do come true. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t love his job. Sure, the music program was up for the chopping block every year, and sure, he didn’t have the budget he needed to truly teach in the way he wanted; but these snot-nosed little rascals were the light of Yoongi’s life. 
In every sense except financial, stability was what he needed; teaching gave him what producing never could. For Yoongi, there was integrity in teaching, and it provided him with immense relief after he quit his cushy producing job at Big Hit. Day in and day out of making formulaic pop music — he had hardened into a soulless robot. And by the time that AI had become incorporated into the production process, Yoongi found himself completely bereft. Useless. Meaningless. His life’s work, thrown into an industry that traded integrity for streaming numbers. 
Now, after six years at Bangtan High, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He loved it. The screechy, off-tune concerts, the 7:00 am mornings, even fighting with you — all of it. He loved all of it, even if he didn’t get by unscathed; a few mistakes and a handful of regrets still nagged at him on his worst days. But today wasn’t one of those days. 
Yoongi tapped his conductor’s baton on the music stand, commanding attention from his Advanced Orchestra students. This was always his favorite class of the day — the last class, and all were students who loved Orchestra I enough to come back. He didn’t have to start from scratch with these kids. 
“As you all know,” he starts after clearing his throat, “the Winter Concert will take place the weekend before the holiday break, and Orchestras I and II will be performing. Please make sure to tell your parents ahead of t—” 
“Mr. Min,” Irene raises her hand, waving it in the air with fervor. First chair violin, precocious but disciplined. Yoongi nods at her, his glasses flopping down his nose. He thinks he’ll start wearing these more often.
“We actually have a debate competition the last weekend before winter break starts,” Irene states matter-of-factly, “and frankly, it’s an important one.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” he asks softly, confusion wrinkling his features. He swore that there weren’t any bookings on the shared calendar for that weekend when he checked this morning. 
“Me, Irene, Joy, Yeri, and Seulgi,” Wendy chimes in loudly, and it only adds to Yoongi’s annoyance.
“That’s
 just not possible,” he mumbles, “but thank you for letting me know. I’ll figure this out with Miss LN.” It takes all of his effort not to grit his teeth in frustration. His best performers, whisked away by you in revenge? Not going to happen. “We’ll discuss it later,” he adds curtly.
“As I was saying,” Yoongi continues, much more tersely than before, “Tell your parents ahead of time and let me know if you cannot participate so I can dole out the proper roles to the beginner Orchestra
”
By the time he’s finished his classes, cleaned up his room, and disinfected each desk and chair with a sanitizing cloth, Yoongi’s ready for his afternoon coffee. As he walks into the faculty lounge, to his annoyance, he sees you standing next to the kettle, stirring honey into your mug of tea. He checks the shared faculty calendar by the entrance, and sure enough, you reserved nearly every campus facility available for the week before winter break. With your back turned away from him, Yoongi takes a moment to look at you before taking up the space next to you at the counter.  Another sparkle of irritation burbles in his chest, compelling him to move forward. 
“Well, well, well,” he keeps his voice curt, “if it isn’t the thief.” He keeps his eyes trained on his coffee. 
You spill a little of your tea, letting out a squeak of surprise as the tea scalds your hand. “Fuck, ow—”
Yoongi immediately regrets his attempt at taunting you as he watches you hiss in pain. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he panics, promptly grabbing you by the wrist and shoving your hand under the tap. He turns the knob for cold water on full blast, surprised that you let him guide you like that.
“Thief?” you spit at him angrily. “You’re the one who stole my reservation for the library this morning.” Yoongi frowns as the spot on your hand becomes an angrier red by the second. You snatch it away from his grip. “And don’t touch me.” 
“The last weekend before Winter break has always been reserved for the Winter Concert, you know this,” Yoongi says, trying to keep a lid on so he wouldn’t explode with impatience. 
“Give me back my library reservation and I’ll give you back the Winter Concert weekend,” you state with no emotion in your face.
“You’re a terrorist,” Yoongi fires back as he opens the freezer, picking out a handful of ice and throwing it into a sandwich bag. “And no, I can’t. I don’t negotiate with terrorists and I need the library that day. It has the only projector on campus and I need it to show a movie.” He offers the makeshift ice pack to you, wrapped in flimsy paper towels because the school’s budget cuts didn’t prioritize usable hygiene and cleaning products.
“For what? You teach music! I’ve seen your Winter Concerts, Min Yoongi, and it seems like you need to work on making sure your kids aren’t tone deaf before they watch Stomp Out Loud for the 800th time in their musical education.” You accept the ice pack anyway, gingerly placing it on the angry red burn on your hand.
“I show Stomp one fucking time. One time, and now I never hear the end of it from you,” he sighs in exasperation. “And why can’t you just move your reservation to a different date? I need that week, I have an appointment.” 
“Because I planned my syllabus meticulously and that specific week was meant to be the end of my Romeo & Juliet unit. I need the projector.” You couldn’t keep the agitation out of your demeanor: you hated deviating from your syllabus, from your plans. Now everything needed to be shifted and it would mess with your schedule for the rest of the semester unless you spent another three hours figuring out how to restructure everything. You’ll keep Yoongi’s Winter Concert hostage, if not just to torture him a little bit.
“Well, move your syllabus around,” Yoongi replies, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He moves in sync with you, the two of you mired in your bickering as the faculty lounge conference table starts filling up with your colleagues.
“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds,” you snarl. “Move your appointment around!”
And to your irritation, he just smirks as he plays with one of his earrings. “Over my dead body, sweetheart,” he almost coos at you as he exposes his gummy smile.
Taehyung slides into the seat next to you, disrupting your bickering. Yoongi’s face visibly hardens when you turn your attention toward the new librarian. You beam at him, as if sunshine came out of his ass. 
“Long time no see,” Taehyung says to you, a hint of amusement shared between the two of you. 
“Tae — just the person I needed to see,” you lean closer to him and whisper something Yoongi can’t hear, so he just sips his coffee with a cranky look on his face.
“What happened to your hand, babe?” Taehyung’s concerned tone grates on Yoongi’s nerves. Babe? Wasn’t there some kind of rule against fraternizing with your colleagues?
“Nothing, just spilled boiling water on myself,” you respond, brushing it off like it was no big deal.
Yoongi just sinks down further in his seat.
“I call this meeting to order,” Jin’s screeching breaks through your chattering with Taehyung. Thank god, Yoongi thinks to himself, side eyeing you and Taehyung.
“Principal Kim sends his apologies, he couldn’t be here today so I’ve been sent in his stead,” Jin clears his throat and adjusts his detestable bowtie before reading off the list of notes Namjoon had sent him.


You sip your tea and ignore Yoongi for the rest of the meeting, diligently taking notes and contributing whenever necessary. 
“And finally, this is a reminder that all faculty are responsible for volunteering at or chaperoning at least two formal school events each semester,” Jin looks pointedly around the room when the faculty erupt in groans of annoyance. He holds up a clipboard, evidently pleased with his ability to irritate everyone with his overenthusiastic attitude, “You may sign up here — Miss LN, Mr. Min, please stay for a few minutes. I would like to speak with the both of you.”
This better be an apology for the calendar mishap, you grumble to yourself as you check your watch. Fine. Whatever. You look over at Yoongi, who seems just as displeased as you.
“Miss LN, a new teaching assistant will be shadowing you tomorrow,” Jin says to you, opening his laptop. You narrow your eyes, mind flashing through Jin’s prolific history of assigning you tasks that Principal Namjoon had actually assigned to him.
“Why me?” you ask suspiciously. “He’s looking to teach English lit,” Jin replies, clicking around on his laptop. 
“There are four other teachers in the English department, why not ask them? They have seniority over me,” you argue back, hesitant about piling more onto your list of responsibilities.  In the reflection of the window behind him, you could see his mouse moving around playing cards on a deep green screen. I need a raise, you groan internally, complete self-loathing in that moment for not selling out your intellect and going into business or finance after college. 
“Stop playing solitaire and pay attention!” you slap your palm down on the conference. Jin looks up at you with slight fear.
“Is there any reason why I need to be here?” Yoongi interjects.
“Shut it—”
“Yes.”
Both you and Jin look at Yoongi.
Jin clears his throat, and closes out of the solitaire window. “His name is Jeon Jungkook, and I’m assigning him to you because you have the least experience with shadows and you ought to learn how to manage one.” He smiles at you innocently, “It’s not like I don’t care about your professional development, you know. Now. Moving onto the ruckus this morning.” Jin pushes his glasses further up his nose bridge and tightens his ridiculous bowtie once again.
“I am assigning you two as heads of the Autumn Festival planning committee,” he announces. 
The fucking gall on this man. 
“What?” Yoongi balks as you stare, confounded.
“Why? Are you punishing me?” you nearly scream.
“Don’t make me call the union,” Yoongi threatens. And for once, you’re with him.
The bastard just smiles at you and Yoongi from across the conference table. You have half a mind to throw his $9 latte straight in his face, multimillion dollar lawsuit be damned.
“Just listen to me, okay?” Jin asks, raising his eyebrows as if he was an adult trying to resolve an issue between two obdurate toddlers. Neither you nor Yoongi respond, so he continues, despite the murderous glares on both of your faces.
“I need you two to get over whatever the fuck is going on. My faculty is a team, and I can’t have two essential members of my team going at each other’s throats. In the past four years, I have received exactly 22 complaints from either your colleagues or your students about aggressive behavior from the both of you,” Jin explains, chipper as always. “So, you two will be working together with the PTA to put on the annual Autumn Festival.” He smiles at his ingenuity.
“This is god punishing me for my sins, huh?” You look up at the ceiling dramatically, mentally cursing your luck. 
“You can’t be serious,” Yoongi grumbles, sinking into his seat and sighing with frustration. “You’ve already put me in charge of the Winter Concert, Jin.”
“Mr. Kim
” you chime in too, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath — you will yourself not to quit right then and there. “I am already coaching the debate team and my weekends are spent taking them to competitions. I can’t take on any more responsibilities,” you try to reason with him.
“As you both know, the Autumn Festival is our largest fundraiser of the year,” your boss continues, disregarding the protests coming from you and Yoongi. “If you manage to pull this off without a hitch — and I mean it,” Jin points at the both of you with a long, crooked finger, evidently enjoying his little power trip, “If there are no complaints about the two of you from the students or the faculty from now until the Autumn Festival, I’ll give the Music and English departments 25% of the funds each, as long as you can rake in over $10,000.” That gets the both of you to shut up. The offer stuns both you and Yoongi into your own quiet internal deliberations. The English department definitely needed that money. You could finally take your students to the Shakespeare Library. Maybe a few more copies of course textbooks. 
“Of course, you’ll both be excused from one of the mandatory two-event faculty service requirements,” Jin adds.
After several awkwards beats, Yoongi narrows his eyes at Jin and decides to be the first to break the silence.
“Thirty percent,” he deadpans. You look over at him in the seat next to you, his long fingers interlaced behind his head. You could see the bulge of his muscles through his shirt when he sat in that position.
“And you’ll excuse us from both of the events for our service requirement,” you add to Yoongi’s demand.
“You drive a hard barg—,” 
“I’m not done,” you interrupt your boss, bringing your hand up to stop him in his tracks. “You will also buy another projector or TV that will be used exclusively by the English department,” you demand. “I’m tired of fighting with this lunkhead for resources,” you nod over to Yoongi.
“Excuse me? Lunkhead?” Yoongi cries indignantly. You just smirk at him, silently waiting for Seokjin’s response with an expectant look on your face.
Jin narrows his eyes, looking back and forth between you and Yoongi. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I agree to your terms. But you two will be on your best behavior this semester or Principal Kim will hear about this.” 
You sink back into your chair, a sigh escaping you in aggravation. “Fine,” you huff, facial expression disgruntled at the realization that you’d be spending more time than you’d like with the world’s biggest thorn in your side

Jin looks at Yoongi, raising an eyebrow when he doesn’t confirm his cooperation like you did.
“Fine,” Yoongi pushes his glasses up his nose bridge and shows his palms in surrender, “I’ll do it. Just don’t blame me when this blows up in your face, Jin.”
You couldn’t have agreed more.
✎
The next day passes by like most days, except for the new teaching assistant trailing behind you every second of every hour, overly eager to impress. He arrived half an hour before homeroom started, two disposable cups in hand like a nervous intern on his first day of work. 
“Miss LN,” he had introduced himself in a sheepish, polite manner, “My name is Jungkook. I’m your new teaching assistant.”
“Hi,” you smile at him warmly as you unlock the door to your classroom. “Come on in,” you nod him toward the room while kicking down the door stop. Jungkook offers you one of the drinks he had in hand.
“Herbal tea,” he said, “Yoongi said you drink herbal tea.”
You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, and maybe something in your face betrays your disgust at this information because Jungkook starts prattling.
“I can get you something else if you like, Miss—”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off. Uninterested in thinking about Yoongi anymore than you needed to. Instead, you just nod, taking the cup from Jungkook’s hand. “I’ll give you a tour of the room and show you where you can put down your stuff.”
You run through your classroom with your new TA. 
“Students can borrow as many books as they want, as long as they return them within two weeks,” you start listing off your rules on your fingers as the two of you get to your desk in the front of the room. Jungkook is scrambling to write down every word you were saying, determined tongue sticking out as his pen tore across his notepad. 
“Your desk is back there,” you nod toward the cozy set up you made for Jungkook, complete with his own mug that said ‘#1 TA.’
“It is a strict rule in the faculty lounge that you use your own mug. Do not touch anyone else’s mug, and keep your shit clean if you’re going to use the storage available in the faculty lounge kitchen,” you continue. 
“Yes, ma’am, Miss LN.” You stare at the kid, eager as a puppy to impress any and every human within its vicinity.
“Two more things, and I want you to just listen,” you instruct Jungkook. He dutifully puts away his notepad.
“One, you can call me YN,” you raise your eyes at him, waiting for affirmation from him. 
“Got it,” he nods.
“And second, you need to relax. This is public school, not the military.”
82 notes · View notes
kitsunesx · 2 years ago
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@ovilis
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“How did you even get your hands on that?” Namjoon asked, sounding exasperated.
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cigarettesuga · 6 days ago
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opposites dont attract, they destroy⠀୚ৎ ( pjm ) ch. O4
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✾⠀⠀PREMISE ⠀⠀፧⠀⠀ (y/n) tries to focus on namjoon — soft, warm, and easy — but jimin’s presence lingers. after weeks of avoidance, everything comes to a head: confessions, tension, a kiss she didn’t expect, and a choice she’s not ready to make. namjoon wants clarity. jimin wants her. and (y/n)? she’s still caught in the in-between.
featuring⠀fuckboy!jimin x proud & stubborn!reader x sweetheart!namjoon (eventual? undecided? we’re spiraling.) genre⠀angst, unresolved feelings , college!au, slight fluff, tension wc⠀9.97k warnings⠀emotional conflict, mentions of past sexual content, unresolved tension, crying, jealousy, love triangle dynamics, reader is confused and guarded, jimin spiraling, namjoon being emotionally mature and a lot of staring that means more than words navi
lu's note⠀please don’t hate me... okay maybe just a little 😭 i know this chapter is a bit of a rollercoaster, but trust the process — i promise it’s all intentional. alsooo if you're enjoying my work, even if it’s frustrating, pls pls pls consider leaving me some feedback. likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated and help keep me going
i just wanna preface that this fic is meant to be the way it is — messy, slow, aching — we still have 2–3 more chapters to go, so buckle up. thank you for being here with me through it all.
⠀⠀
⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"you don't even want me"
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the door to her dorm clicked shut behind her, and she let herself fall face-first into the mattress with a soft thud, her cheek pressing into the still-warm sheets. her jacket still on, shoes barely kicked off. the kind of tired that wasn’t really tired at all—just that post-social haze, her chest buzzing lightly from laughter, conversation, and the lingering sweetness of namjoon's dimpled smile.
he had been
 lovely. funny in that clever, unassuming way. thoughtful too—remembering her favorite coffee order after sora mentioned it once in passing. and patient. like actually patient, not in the way most boys her age pretended to be. with namjoon, it hadn’t felt like a game. it felt easy. and god, she missed easy.
her phone buzzed. once. a soft hum against her pillow.
she expected it to be sora—probably checking in or asking for a recap of how the “not-a-date” had gone. instead, her screen lit up with a name she hadn’t seen pop up in hours.
[ jimin. ]  you home already?
the smile that had been lazily blooming on her face froze halfway. her body stilled, and the warmth that namjoon left behind was suddenly eclipsed by something sharp, cold, and entirely too familiar.
she didn’t answer right away.
instead, she rolled onto her back, phone held above her face, eyes squinting at the glow of the screen. she stared at the message, her thumb hovering.
he had some fucking nerve.
after everything—after rowan, after pretending she didn’t exist in front of his friends, after weeks of hot and cold games and shitty timing. he was really asking her that now?
she tapped out a reply, then deleted it. then another. then sighed.
finally, she let herself type something that wasn’t clever or filtered, just raw:
[ (y/n) ]  why do you even care who i go out with?
pause. breath held.
before he could respond, she added:
[ (y/n) ]  how about i don’t comment on the people you sleep with and you do the same?
and then she turned her phone face down on the nightstand, like the weight of it was too much. like maybe if she didn’t look, it wouldn’t pull her back in again.
she closed her eyes. replayed the way namjoon had gently bumped his shoulder into hers when she made him laugh too hard. the way he’d tucked his hands into his pockets and asked for her number with none of jimin’s cocky charm—just genuine interest. no pressure. no games.
and still

still.
her mind kept dragging her back to a pair of low-rise jeans, the sting of a slap on her thigh, and the kind of kiss that made her forget her own name.
"god, i hate this," she whispered into the quiet. not to anyone. just the ceiling. the walls. herself.
and she meant it. but even she didn’t know who she was talking about anymore.
her phone lit up again, casting a soft glow across her room. she peeked at it with some hesitation, still feeling the weight of the earlier exchange with jimin sitting somewhere heavy behind her ribs. but it wasn’t from him.
it was from namjoon.
[ namjoon ] hey, just got home. today was really nice :) thanks for going along with it—even with sora and jin hovering like secret agents lol
she felt her body ease, tension slipping out of her shoulders without her realizing it had settled there. namjoon’s presence—even through a text—felt like cool water over sunburn. gentle. considerate. unassuming. not trying to crawl under her skin, just
 there. honest. warm.
[ (y/n) ]  it was fun, joon. thanks for making it easy.
he replied a second later.
[ namjoon ]  was hoping maybe we could hang out again? just the two of us. no chaperones, i promise.
and just like that, the corners of her lips lifted. she didn’t have to force it.
[ (y/n) ]  i’d like that. just give me a day when you’re free.
the small burst of happiness that bloomed in her chest was real. and still—there was a quiet guilt layered underneath. not because of namjoon. never him. but because her heart was still half-occupied with a boy who texted her things like “you home?” like he hadn’t torn her apart and stitched her back together just days ago.
her phone buzzed again. this time, she knew who it was before even checking.
[ jimin. ] cool. hope he likes headaches.
she stared at the message, unimpressed, not even angry—just... exhausted. like her lungs didn’t want to expand any further for someone who kept giving her so little and expecting everything in return.
she didn’t reply.
instead, she silenced her notifications and tossed her phone somewhere near the edge of her bed, crawling under her covers with a sigh that felt too heavy for her chest.
the thing about jimin was that he always knew how to push just enough. cryptic enough to hurt, casual enough to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. she hated that she understood what he meant. she hated that she still cared enough to decode it.
but not tonight. not anymore.
not when namjoon had looked at her like she wasn’t a complication. not when she was so tired of feeling like an afterthought in jimin’s world.
so she turned off her bedside lamp, letting the dark swallow her whole. and for once, she didn’t wait for another message.
she let herself drift—mind foggy, heart split down the middle, and soul aching for a version of herself that didn’t feel so drained by boys who only ever loved her in pieces.
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the morning sun was too bright for how heavy she felt. it stretched long across the campus quad, glinting off concrete and windows, casting sharp shadows where students moved in waves between buildings. the buzz of weekday routine dulled into the background as she walked alone, backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder, her earbuds in but the music barely registering. her fingers tugged at her sleeve absently, eyes skimming over the scenery—until they locked onto him.
park jimin stood across the quad, half-shaded beneath the pale green of a ginkgo tree, his gaze already on her.
he wasn’t smirking. no signature cocky lean. none of that usual glint in his eye that came with teasing her to her last nerve. instead, he just... stood there. like a still frame frozen in time, looking at her like he always used to—before all the backseats and closet doors and low whispers meant too much. it was almost disarming, the quiet in his expression. his posture was relaxed but there was a tiredness in his face, like sleep hadn’t visited him properly in days. something frayed lingered in the way his jaw was set, his eyes unreadable.
rowan was there too, standing beside him, angled toward him as she spoke. animated. laughing at something. touching his arm with too much familiarity. but if jimin heard her, if he even registered her presence, he didn’t show it. he wasn’t looking at her. he was still watching her.
on jimin’s other side, taehyung and jungkook flanked him like accidental bodyguards, both of them stiff and clearly uncomfortable. jungkook’s polite smile toward rowan was paper-thin, barely there. taehyung nodded slightly, his eyes darting around like he was itching to bail. it was the kind of awkward trio that made her wonder how long they’d been standing there like that—and how long jimin had been looking.
the breath she’d been holding escaped through her nose as she forced her gaze away.
“hey,” came a gentle voice, and a hand brushed just above her elbow—grounding, featherlight but warm. she startled slightly, turning her head, only to be met with soft eyes and the most unassuming dimple.
namjoon.
he was looking down at her like she was something he was happy to find. not in an intense way, not desperate—just genuinely glad to see her, the kind of look that didn’t ask for anything in return.
“you looked a little far away,” he said, lifting the coffee cup in his other hand. “figured you could use this.”
she blinked at the offering, her lips parting slightly in surprise. she hadn’t even told him what she liked, but one glance at the order printed on the sticker told her everything she needed to know: sora.
she smiled anyway, taking it with both hands, letting the heat of it sink into her fingers.
“thanks,” she said softly.
behind him, a few meters back, sora and jin stood in a bubble of their own, whispering with grins too large for their faces. sora caught her eye and wiggled her brows, mouthing you’re welcome. (y/n) rolled her eyes but she couldn’t hide the amused twist of her lips.
“i was just heading to the other side of campus,” namjoon said casually, then added, “figured i could walk you. unless you’d rather not?”
her heart squeezed a little at how careful he was with her—never pushy, always giving her space to decide. a far cry from the boy who still hadn’t stopped staring at her from across the courtyard like she was a song he forgot how to play.
“no, that’d be nice,” she answered, her voice a bit steadier this time.
namjoon nodded once, falling into step beside her as they began to cross the quad. she felt the ghost of jimin’s gaze lingering on her back, but she didn’t look back. not this time. instead, she focused on the rhythm of namjoon’s footsteps next to hers, the way their shoulders nearly brushed, the way he tilted his head toward her slightly when she spoke. it wasn’t instant fireworks or reckless abandon. it was calm. intentional. safe.
still, as they walked together toward her next class, her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup. and somewhere deep beneath the warmth of namjoon’s presence, her chest ached—not for what she had, but for what she couldn’t seem to let go of.
they walked through campus like they'd done it a hundred times before—unhurried steps, the occasional bump of arms, shared glances that didn’t demand much. it was easy with namjoon. and maybe that’s what made it all the more dangerous.
the building where her next class was held loomed in front of them, students already filing in through its glass doors. she was just about to step inside when namjoon caught her wrist gently, a thumb brushing over her knuckles as he slowed her down.
“hey,” he said, almost like he wasn’t sure he should, but went for it anyway, “i was wondering if we could hang out later today
 if you’ve got any free time. no pressure. just—if you want.”
his tone wasn’t pushy. just soft around the edges. the kind of voice that made people feel safe. (y/n) glanced up at him, blinking, his request sinking in slower than she’d like to admit. it wasn’t anything extraordinary. he wasn’t asking for a kiss, or a late-night sneak-in, or her body pressed to the side of his car. just
 time.
and god, how rare that felt lately.
her lips curled into a tiny smile before she even realized it. “yeah,” she said. “i’d like that.”
namjoon grinned—something genuine and warm blooming across his face, like her answer meant something, like she meant something. and when he gave her hand a small squeeze, he didn’t let go right away. his fingers lingered, like they wanted to memorize the shape of hers before he turned to go.
“i’ll text you,” he said.
and then he was gone, heading back down the path with his long strides and soft confidence, leaving her standing there with her chest a little too tight, heart a little too full—and her mind a little too loud.
she exhaled sharply and pushed through the doors.
thankfully, she was early enough to scope out a spot away from the back row she usually claimed—their row. instead, she found a seat in the middle section, wedged neatly between two girls she only kind of knew. they were deep into a conversation about something that happened at last weekend’s frat party, voices low and conspiratorial. she offered them a smile, the kind that said hey, i’m friendly, but also don’t ask me about my night, and pulled out her notes.
she wasn’t going to admit she was avoiding him. hell no. not even to herself.
but when the doors at the front of the lecture hall swung open and the professor made his entrance, it was only seconds later that he arrived too.
jimin stepped in behind the professor, slightly breathless, like he’d been debating whether to come in at all. and unlike every other morning, he paused.
stood there.
right in the middle of the auditorium, eyes scanning the back row like a heat-seeking missile. confusion flashed across his face when he didn’t find her in her usual seat. his expression didn’t falter—stoic and unreadable—but his jaw ticked once. and then again when he spotted her, two rows down, nestled between two strangers.
she didn’t look up. kept her eyes on her notebook even though she could feel his stare singeing the back of her skull like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
he didn’t move for a moment. just stood there.
then without a word, jimin turned and climbed to his seat at the very back, far behind her, the same one he always claimed like it was marked in invisible ink. but today, it wasn’t the same. nothing was.
she didn’t turn around. didn’t give him the satisfaction. but she could sense the weight of his gaze, heavy and simmering, burning holes into her spine the entire lecture. every time she shifted, or brushed her hair off her shoulder, or adjusted the sleeves of her sweater, she knew he was watching. like he had questions. like he had something to say.
but when the class ended, and the professor dismissed them with a clatter of notes and laptop bags, jimin didn’t come to her.
he stood first.
grabbed his bag with a tight grip.
and left. fast.
his sneakers echoing against the steps as he disappeared up the aisle like he couldn’t stand to be there a second longer. he didn’t look at her again. not directly. but his expression, what little she caught of it—set jaw, tense shoulders—told her enough.
he looked pissed. and confused. and maybe even a little bit lost.
and if she were being honest?
so was she.
the rest of her classes blurred into one long reel of white noise. she sat through them like a ghost, pen between her fingers but no actual notes being taken, eyes on the board but brain miles away. it wasn’t just jimin’s absence that clawed at her—it was what it meant. or rather, what she feared it meant.
because park jimin didn’t just stop showing up. not unless something snapped.
by her last lecture of the day, she felt it. the pit in her stomach. heavy. acidic. growing by the hour.
her phone remained silent.
as she stepped into one of the smaller corridors on the way to her dorm, feet dragging with exhaustion she wasn’t ready to admit to, she heard it.
“yo,”
she turned, only to find jungkook leaning against the wall, arms crossed, taehyung next to him with a look like he’d been waiting to intercept her all damn day.
great.
“you guys planning a jump?” she asked, dry, pulling one earbud out, the other still playing some instrumental playlist that had failed miserably at calming her nerves.
“nah,” jungkook said, his voice soft but his brows drawn tight. “we just
 wanted to talk.”
she sighed.
“if this is about jimin, you can save it. really.”
“he’s not okay,” jungkook said bluntly.
“not that it’s your problem,” taehyung added, biting into the words a little harder than necessary. “but also, it kinda is. because everyone around you two is starting to lose it.”
she blinked at them.
taehyung wasn’t usually this direct—not unless he was well and truly fed up. and the crossed arms, the tapping foot, the dead stare? yeah. he was done.
“he hasn’t been himself,” jungkook muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “i mean, jimin’s always a bit of a disaster, but
 this is different. he’s not eating much, skipping lectures, not even teasing me, which is—concerning, by the way.”
“maybe check on him,” she offered with a sarcastic tilt of her head. “or better yet, ask his girlfriend. oh—wait. ex-fling. my bad.”
“okay, no,” taehyung cut in, eyes narrowing. “we’re not doing this. you being petty, him being a drama queen—both of you are exhausting. and we’re caught in the crossfire.”
she raised a brow. “i never asked to be in the crossfire.”
“no, but you sure as hell aren’t doing anything to get out of it,” he shot back. “look, i get it. feelings are messy. things got complicated. but at some point, the two of you need to fucking talk. or else, all of us—your friends, his friends—we’re just gonna keep pretending this weird tension isn’t slowly eating our social lives.”
she opened her mouth. closed it. tried again.
“i don’t owe him anything,” she muttered, quieter this time. “he’s the one who started this mess.”
jungkook exhaled, finally uncrossing his arms, less sharp than taehyung but still insistent. “and maybe he did. but you stayed in it. and now it’s bleeding into everything. you don’t have to fix it, (y/n). but don’t pretend it’s not real.”
that one landed. heavier than she expected.
there was a pause.
just the three of them in the hallway, that weird hum of fluorescents above them and a sudden feeling like the walls were getting smaller. she could feel the tight coil of her stomach again. and not even her best poker face could keep it from showing.
taehyung pushed off the wall.
“just talk to him,” he said. “before he completely shuts down. and before you pretend you’re not halfway there too.”
they didn’t wait for an answer. didn’t press. just nodded, gave her a look that said we care, we’re tired, we’re not choosing sides, and walked off.
and she?
she stood there.
phone in hand.
one unread message from jimin. three unsaid things on the tip of her tongue. and the unmistakable weight of a decision she didn’t know she was ready to make.
she lingered by the staircase a little longer than she needed to, thumb hovering over jimin’s name on her screen. the message thread was still open—his last text unread, blinking at her like it knew something she didn’t. or worse, like it was waiting for a decision she wasn’t ready to make.
she exhaled hard, thumb already inching toward the keyboard when—
“hey.”
the voice pulled her from the mental spiral gently, deep and kind and oddly grounding. she looked up, caught off guard, and there he was—namjoon, with his soft gaze and sun-warmed hoodie, hands tucked in his pockets and dimples flashing just slightly when he smiled.
she quickly tilted her phone away, locking the screen without even thinking about it. jimin’s last message still buzzed in her chest, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.
cool. hope he likes headaches.
it was sarcastic, clipped. textbook jimin when he was trying too hard not to care. she could read it like a second language by now—how the space between those words carried more weight than they let on. like maybe what he really wanted to say was something else entirely. something real. something terrifying.
but he hadn’t. and so neither did she.
namjoon didn’t ask. didn’t glance at her screen. he just motioned with his head toward the quad outside. “wanna sit under that big-ass tree near the library? it’s warm but the shade’s nice. thought maybe we could just
 hang for a bit?”
and god, he had this way of asking that made it feel like she could say no and he’d still smile at her the same.
but she didn’t say no. she nodded, quietly grateful.
the walk was brief. the kind where silence isn’t awkward, just
 quiet. lived-in. she liked that about him. how easy things felt around namjoon. how he never filled silence with unnecessary words. how his presence didn’t beg for attention, but still held it effortlessly.
they settled beneath the tree, backs against the bark, the campus humming around them—students milling about, the occasional skateboard rumbling past on the path, the distant thump of music from someone’s speaker.
he offered her one of the iced drinks he’d brought—she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying two.
“thought you might like oat milk,” he said casually, then sipped his own like he hadn’t just scored points for being thoughtful as hell.
(y/n) smiled faintly, accepting the cup. “you guessed right.”
“good. jin said you were picky,” he teased, nudging her shoulder with his.
“jin says a lot of things,” she shot back, hiding her grin behind the plastic lid.
they talked like that for a while. small stuff. the music playing in the background. weird campus rumors. favorite books. a professor that was clearly burnt out and one that had a god complex. she found herself leaning into his voice, relaxed in the warmth and steady cadence of it.
at some point, he asked about the ring she wore on her middle finger and she answered without even realizing she hadn’t thought about jimin in five minutes straight.
well. not consciously.
because the truth was, he was still there. llurking beneath the surface, like he always did. ever since this mess began, jimin had taken up permanent residence in the back of her mind—laughing at her, challenging her, touching her with his gaze even from across a room. she hated it. hated how jungkook and taehyung’s words echoed. hated that they were right. that even now, as she sat with someone kind and genuinely interested in her, she was still comparing the warmth of joon’s company to the burn jimin left behind.
and yet—
namjoon leaned back on his elbows, eyes closing for a second as he basked in the filtered light through the branches above them.
“you seem distracted,” he said suddenly, without accusation, just an observation. his voice was soft, like he was handing her an out if she needed it.
she blinked, caught.
“sorry. just a lot on my mind.”
he nodded, slow. thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
there it was again—that quiet, unwavering grace. the way he gave her room.
she tilted her head to look at him, searching. “have you always been this considerate?”
he laughed, eyes crinkling. “maybe. or maybe i’m just trying to balance out how annoying jin is.”
she laughed too, softer than before. her body relaxing again, just slightly. the moment stretched quietly between them—pleasant and unassuming.
and still, still, jimin’s stupid smirk and unread message clawed at the edges of it.
during those weeks when they’d been hooking up, she remembered taehyung joking once—something like “i swear to god if you two don’t just fuck and fall in love already
” jungkook had laughed. jimin had just grinned, a little smug, a little shy, never confirming or denying anything. and she? she’d rolled her eyes, called them idiots, and changed the subject. secretly hoping maybe jimin would prove them right.
but he never did. not out loud.
namjoon nudged her foot with his.
“hey,” he said gently. “you’re here right now. with me. that counts for something.”
and he was right.
so she smiled.
and let herself stay.
even if her mind was still split in two.
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jimin had always been good at pretending. at smirking through things he didn’t understand, laughing when something cracked instead of splintered. he knew how to keep his face unreadable, how to dodge questions with a wink or a shrug. girls had always told him he was “hard to read” — and he’d taken pride in that once.
but lately, he felt transparent. like everything he was feeling showed right on the surface. and the worst part? (y/n) didn’t even look back to notice.
he saw them. of course he saw them. the campus wasn’t that big. they weren’t even doing anything scandalous — not really. no secret makeout sessions, no giddy PDA. just soft touches. close proximity. stolen glances across study tables and shared earbuds in the quad. but that’s what made it worse, wasn’t it?
it looked real. it looked easy.
he saw her once, passing by the west garden, her hand wrapped loosely in namjoon’s as they talked about something he couldn’t hear. her eyes were focused on the pavement, but her thumb was stroking his knuckles absentmindedly, and when namjoon bent his head down to murmur something, she smiled.
jimin hadn’t seen her smile like that in weeks. not at him, anyway.
he was posted near the vending machines, pretending to read the ingredients off a protein bar he didn’t even want. didn’t realize how tight his jaw had gotten until the muscle twitched.
the next time was the library.
he wasn’t even planning on going in — just cutting through to avoid the crowd outside the lit building where a poetry slam was happening. but he stopped short the moment he saw her, tucked in the quietest corner of the reading room, legs folded under her in that way she always did when she got too comfortable.
namjoon was beside her, arm draped lazily behind her chair. they weren’t whispering. they were just talking — heads close enough their noses could almost bump.
she leaned over to mark something in his notes. he chuckled, full and soft. and then she kissed his cheek. just like that. quick. casual. devastating.
jimin had turned on his heel so fast he almost clipped his shoulder against the exit. didn’t even know where he was going. anywhere, he guessed. anywhere but there.
he told himself it wasn’t jealousy. told himself it was just surprise. confusion. residual frustration.
but then she walked into their shared elective that week — arms full of books, flower tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie. daisy. small and scrunched, probably plucked from that half-dead flower patch near the music hall. the kind of thing girls pressed into their journals or between books.
and jimin knew.
namjoon brought it. and she kept it.
he didn’t say a word to her that day. not that she noticed. her eyes never met his. she walked right past him and sat with one of the girls they only used to nod at. smiled through the whole lecture. laughed at the professor’s jokes. leaned forward like she was actually interested in the slides on the screen.
jimin stayed in the back row. slouched in his seat. scrolled his phone and didn’t process a single word. all the casual hookups he used to bat away like flies? none of them even tempted him now. his texts were dry. his nights felt longer. and his own bed? too cold.
he wanted to say something. anything. even if it was just “you look happy.”
but he didn’t. because she did. and for once, it wasn’t with him.
he watched her walk away again that day — hoodie sleeves bunched up to her elbows, daisy still in place. she was talking to namjoon outside the building, her hand reaching out to smooth something off his shoulder. they laughed again. louder this time.
and jimin
 well, jimin just stood there. like he always did. wanting to call out. but never quite ready to speak.
it wasn’t that he was angry. he’d never really been angry at her — not in the way people usually mean. frustration, sure. confusion, always. but anger? no. jimin couldn’t be angry when all he ever wanted was for her to just look at him the way she looked at everyone else. open. honest. soft.
what fucked him up was the shift. the whiplash of being pulled in close only to be shoved away again like nothing happened.
he kept going over it. playing back the nights they spent tangled in each other like they had nowhere else to be — when it was quiet and late and the city was humming just beyond her window, when her voice would get low and dreamy, when she'd talk about books she never finished or songs she swore sounded better in the rain. he'd brush her hair out of her face without even thinking. she'd roll her eyes at him, smirk, bite the inside of her cheek — then say something that stuck with him longer than it should’ve.
they talked about fears once. about endings. about the kind of loneliness that crawls into your bones even when someone’s lying right next to you.
jimin remembered thinking she looked beautiful when she talked like that. all vulnerable and annoyed about it, like hating how human she could be sometimes. and yeah, she was a pain in the ass. sharp-tongued. bratty. dramatic. but god, if he didn’t love that about her.
they weren’t just sex. sure, they fucked — in every way possible. up against walls. tangled in his sheets. over the desk in his room, her skirt hitched up and her hand over her own mouth. but even then, it wasn’t just fucking.
it was the way she whispered his name like it meant something. the way her fingers gripped his back like he’d disappear. the way she looked at him after — not always soft, but still real.
and now? she couldn’t even look at him.
she walked with namjoon like she’d never crawled into jimin’s lap, soaking through her panties while pretending not to care. she smiled at namjoon like she hadn’t once told jimin that people like her weren’t built for softness. she held namjoon’s hand like she hadn’t made jimin swear that this — them — wasn’t a thing.
but it was.to him, it always had been.
he hadn’t touched anyone else since the backseat of his car. not since that night. not even when he wanted to. not even when he tried.
he remembered lying in bed with someone else the week after, someone familiar, someone who wouldn’t ask for anything deeper than skin. she kissed down his chest, made all the right moves. and still, all jimin could think about was the way (y/n) tasted, the way her breath stuttered, the way her hips moved when she was close.
he stopped her. told her he wasn’t in the mood. lied through his fucking teeth because of course he was in the mood — just not for her.
he wasn’t stupid. he knew what this looked like. he knew he’d never said the things she probably needed to hear. that he’d been careless sometimes, flirted too much, played it too cool. he knew she didn’t trust him. but that didn’t mean it hadn’t meant something.
he thought it did. and now? he was just some ghost in her rearview.
a mistake. a phase. a headache she could shake off with strong coffee and a boy who was smart and warm and safe.
he wanted to punch something. crawl out of his own skin. scream into his pillow like he was fifteen again and heartbroken for the first time.
instead, jimin just stood there. watching her from across the quad like a fucking idiot. heart in his throat, jaw clenched, hands in his pockets.
still not saying a word.
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he wasn’t exactly hiding. not really. but the back bench behind the fine arts building had become something like a sanctuary in the past few days — out of sight, out of reach, out of her.
rowan.
of course she found him.
he heard the heels first. sharp taps against pavement, that signature sway in her step he used to find sexy. now? it just made his teeth grind.
“jimin,” she sighed like it was exhausting just to say his name. he didn’t look up. didn’t move. just inhaled deep and kept his eyes on the trees in front of him, like maybe if he stayed still enough, she’d disappear.
but rowan was nothing if not persistent. always had been. especially when it came to things she couldn’t have.
“you’ve been ignoring my texts,” she said, arms crossing in front of her chest, all pout and passive-aggression. “and now you’re hiding out here like some emo art kid.”
he exhaled slowly through his nose, tongue pressed against his cheek. “what do you want, rowan?”
“what do you think?” she scoffed, stepping closer. “you’ve been acting like a ghost. you blow me off, you say we’re done, and yet I still see you—”
“we are done.”
he said it sharper than he intended. the words cut through the warm air between them like glass — sharp, final. rowan blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. and jimin stood, finally meeting her eyes.
"rowan," he said, voice low but firm, hands clenched in his pockets. “i’ve asked you — so many times — to stop. i told you i didn’t want anything serious. i told you we were over after the party. i told you to stop showing up.”
she crossed her arms tighter, mask of composure cracking ever so slightly. “so what? this is about her, isn’t it?”
he didn’t say anything.
that was answer enough.
rowan laughed — bitter, disbelieving. “you’re really choosing her over me? that girl acts like she wants to rip your head off every time you speak.”
“and yet,” he said, a touch too calm, “she still means more than whatever this was.”
that shut her up.
“i’m not trying to be cruel,” he continued, gentler now, but steady. “but i need you to stop acting like you don’t understand. it’s not me being confused. i’m not leading you on. i’m not interested.”
she narrowed her eyes. “she’s just another girl.”
“no,” he snapped — not loud, but hard, like it ripped from his chest without permission. “she’s not.”
his own words stunned him into silence. rowan blinked again. it was the first time she looked genuinely affected. but she didn’t argue, didn’t snark back.
jimin sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “you deserve someone who wants the same things as you,” he said, softer. “that’s not me. not with you.”
a beat passed. rowan shifted, like she might try one last shot — but saw something in his face that made her stop.
“fine,” she muttered, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she turned. “but don’t come crawling back when she picks someone better.”
he didn’t answer. because the truth was, she already had. and it was killing him.
he waited until she disappeared from view before sitting back down, elbows on his knees, staring at the gravel like it held answers.
he finally did what he should’ve done weeks ago.
but it still felt like he was losing everything.
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the day was overcast, like the sky was just as miserable as jimin. he sat slumped on the edge of the campus fountain, head down, hoodie up, airpods in but no music playing. just noise canceling his way through his own shitty mood.
jungkook dropped down beside him first, clinking his canned coffee against jimin’s knee. taehyung followed a second later, plopping on the opposite side like it was a coordinated ambush. and maybe it was. he wouldn’t put it past them.
“still not talking to her?” jungkook asked, voice almost bored.
jimin didn’t answer.
“rowan’s really gone, huh,” taehyung said, peering over his sunglasses. “damn. can’t say i’m gonna miss her.”
jimin side-eyed them both. “do you two just wake up and decide to piss me off or is it, like, a shared calendar thing?”
“hey,” jungkook shrugged, sipping his coffee. “just saying. the campus feels more breathable now. like the air has cleared.”
taehyung chuckled but leaned in, voice lower. “you know what’d clear your head? actually talking to her.”
jimin groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “we’ve talked. it didn’t work. i fucked it up.”
“you didn’t fuck it up, you just stopped trying,” taehyung shot back. “you’ve been playing this push-and-pull game with her since the beginning and then acted shocked when she slipped away.”
“and dude—” jungkook pointed a finger at him, “you’ve been miserable ever since that first night. don’t think we didn’t notice you coming back to pick us up with your shirt inside out and lipstick on your jaw. we knew.”
jimin rolled his eyes. “thanks for the update, sherlock.”
taehyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees, serious now. “we knew from the second you told us what happened in the backseat of your car. that it wasn’t just sex. that you were—fuck, jimin, you were glowing.”
“and now look at you,” jungkook added. “acting like you got dumped from a five-year relationship when technically she was never even your girlfriend.”
“but you wanted her to be, didn’t you?” taehyung pressed. “you’re an idiot. you know that, right?”
jimin didn’t say anything for a long beat. just stared at the cracked cement under his shoes like maybe if he looked hard enough, the answers would show up etched in the ground.
“i just
” he sighed, voice low. “i didn’t know how to be with her. she’s not like the other girls. she sees right through all my shit.”
“yeah, no shit,” jungkook muttered. “that’s the point.”
taehyung clapped him on the back, not unkindly. “so stop sulking and fix it. before it’s really too late.”
jimin exhaled, closing his eyes. the thing is — he knew they were right. he’d known it for a while now.
he just didn’t know if she would let him try.
but maybe it didn’t matter. maybe he owed it to himself — and to her — to finally say the things he’d buried under months of deflection and sarcasm.
because yeah, he was an idiot. but he wasn’t about to let that be the only truth left between them.
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he hadn’t expected to feel this kind of sick.
jimin was early — on purpose for once — walking into the lecture hall with a plan in his head and a lump in his throat. he was going to talk to her. not banter, not provoke, not pretend to be unaffected while making some offhand comment meant to bury what he really meant. he was going to talk to her for real.
but the universe, as always, had a funny way of testing his resolve.
because she was already there. in his seat — their seat — but not alone. namjoon was beside her, leaning in slightly, saying something low. she laughed — really laughed — head tilting back like it had been a minute since she let herself feel that unbothered.
it made jimin's stomach twist.
and then, before he could even take another step into the room, she leaned in and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to namjoon’s lips. nothing too bold — a barely-there press of mouth to mouth, like it was still new, like they were still finding their rhythm — but jimin felt like he’d been punched in the gut regardless.
namjoon smiled after it, like a fool in love. and jimin? jimin saw red.
the worst part was that he couldn’t even be mad. not really. not when he’d never asked her to be his. not when every time she got too close, he built another wall and dared her to climb it. not when he let weeks go by where he pretended she didn’t mean more than a body he was addicted to.
but fuck, it still burned.
she caught his eyes for a split second — and something in her expression shifted. she wasn’t smiling now. wasn’t teasing. she looked
 uncertain. like she hadn’t expected him to show up early. like maybe she already knew what was coming.
good, he thought. because he wasn’t backing down now.
namjoon gave her hand a squeeze and left the room with that same calm energy he always carried, not noticing the storm building behind jimin’s eyes.
jimin took slow steps down the rows, heart in his throat. she watched him approach — wary but unreadable.
he slid into the seat beside her without a word at first. exhaled once. then turned to face her.
“we need to talk,” he said. his voice was steady, low. but there was no joking in it this time. no smugness. no brat-taming smirk.
just jimin. finally.
the moment the professor walked in, jimin’s fists clenched on his lap, knuckles white. the timing couldn’t have been worse — they were right there, at the edge of something. she hadn’t said a word when he sat beside her, but her eyes had flicked toward him with that same guarded flicker he remembered all too well. like she didn’t trust him not to bite. like she didn’t trust herself not to bleed.
and now he was stuck beside her for the next forty-five minutes, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo when she shifted, to hear the soft scratch of her pen as she took notes like nothing had just happened outside this room. like she hadn’t kissed someone else. like she hadn’t looked at him like she wanted to say something but didn’t.
by the time the lecture ended, she stood up before the professor even closed his notebook. jimin followed immediately, not because he planned it that way, but because the pull was too much. he didn’t know if he was walking toward her to fix things or make it worse — maybe both — but he couldn’t just sit there anymore, watching her drift further away.
she weaved through the thinning crowd like she didn’t want to be followed, heading toward the side of the campus where the arts building met the back gardens. he kept a few steps behind, until the halls started to clear and the noise of students faded into the quiet echo of their footsteps. it was the only part of campus that always felt a little bit detached from time — murals unfinished, the walls splattered with decades of accidental genius.
and when she turned the corner, he reached for her.
his fingers brushed against her wrist, light and unsure. she paused. didn’t pull away.
jimin’s hand slipped down to hers, closing gently around it, and when she turned, they were face to face for the first time in weeks.
and suddenly, it was so quiet.
her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but the words got stuck. maybe in her throat. maybe in the ache he saw flicker behind her eyes. her hand trembled a little in his, and jimin wanted so badly to pull her in, press his forehead to hers, say all the things he hadn’t had the guts to say before. but he didn’t. not yet.
instead, he looked at her.
really looked.
the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked too slowly. the faint crease in her brow, like she was trying not to cry or punch him. the pink in her cheeks — maybe from walking fast, maybe from the lingering touch of namjoon’s smile. and god, jimin hated how soft that made him.
she was staring right back, like she was still waiting for him to speak. to move. to mess this up one more time.
but not yet.
not while her hand was still in his. not while there was still time.
“can you please stop ignoring me?” jimin’s voice is low — not angry, not smug, just tired. almost like a plea. he’s standing too close again, eyes a little red around the edges, jaw clenched like he’s doing everything in his power not to say something worse. his hand is still loosely wrapped around hers, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, she’ll disappear completely.
but it hits a nerve. of course it does.
“you want me to stop ignoring you?” she scoffs, trying to pull her hand away, and when he doesn’t let go, she snaps, “you don’t get to act possessive now. you were swapping spit with rowan a few days ago.”
that lands. hard. like she just threw a brick through the delicate glass he was trying to hand her.
he flinches — not dramatically, but visibly, the corners of his mouth twitching down, his fingers flexing like the words stung physically. and for a second, he looks at her like she’s just told him he was nothing to her at all. he blinks fast, once, then straightens up.
“that ended the night after the party,” he fires back. no hesitation. no bullshit. “i haven’t touched anyone since you.”
she narrows her eyes. “bullshit. i saw her.”
and now he’s the one scoffing — bitter, frustrated, but honest in a way he hasn’t been in weeks.
“yeah. you saw her. not me.” his voice cracks just a bit on the last word. “and every day since then, i’ve told her to leave me alone. i don’t want her. i wanted you.”
it’s like the air leaves the room. the hallway. her lungs.
he looks so serious now — like he’s been waiting to say those exact words, afraid they’d get caught in his throat if he didn’t time them just right. the hallway is quiet, the walls suddenly too close, and the silence between them stretches like elastic pulled to its breaking point.
and she just... stands there. quiet.
because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that?
“i’ve been into you since semester one,” jimin continues, and his voice is rough now — not loud, not dramatic, just true, like it costs him something to say it. “i just
 didn’t know how to be with someone like you.”
she doesn’t move. she doesn’t blink.
and he knows she’s looking for it — the catch, the crack in the foundation, the tell. the little twitch of a liar’s eye. something to give her permission to scoff, to roll her eyes, to pull away and call him full of shit like she’s done before. but he stands there, breathing uneven, letting the silence stretch again, swallowing back everything else he wants to say because if he gives too much, she might run again.
“and seeing you with him?” he exhales, “yeah. it hurts. a lot. but i’m not gonna tell you who to be with.”
the words hang between them like a dare.
and god, she hates how her chest aches. how her eyes are glued to his like they’re afraid to look away. how even now, when she wants to call him an asshole, when she wants to scream about all the ways he doesn’t deserve this closeness — her gaze still drops. right to his lips.
and that’s all it takes.
he sees it. feels the shift. and before she can harden her face again, before the moment passes, his hand is already lifting — so gentle, so heartbreakingly unlike the way he’s ever touched her before. no heat, no frenzy. just fingers brushing her jaw, thumb catching the corner of her mouth, like he’s not sure she’ll let him, like he needs her to know.
his hands cup her face like she’s breakable.
and then he kisses her.
slow. aching. like it’s the only language he knows, like it’s the only way to show her he’s not lying, that he’s done pretending like this is just sex, like it’s nothing. it’s not a kiss to convince her, it’s a kiss to surrender — to everything she’s meant, to everything he couldn’t say until now.
he kisses her like it might be the last time. like maybe this is the only way to make her see him.
and she does.
god, she does.
her lips press back against his without thinking — soft, reluctant at first, like the part of her that’s still bracing for impact. but he’s kissing her like he means it, like she’s the only thing in his world that isn’t crumbling, and it wrecks her.
because for a second, she lets herself feel it — the rush of how long she’s wanted this, the way his hands are careful now instead of greedy, the way his mouth moves with something more tender than anything they’ve ever shared. she kisses him back like she’s been holding it in for months.
but then her brain catches up.
because it’s not as simple as this.
it’s not just a kiss, not just a confession. it’s namjoon’s smile in the back of her head. it’s the soft steadiness she’s been slowly letting in. it’s the way namjoon treats her like someone you plan a life with, not just someone you unravel with in closets and beds and the backseat of a car.
her hand rises between them.
she doesn’t shove. it’s not even firm — it’s gentle, but the intention behind it is unmistakable. a request, not a rejection.
jimin pulls back immediately, eyes flicking to hers like he’s afraid of what he’ll find.
and what he sees? destroys him.
not anger. not even coldness.
just defeat. quiet, aching defeat.
her eyes are glassy but firm. her mouth, swollen from his kiss, trembles slightly before she speaks.
“i can’t, jimin.”
and it’s not bitter. not cruel. it’s tired. heavy. like those three words are holding back a storm of things she won’t say.
he tries — just barely — “wait, let’s just—”
but she’s already stepping back. already shaking her head.
“i need time.”
and then she turns.
her steps are quick, like she can outrun the weight in her chest, the sting behind her eyes, the fucking pull she still feels toward him even now — but she doesn't make it far.
because just as she rounds the corner of the corridor, her shoulder collides with something solid, warm.
someone’s chest.
she stumbles a step back and looks up.
it’s namjoon.
his brows furrow just slightly as he steadies her by the elbow, eyes darting between her face — flushed, teary, lips kissed raw — and behind her.
to jimin.
who stands frozen in place, watching.
namjoon’s hand lingers on her shoulder. his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak yet. his gaze flicks between them again — between whatever the hell just happened — and settles back on her.
and that’s when it hits her.
he knows.
he doesn’t need to ask.
and that quiet, unreadable look in his eyes? that’s not anger.
it’s hurt. it’s disappointment.
he doesn’t say a word — not yet.
and she suddenly doesn’t know how to breathe.
“you okay?”
his voice is soft, careful — like he already knows the answer but doesn’t want to assume. he’s still holding her, fingers loose but present where they rest just above her elbow. but his eyes? they’re not on her. they’re fixed on jimin, locked in a quiet, charged stare.
like they’re speaking a language she can’t hear.
like this—her—is a game they’ve both decided to play, and now they’re silently measuring each other to see who’s willing to play harder.
jimin doesn’t speak. his chest rises with a steady inhale, then falls just as slowly. his eyes narrow, only slightly, and his jaw clenches like he’s trying to swallow everything he wants to say.
then, with the subtlest nod — more to himself than anyone else — he turns and walks away.
no parting words. no smug smirk. no angry outburst.
just
 silence.
and it somehow hurts more than if he’d screamed.
(y/n) doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until she’s alone in the hallway with namjoon. the air feels thick now — heavy with something she can’t quite name. regret? guilt? longing?
all of it, probably.
namjoon doesn’t let go of her right away.
he waits until jimin’s silhouette has disappeared entirely down the corridor before he finally brings his eyes back to her.
and then, softly—so gently—he says, “i think we need to talk.”
his tone is calm, but not distant. not cold. it’s that same softness he’s always offered her, the kind that makes her feel safe enough to breathe.
and that’s what makes it worse.
because he's not angry.
he’s hurt.
and he’s still being kind.
the sun is soft in the back gardens, filtering through the leaves of the old tree above them, casting dappled shadows across the empty bench. it’s one of those calm, golden moments of the afternoon — too peaceful to match the way her heart feels like it’s collapsing into itself.
namjoon sits first, wordlessly, elbows on his knees as he stares at the ground for a second. (y/n) follows, perching beside him, the space between them weighted with things unsaid. there are a couple of students across the grass, talking quietly, too far to hear anything. for now, this small patch of quiet feels like another world — private, raw, inevitable.
he exhales like he’s been holding it for a while. not frustrated. just tired. tired in the way people get when they’ve been holding out hope and it finally starts to burn.
“you saw?” she asks, tentative, voice small.
he nods once. “enough to get the idea.”
and fuck, it’s not even his tone that hurts. it’s the lack of one. he’s not lashing out, not being petty. he’s just... gutted, and still choosing kindness over anything else.
she starts to explain, fumbling her way through the mess. “it’s not what it looks like, or—okay, maybe it is, but it’s also so much more complicated than just that. jimin and i... we have history. it’s stupid and messy and half the time it doesn’t even make sense to me. but—” she hesitates, breath catching, “but what i feel with you? it’s real too. it’s not fake. it’s not a distraction.”
his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t look away. he lets her say it. all of it.
“i like being around you,” she admits. “you make things feel calm. like i can breathe again. and i—I like the way you make me feel. like i matter.”
namjoon stays quiet a beat too long, watching her with those unreadable eyes. she doesn’t know what hurts more — his silence or the softness still sitting in his expression despite everything.
then he says, voice low but steady, “was i just a distraction from him?”
her stomach knots. “no,” she says quickly, too quickly. “god, no. you’re not—you were never that. i just... i didn’t expect this to happen. any of it. not with you. not with him. i didn’t even think i had space left to feel anything for anyone. and now—”
her voice cracks and trails off.
he nods again, like he’s bracing himself. “you’re allowed to feel confused,” he says, and it sounds like it’s taking everything in him to say it out loud. “but i deserve clarity too.”
her throat goes tight.
“i still like you, (y/n),” he adds. “i don’t know if that makes me an idiot... but i do. and i’m willing to try. to see where this goes. but i’m not going to be someone else’s shadow.”
and there it is. the truth. the kindness. the boundary.
it feels like both a comfort and a slap to the face.
he deserves more. she knows that. and still, part of her heart is stuck in another pair of hands.
she looks down at her lap, unsure what to say — because she knows no apology can fix this, and yet her silence might just shatter the one person who’s never tried to play games with her heart.
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the dorm room is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes everything feel heavier than it should. (y/n) is curled up on her bed, blanket tugged halfway over her torso, eyes locked on the ceiling as if she’s trying to count the imperfections in the plaster just to keep from falling apart again.
her chest rises slowly with each breath, but the tears spill anyway—silent, betraying her even when she’s trying to hold herself together. she doesn’t sob, doesn’t hiccup or gasp for air, she just lets them fall, like surrender. her fingers are twisted in the hem of her shirt, and her phone rests on her stomach, screen black until—
buzz.
the vibration startles her more than she wants to admit, and she wipes at her face clumsily, hand trembling as she reaches for the phone. she expects anything but this.
"i meant everything i said."
jimin.
of course it’s him.
she doesn’t open the message. can’t. instead she lets the phone fall back onto her stomach and sinks deeper into her mattress, eyes burning again. god, why is it always like this? why does he get to make her feel everything all at once—desired, angry, confused, wanted—then just disappear and show up again with words that press right into her ribs?
sora’s voice cuts into the thick silence. “you wanna talk about it now, or should i just crawl into bed and annoy the hell out of you until you crack?”
a dry laugh escapes (y/n), but it turns watery at the edges. she blinks at the ceiling before shifting onto her side, facing sora who’s already kicked off her shoes and is sitting cross-legged on the opposite bed, watching her.
“i kissed him,” (y/n) says quietly. “again.”
“you sure know how to pick your poison, babe,” sora answers, soft, no judgment, just truth. “what happened?”
(y/n) exhales. slow. shaky. then spills everything. the fight. the confession. the kiss that left her breathless. the crushing guilt. running into namjoon right after. the garden bench. the ache of being caught in between.
and sora listens. really listens.
when the silence settles again, sora speaks, her tone more serious than it usually is. “look. you know i don’t hate jimin.”
(y/n) meets her eyes. swollen, glassy.
“if anything,” sora continues, “i’ve been watching you two dance around each other for months now. and yeah, you’re scared. you act tough, pretend it doesn’t affect you—but i’ve seen it. the way you look at him when he’s not paying attention. and the way he looks at you when he thinks no one notices.”
she lets the words sink in.
“but i’ve also seen the way you two never really change. it’s always this game. always the same cycle of push and pull. and maybe that’s what it had to be at first, but now? i’ve seen you with namjoon. and girl—" she smiles gently, “you breathe differently with him. you’re not on edge. you’re not trying to prove anything. it’s just soft. and i think a part of you really needed that.”
(y/n) closes her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“i’m not gonna tell you who to be with,” sora says. “but if you’re not honest—with yourself, with them—someone’s gonna get hurt worse than they already are.”
before (y/n) can respond, the phone buzzes again.
her stomach twists.
"just tell me when you're ready, yeah?"
namjoon.
of course.
this time she doesn’t even pick up the phone. she just stares at the screen for a second too long, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.
then she turns it over, face down on her chest.
both left unread.
sora lies back on her own bed, eyes to the ceiling. “you know i’ll support whatever you decide, right?”
(y/n) just nods, too tired to speak, too full of feelings to sleep.
and outside, the sky bleeds into that bruised shade of evening—the one where things aren’t quite day or night. and maybe that’s exactly where she is too. suspended in the in-between.
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quietly , always cigarettesuga . ୚ৎ
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glossdebut · 9 days ago
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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 06
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✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader
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✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.
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✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat
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✧ CHAPTER TAGS: yoongi and MC are both going thru it, JK too my poor baby, the band is back in seoul, communication but idk if i’d call it healthy, setting the stage for some bullshit in chapter 7 jsyk, flashbacks in italics, nsfw warnings under the cut (see series masterlist for series warnings)
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✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 14k words
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✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK
 and here i am, with 14k 😼‍💹 i don’t know what came over me this weekend, i guess posting that teaser kicked me in the ass just like i wanted it to. ANYWAY, i don’t have much to say aside from i missed you guys and i missed this fic so damn much. i’ve already started work on chapter 7 that’s how down bad i am!!! thank you to claret @yoonmetogether (the knower) and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading for me <3 i can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks so please send your feedback after you read!
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CH. 06: WHY CAN'T I MAKE A MISTAKE?
✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: implied/referenced alcoholism, sexting, dirty talk, semi-public sex, oral (f. receiving), but just the BAREST HINT, but yes POF!yoongi’s tongue piercing does make a comeback lol, yoongi’s hands, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t be like them), shower sex, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! lmk if i missed anything, oh there’s a little bit of slight slutshaming in one scene? but it’s for the plot idk you’ll see
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Yoongi is trying to focus, but you are testing his fucking patience. 
A meeting with the label bigwigs—an important one, at that. He’s meant to be showing them his progress on the album, that all of the money they’ve already poured into creative teams and PR isn’t for nothing. He’s not an idiot. He knows they’re nervous. Of all the fickle, testy artists they have signed, Yoongi is the ficklest. The testiest.
He came here to plead his case. To prove to them that his creative drive hasn’t completely fucked off and died. 
And you’re sending him pictures of yourself in lingerie. Motherfuck.
Dollface (derogatory): help me pick which one to post? 😇
You’ve been pulling shit like this all week. Blatant attempts at riling Yoongi up that have just gotten more shameless with each day—but always giving yourself just enough plausible deniability.
This time, it’s nudes under the guise of needing advice. From Yoongi. About which photo would look best on your Instagram. Something nobody has ever asked Yoongi for advice on, ever. What the fuck does he know about lingerie brand partnerships?
Yoongi would bet his record deal that there’s no brand partnership to begin with—and even if there is, you’re certainly not posting these photos anywhere. You might as well be naked. 
The set you’re wearing is all lilac mesh and lace, delicate and pretty. The panties are half-obscured, revealed only by a thumb hooking the waistband of your sweatpants down just enough. He doesn’t know how sheer they are, exactly. But if he looks closely enough, he can almost make out the exact shape of your nipples through your bra. Nipples he’s had in his mouth, his mind dutifully provides. 
He can recall the sounds you made—the sweet, breathy way you moaned his name. You like his piercing. He’s noticed. He likes that you like it, can’t wait to show you what he can really do with it, if you’ll let him.
It’s a damn shame. He’d much rather have you laid out in front of him, touchable and soft and begging, instead of memorialized within the paltry pixels of his phone. But he’s not about to take them for granted, even if they’re not what he wants. They’re nice fucking photos.
Yoongi wonders if you were wet when you took them. Wet for him. Maybe that’s why you left the sweatpants on. So he wouldn’t know you’re soaking your panties for him. 
The thought is enough to have him stirring to life in his jeans, which—fuck, it’s really not the time or place.
"Yoongi-ssi."
Yoongi straightens up so quickly his neck cracks. 
“What do you have for us?” Sejin asks expectantly.
“Uh, right,” Yoongi says, fumbling to open his laptop. He casts the screen to the monitor mounted on the wall as he speaks. “Seven recorded demos, three more songs in the works.”
He distributes photocopies of his lyrics to the executives across from him and hits play on the first track on his screen. Thus begins the familiar humiliation ritual.
It’s not that Yoongi is ashamed of his work. He was years ago, sometimes. Before Sejin signed him. When he was handing out CDs, or busking half-baked covers in front of pedestrians in the hopes of a few thousand won. Now that he’s played stadiums, though, it’s a little hard to stay humble. He knows his songs are good.
These meetings that Sejin insists on arranging prior to every album release just feel a little pointless, that’s all. Could definitely be an email. But instead, Yoongi is expected to show up and watch while the people who sign his checks listen to his work in its least-polished state. 
It doesn’t help that it’s Yoongi’s voice, not Jeongguk's, pouring through the speakers this time. But that’s Yoongi’s fault. Given their last conversation, it didn’t feel like a good time to ask Jeongguk to lay down some vocals before Yoongi hopped on a plane.
So, Yoongi bears it. Plays tracks one through seven, taps his fingers on the tabletop as Sejin and the others flip through the lyrics to the unfinished songs, and waits for it to be over so he can go home and think about fucking the brat out of you. Or something like that.
Track seven comes to a close, and Yoongi lifts his head to watch Sejin gather his thoughts.
“It’s
 different from what we were expecting,” Sejin says after a moment.
Yoongi fights the urge to visibly bristle, shifting in his seat. Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad.
“How so?”
“Well,” Sejin says, flipping through his copy of the lyrics again. Annotated now, Yoongi notices. “It’s an album full of love songs.”
Yoongi can’t hold his scoff in. “They’re not love songs.”
Sejin raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“It’s telling the story of someone who gets fucked over by a person they’re supposed to trust,” Yoongi explains, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a cautionary tale. Not really sure how you got ‘love’ from that.”
“My mistake,” Sejin concedes, raising his hands with his palms out in surrender. “It’s good, no matter what it is. But that comes as no surprise.”
Yoongi’s hackles lower the slightest bit. He likes Sejin, most of the time. Sejin likes to flatter him, even if Yoongi’s demeanor as of late has been cause for concern. 
“So you can work with this?”
“I don’t see why not,” Sejin hums. “Far from what we expected, so the creative team will have to regroup. But I think it’s a good time in your career for something different. Show some diversity.”
Yoongi nods once in response. He didn’t mean for this album to sound so different from what the band has released so far, but it’s normal for an artist’s sound to evolve over time. Sejin knows the industry, so Yoongi trusts his judgment.
“So.” Sejin steeples his fingers. “Let’s talk logistics.”
Right. This is what Yoongi has been bracing himself for since the tour ended.
“We’re shooting for a July release date,” Sejin starts. “That means six months for recording, mixing, mastering, artwork and design, promotion—everything.”
Yoongi sucks in a breath. Six months means a tight schedule moving forward. Mastering takes a long time. Artwork and design can take even longer, especially with three tracks missing at the moment. They’ll be finishing this album under the gun, but it isn’t impossible.
“I’ll spend a few days with your demos and work with you if I have any suggestions,” he continues. Same old, same old. Sejin is one of the few people from whom Yoongi can receive criticism, so that won’t be a problem. He rarely has edits anyway—he’s a big fan of Yoongi’s creative vision, likely due to the money it makes him. 
Yoongi shrugs. “Sure.”
“In the meantime, Hyunseok will see to it that your bandmates are flown back in over the weekend so we can start recording as soon as possible. We can meet again next week to discuss with the rest of the band.”
Right. Fuck.
Well, Jeongguk isn’t talking to him, but Sejin doesn’t need to know that right this second. Hopefully, Jimin is smoothing things out for Yoongi right now. God, that’d be nice.
Yoongi wouldn’t readily describe Park Jimin as nice, though. Maybe he should’ve confided in Taehyung instead.
“We’ll want to shoot a music video as well,” Sejin adds, cutting through Yoongi’s thoughts. “Although I think the track for it has yet to be written.”
Mmm. Yoongi respectfully (and silently) disagrees. There are at least two songs in his recorded demos that Yoongi has been envisioning a music video for, but it’s a non-issue at this point. He has three more tries to satisfy Sejin in that regard.
“And, Yoongi-ssi.” 
Yoongi meets his eyes. 
“I know you won’t want to hear this, since these are not love songs.” Yoongi bristles, but Sejin doesn’t care. “But I think the video will need a girl. Someone to be the antagonist in your cautionary tale.”
Yoongi makes a face. Yeah, sure, whatever. He’ll give Sejin that. There are plenty of viable candidates signed to the label, female musicians who also dabble in acting. It could be cool.
“Okay,” Yoongi sighs. “If the song you pick calls for it.”
“Great.”
For the next thirty minutes, Yoongi sits and listens while everyone else at the table weighs in. He doesn’t want to make any decisions without the rest of the band present, but it’s helpful to know where the label is at. The head of creative talks album cover design, PR spitballs on promotion methods. Everything is still in the brainstorming stages, but Yoongi can already see the shape this album is going to take, and it looks good. 
The meeting wraps up after that. Yoongi is in the middle of slipping his laptop into his bag, eager to head home, when Sejin speaks again.
“Ten is a good number,” he muses to the table, stopping Yoongi in his tracks. “I have no doubt those last three songs will be done as soon as possible. Our Yoongi is a machine.”
Yoongi looks down at his bag impassively, zipping it up and willing his expression not to sour at Sejin’s word choice.
It’s nothing Yoongi hasn’t heard over and over, nothing he doesn’t already know. Isn’t that what makes Burn The Stage so profitable for Sejin? Isn’t it what allows their songs to have a real message behind them, what allows Yoongi to have a shred of creative control under a company like this? 
Yoongi busts his ass and it works out in everybody’s favor. He denies himself any real semblance of a personal life, holes himself up all day long to scribble in a notebook and play his guitar until his fingers bleed. He churns out seven songs and some change in a week and a half. 
He’s heard it all—disciplined, detail-oriented, prodigious. A machine, Sejin likes to say.
Yeah.
Yeah, he is, isn’t he?
“See you,” Yoongi says in response, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 
“Have a good weekend, Yoongi-ssi,” Sejin says, and Yoongi slips out the door without another word. 
★ ★ ★
Seoyeon is too fucking good at her job. Honestly, if you had even a shred of power at this company (ha!) you’d use every ounce of it to make sure she got a raise. 
You’ve barely had a minute to yourself all week, constantly being chauffeured from place to place. She’s managed to land you a few possible brand deals, along with setting you up with a new nutritionist and personal trainer. She even scheduled a color analysis session for you, although it doesn’t really matter whether you’re a cool winter or a soft summer if the clothes you wear aren’t even yours half the time.
You’re exhausted. You’re busy. It’s exactly what you wanted.
Too bad you still can’t stop thinking about Yoongi.
You really thought the stunt you pulled last week would do the trick. It was satisfying, at first, to give the bane of your existence blue balls. It felt good to see him so visibly frustrated, to see the smugness drain from his expression when he realized you were kicking him out. You felt like you’d won something.
He just had to ruin it with that kiss at your door.
You fully intended to leave it at that, to let him walk out with no hope of a sequel. And you will leave it at that. You’ll be damned if you break first.
But still, late at night when you can’t sleep, your brain summons the phantom feeling of his lips on yours. The slide of his tongue. The stretch of his fingers. How fucking thick he felt, even through layers of fabric. You’re not going to fuck Min Yoongi, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been thinking about it.
So you’ve been teasing him during your small moments of free time, because you can. Because it makes you feel like you have the upper hand for just a moment.
Oh, and you’ve also been drinking. Not too much, just
 more than usual. Enough to dull the guilt and the anger and the frustration you’ve been feeling since you left Jeju with no explanation. 
You might’ve overdone it today, though. 
You're standing on a small platform in the middle of a mirrored fitting room, drowning in swaths of chiffon and organza. Your mouth is dry, and your lips are sticky from the tint that was smeared on them earlier. The flask in your bag is half-empty now. You’ve been steadily sneaking sips of vodka since lunch.
Hyerin has been circling you like a shark with pins for teeth for the past hour and a half. You try to stand still, but your knees feel like they’ve forgotten how to lock. You shift your weight and wince when one of the pins nicks your side.
“Jesus fucking—can you not?” you hiss, jerking away as Hyerin scowls at you.
“God, hold still! If you’d stop fidgeting, this would go a lot faster.” She yanks the fabric taut again, huffing around the pin between her lips.
You shake your head and take a step down from the platform, gathering the fabric of your dress between your fingers to keep yourself from tripping. “I need a break.”
“You need to grow up,” she mumbles. “I don’t know how Seoyeon puts up with this.”
You don’t rise to the bait. Your hand trembles slightly as you unzip the dress halfway down your back, holding it tight to your chest. The room spins when you bend to grab your clothes. It’s subtle, you’ve definitely been drunker. But it’s there.
Seoyeon appears before you can even undress.
“Hyerin-ssi, will you give us a minute?”
Hyerin stands immediately, all too happy to get away from you. When the door slams shut, Seoyeon gives you a look.
You know that look. It’s the I’ve reached the end of my very long, very patient rope look.
“Sit.”
You don’t argue. The plush bench beneath you creaks as you sink into it, blinking blearily at the wall across from you. Seoyeon steps in front of you, tapping her foot.
“Give it to me.”
You blink. “Give what—”
“The flask.” Seoyeon holds out her hand, unimpressed and expectant. 
You scoff, crossing your arms defensively over the itchy bodice of your dress. “I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupts sharply. “Do you think Hyerin doesn’t know what vodka smells like? Do you think I don’t know?”
You look away.
“I’ve been covering for you all day,” she says. “Making excuses. Pretending you’ve just got a migraine, or you had a long night. But this is unacceptable, YN.” She exhales hard. “What is going on with you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” she snaps, jaw tight. “You’ve been off all week, and it isn’t my job to ask questions. I don’t need to know what happened. But I do need you to stop fucking around. I can’t do my job if you’re too wasted to stand straight during a fitting.”
Your face burns hot with embarrassment. You want to argue, but you can’t. She isn’t wrong, and you feel ashamed for wasting her time.
“You asked me to pack your schedule, and I did,” she continues, softer now. “I’m not trying to parent you. I like working with you. I want you to succeed. But if something doesn’t change, you’re going to crash.”
Silence hangs between you for a moment. You shift your weight, chiffon rustling uncomfortably against your bare skin. 
“I’ll throw the flask away,” you say eventually, voice small. You want to mean it.
“You’ll throw it away,” she echoes. “And you’ll drink water, eat something real, and sleep a full night. And if I catch you lying to me again—”
Seoyeon doesn’t finish the sentence because she doesn’t need to. You’re already nodding, a little too eagerly, trying to prove something, though you’re not sure what. That you’re not a total mess? That you’re still worth believing in?
She waits, watching you, then sighs and finally turns toward the door. “I’ll move some things around. Go home and sleep it off.”
You nod gratefully, even though she’s not looking anymore, and the door clicks shut behind her. You let out the breath you’ve been holding.
The dress feels heavy on your body. You peel it off slowly, careful not to tear anything or nick your skin on a pin, and drape it gently over the back of the bench.
The flask sits in your bag like it’s daring you to touch it. You stare at it for a long second, then unzip the pouch, pull it out, and turn it over in your hands. It’s cold, metallic. Familiar.
You walk it over to the trash can in the corner of the room. The clang it makes when it hits the bottom is loud. Final. It rings in your ears.
You grab your clothes and start redressing, tugging your jeans up with clammy hands. You fight with the complicated straps of your shirt, trying to untwist them as much as possible to make yourself look presentable.
The chill in the air barely registers on your skin when you leave the building. You’re warm to the touch, from the vodka and shame combined. So much so that you don’t even bother to pull your coat on before you climb into the car that awaits you. You press your forehead to the window as the driver pulls onto the road, watching streetlights swim by in blurry streaks. 
Your apartment isn’t far from here, and when you get home, you won’t have another drink. Seoyeon’s words have left a mark, at least for tonight. You want to keep your word. You do. 
But the truth is, you don’t know how to function without some kind of distraction. The nonstop schedule didn’t do what you’d hoped. Drinking during work hours is no longer an option. So now you’re stuck, stripped of your crutches and alone with your thoughts.
You’ll need to find a solution soon. Something to keep you moving along.
Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You squint down at the glow of your screen, blinking at the Instagram notification until the letters unblur themselves.
@abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz has added a photo to their story.
Ah. Jeongguk. 
You remember the countless texts from him sitting unopened in your inbox, and you tap his story open anyway.
It’s a selca of him, Jimin, and Taehyung. They’re bundled in coats and scarves, huddled together in the back of a car not unlike the one you’re in now. Three-fourths of the band smiling brightly. You wonder if they’ve spoken to Yoongi at all this week.
Belatedly, you notice the location tag in the corner.
Seoul.
Chewing at your bottom lip, you swipe out of Instagram and finally open the texts you’ve been dodging since you left. 
JK: you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to right now
JK: but you can always talk to me
JK: have a safe flight. let me know when you land
You didn’t.
When you landed in Incheon last week, you just couldn’t bring yourself to open his message and explain why you left. Then, only a few nights later, Yoongi had shown up at your doorstep. You really couldn’t fathom facing Jeongguk after that. What were you supposed to say? 
Sorry, I kissed your bandmate that I hate and it freaked me out so bad I had to book a flight? 
Sorry, when he told me he knew about our deal I hooked up with him? 
Sorry, nothing I do makes any fucking sense?
So, instead, you kept ignoring his texts, hoping that eventually his persistence would wear down. And it did.
JK: i’ll leave you alone
​​JK: just text me when you’re ready to talk
You take a breath, shaky fingers hovering over your keyboard. Now seems like a good time to be an adult. 
Maybe you won’t need a distraction if you do.
You: can we meet tomorrow?
★ ★ ★
It’s the big day, and the dread has been churning in Yoongi’s gut since he dragged himself out of bed this morning.
The rest of the band is back in Seoul. Jeongguk is back in Seoul. 
Yoongi needs to at least try to talk to him, right? It’s the right thing to do. The responsible thing. And, even pushing his personal feelings aside, it’s the professional thing to do. For everyone’s career.
But he’s been pacing outside the conference room for an hour, iced Americano sweating in his hand and rattling with each step, and he still hasn’t quite figured out what he’s going to say when Jeongguk actually shows up.
It’s not like Yoongi’s never been on the receiving end of Jeongguk’s stubborn streak. He’s known the kid since he was eighteen years old. Nearing a decade now. Yoongi has learned over the years that telling Jeongguk no—or disagreeing with him at all, for that matter—never ends well.
It’s not necessarily a bad trait. Yoongi admires him for it, honestly. Jeongguk has strong convictions. Yoongi used to think he did, but he learned over the years that he’s all too willing to bend—especially for Jeongguk.
Most of the time, when Yoongi digs his heels in, it’s on Jeongguk’s behalf. In his defense.
But that doesn’t mean Yoongi doesn’t stand his ground sometimes, as the hyung. That doesn’t mean there haven’t been blowout arguments in the past, that there hasn’t been shouting, that Jeongguk hasn’t frequently been the unstoppable force to Yoongi’s immovable object.
Still. The silence has never lasted quite this long, and Yoongi has already apologized and admitted his wrongs. What else is he supposed to fucking say?
So, yeah, Yoongi’s feeling antsy. And the coffee probably isn’t helping.
He glances down at his watch. The meeting is for noon, and it’s 11:52, and Jeongguk always shows up ridiculously early for everything. He’s known the younger to be that way since college. Yoongi was counting on it this time, which is why he showed up over an hour ago.
None of this bodes well. Yoongi needs a fucking cigarette.
He has just under ten minutes. He’ll run outside real quick, smoke, calm his nerves. Jeongguk will show up, because he’s a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. Yoongi can just talk to him after the meeting.
He tosses his coffee in the nearest bin, patting his pockets as he shuffles towards the elevator. He finds purchase on his lighter, and it’s pathetic how quickly the touch of plastic to his fingertips fills him with relief.
And then, like a cosmic joke, the elevator dings before Yoongi can even push the down button.
The doors slide open, and there’s Jeongguk, bracketed by Jimin and Taehyung. 
Yoongi tries not to overanalyze the formation, whether it’s protective or not. Instead, he makes immediate eye contact with Jimin and tries to convey telepathically that he’d like to speak to Jeongguk alone, thanks. Mercifully, Jimin gets the hint. Even if he doesn’t look pleased about it at all. Yoongi doesn’t fucking care, because at least he’s dragging Taehyung towards the conference room without a fight.
When Jeongguk tries to follow, Yoongi stops him with a tentative hand on his shoulder.
Well, here goes nothing.
“Jeongguk-ah,” he starts. His throat is dry. He hasn’t spoken yet today. “Can we talk?”
“Meeting’s in five, hyung,” Jeongguk says, staring at his shoes.
“Fuck the meeting,” Yoongi insists, jostling Jeongguk’s shoulder gently so he meets his eyes. “I just need a minute. Please?”
Jeongguk steps back, out of Yoongi’s space, and crosses his arms. It stings a little. “One minute.”
That’s more than Yoongi expected. He’ll take it.
“I—just
” Fuck, are his palms sweating? “How’re you doing?”
Jeongguk gives him a blank look. “How am I doing,” he repeats flatly.
Yeah, okay, that was stupid. This is the part Yoongi didn’t really think through. He takes a breath, re-centers himself. “Are you
 Are we good?”
Jeongguk shrugs. “I’m here, right?”
“That’s not an answer, Jeongguk-ah.”
“I’m not quitting, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeongguk says. It’s not, but it’s still a relief to hear. 
“I’m worried about you,” Yoongi insists.
Jeongguk scoffs. “Hyung.”
“What?”
“You’re not.”
“I am,” Yoongi says, testy. “Guk-ah, what—”
“You’re worried about you,” Jeongguk says, brow furrowed.
Yoongi balks. “What the hell does that mean?”
Jeongguk shakes his head like Yoongi’s being stupid. “To answer your question, I’m not doing that great, hyung. It’s been a shitty week,” he says, visibly frustrated. “But I don’t have anything to say that I haven’t already said. So if you’re wanting me to say the magic words so you can stop feeling bad, I don’t have them.”
This is going nowhere. He needs to switch tactics.
“Jeongguk, I told you I was sorry,” Yoongi tries, desperate. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I just want to fix—”
The door to the conference room swings open, and Sejin’s head pops out. Yoongi’s minute is up.
“Gentlemen,” Sejin calls, brows raised. “We’re starting.”
Yoongi swallows down the rest of the sentence. He watches Jeongguk’s jaw work as he glances in Sejin’s direction, like he’s chewing down whatever he really wants to say. 
It’s worse than shouting. At least if Jeongguk yelled, Yoongi would know what he was working with. But this
 this quiet resignation, this stiff, uncomfortable silence? It’s foreign in a way that makes Yoongi’s chest ache.
“We’ll talk later,” Yoongi offers. Pleads, really, because the ball is in Jeongguk’s court and he knows it.
Jeongguk finally looks back at him. His lashes are dark and low over unreadable eyes. “Sure,” he says, and Yoongi tries to believe he means it.
Without another word, Jeongguk turns and strides towards the door. Yoongi watches the back of his head, jaw clenched so tight it aches, before trailing behind.
The conference room is unsettlingly quiet when they enter. Of the four seats across the table from Sejin, Jimin and Taehyung have chosen the middle two. A barricade.
Yeah, Yoongi expected that. But he doesn’t have the energy to dwell on it.
He swallows down the bitter hurt and sinks into the chair that remains next to Taehyung. Probably better than being shoved next to Park Jimin, if the pitying but kind smile Taehyung offers him is anything to go by. Jimin probably pities Yoongi plenty, but he wouldn’t be kind about it. Yoongi wonders how much Taehyung knows, but he has no intention of asking.
Sejin starts the meeting by getting the others up to speed on what he and Yoongi discussed last week, which gives Yoongi a few minutes to get his head in the game. His fingers twitch for the cigarette he never got, but starting the recording process is the priority right now. If he can’t fix his friendship with Jeongguk today, the least he can do is what he does best—make him more successful. Protect his career.
By the time the meeting ends, everyone has an actual timeline laid out in their calendars. Deadlines that start off rigid and become more tentative as weeks go by, because they all depend on output. On discipline. And most importantly, on whether or not the four of them can make it through the next six months without killing each other.
They’ll get through it, Yoongi thinks. This will be their most successful album to date. He’ll make sure of it. He’ll put himself through the wringer to make it happen.
Nobody lingers when the meeting is adjourned, which Yoongi isn’t perturbed about. He still wants to talk to Jeongguk, but he wasn’t hopeful enough to think ‘later’ meant ‘immediately after this.’ The efforts to record are scheduled to kick off in a week, and if he doesn’t get a chance to fix everything before then, well
 Six months. 
Surely, Jeongguk won’t still be mad at him in six months.
He’ll keep his distance for now. There are three songs left to finish, so Yoongi gives Jeongguk a five-minute-wide berth before he heads down the hall and down a floor, to the studio where he dropped his McCarty this morning. He’s not feeling particularly inspired right now, but he needs to finish this album. 
Luckily, like most other things, that’s something he’s used to doing alone.
★ ★ ★
Burn The Stage’s company is very, very different from yours.
You knew that since you started this arrangement, but it’s never been clearer now that you’re actually standing in the building.
It’s nice in here. Clean, but not in the cold, clinical way that you’ve grown accustomed to over the years. There’s lots of natural light instead, and a cheery woman at the front desk who seems like she actually enjoys her job.
You’re waiting for a while, sitting in the lobby while the worker goes through the necessary measures to get you your guest badge. Jeongguk has added you to the visitors' list for today, so there shouldn’t be any hiccups, but you also know he wanted to meet here because he had business to attend to today. He’s probably gotten caught up. You don’t mind waiting—god knows you made him wait long enough—but you’re also actively trying not to crush the banana milk you brought as a peace offering while you sit.
You’re nervous! You’re trying not to be. It’s a good sign that he said yes to meeting you, right?
Still, your legs wobble the slightest bit when the woman at the front desk waves you over to finally hand you your badge. You slip it around your neck with a grateful smile.
“Jeongguk-ssi just got out of a meeting, so he’s already upstairs,” she tells you cheerfully, gesturing to the security guard to her left. “Eunwoo-ssi will escort you to him.”
Oh!
You turn your head in Eunwoo’s direction and recognize him instantly. The security guard from the concert at Wasteland. The one who helped you backstage and made sure you didn’t trip over your ridiculous shoes. The presence of a familiar face makes you relax just the slightest bit, and your smile grows.
“Nice to see you again, Eunwoo-ssi,” you say.
“You too, YN-ssi,” he replies, returning your smile. “Ready?”
You nod and follow as he guides you past the desk and further into the building, towards an elevator down a corridor. You make some polite small talk as you both take the ride up, asking him about his day, and he kindly asks you about yours in return.
By the time you get to your destination, your grip on the bottle of banana milk has loosened significantly, although it tightens again when Eunwoo makes to open the door.
He turns to you first, offering a quiet, encouraging smile. “Okay?”
You nod, forcing a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
Eunwoo steps aside to open the door to the small practice room, nodding toward the interior. “Good luck.”
You nod again, eyes fixed on the open doorway. The familiar silhouette inside steals the air from your lungs for a second.
Jeongguk is sitting on a low stool, scrolling through something on his phone. He glances up when he hears the door, and even though his posture stiffens slightly, his face relaxes when he sees you.
“I’ll give you two some space,” Eunwoo murmurs from behind, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
You step forward slowly, the banana milk cradled between your hands. You extend it toward him with a small, sheepish shrug. “Peace offering.”
That earns a quiet laugh from him, the tension cracking just a little. He takes the bottle. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” you say, testing the waters.
Jeongguk shakes his head, warm as ever. “Of course.”
You exhale, forcing yourself to relax. “I just
 How have you been?”
He huffs a laugh at that, shaking his head. “Everybody really needs to stop asking me that,” he says. “I’m okay, YN-ah. Are you?”
It’s just so Jeongguk, to ask about you when he’s the one who’s been wronged. Your lip wobbles, vision swimming before you can stop it.
“I’ve been better,” you admit. “I’m really sorry, Jeongguk. I feel so bad for leaving the way I did.”
As soon as the words are out, Jeongguk pushes up from the stool. His arms come around you without hesitation, wrapping tightly around your shoulders, and something about the familiar scent of his detergent and the strength in his hold shatters what little composure you’d managed to hold on to.
You collapse into the hug with a muffled sob.
“Yah, none of that,” he says softly, squeezing you tighter. “I’m not mad at you, YN. I’m confused, yeah, but not mad.”
“You should be mad at me,” you sniffle, clutching the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. “I shouldn’t have left you in the dark, I just—” You cut yourself off with a puff of breath, closing your eyes.
Jeongguk holds you quietly for a moment before pulling back, hands still resting lightly on your arms. “We can talk about it now, if you’re ready.”
It isn’t lost on you that Jeongguk knows exactly what prompted you to leave now, but something in his expression tells you that he isn’t aware that you’ve become privy to that information. Which means he also doesn’t know anything about the night in your apartment with Yoongi. Not that you thought Yoongi would be stupid enough to tell him, but still. It’s a relief.
“Yeah,” you sigh, moving to sit. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
There’s a moment of heavy silence before you speak again. You brace yourself.
“The night before I left, Yoongi and I kissed.”
“Yeah. I know,” Jeongguk replies evenly. “Hyung told me.”
You’re all too aware of the crossroads in front of you. This is the moment where you can come clean, tell him about Yoongi showing up at your apartment last week and everything that’s happened since. You desperately want to be strong enough to cut off the lies here. It’s the step you came here to take, for your own sanity. Stop the lies, stop the drinking, get your life back on track and make sure your friendship with Jeongguk doesn’t pay the price for your poor decisions.
But, part of you

A stupid, selfish, horrible part of you wants Jeongguk to keep looking at you the way he is right now. Like you could never do anything wrong. It isn’t very often that someone looks at you like that.
In the end, that’s the part that wins, and the lie comes too easily.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d do that.”
Jeongguk tilts his head. “Yeah. So
 you understand why I’m confused,” he says. “You two haven’t had anything nice to say about each other since you met. Last I heard, you hated him.”
“It confused me, too.” You let out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t even know how true that is. “Honestly, Jeongguk, I don’t know why it happened. I do hate him.”
That part, at least, isn’t a lie.
“I was a little drunk. We both were, I mean. All of us had been drinking for hours. And, I don’t know, it just happened.”
Jeongguk doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Still, YN. It’s hard to believe you’d kiss someone you’ve talked so much shit about just because you were drunk.”
“I know. Maybe it was because we’d started getting along after you had me talk to him?” He lifts his head at that, brow furrowed, and you quickly try to rephrase. “I’m not saying it was your fault! Just
 in that moment, he wasn’t so bad, you know?”
Jeongguk chews the inside of his cheek, then says quietly, “Okay
”
“Ever since Kihyun, I
” You trail off, swallowing hard. “It’s been lonely, Jeongguk. I can’t lie. I’m glad we ended things, but it’s still hard sometimes. I think it was just good timing for me to make a mistake. And I’m really sorry you got hurt in the end.”
“I’m fine, YN.” His voice is gentle. “I just wish you’d felt like you could talk to me about it.”
“I felt ashamed,” you whisper. “I still do.”
“Don’t.”
“Are you and Yoongi okay?”
He scoffs, looking away. “He’s trying. In his Yoongi-hyung way.”
“But you’re mad at him?”
“Not really because of the kiss, but
 yeah. I’m mad at him.”
“I’m sorry if I ruined something for you,” you say honestly. 
Jeongguk just shrugs. “If anything’s ruined, hyung is the one who ruined it. But
 like I said, he’s trying.”
“Well.” You manage a small smile. “I hope it works out okay.”
You mean that, too.
“Thanks.” Jeongguk shifts slightly. “Oh, uh. He knows we’re not really dating, by the way.”
Your heart lurches, but you force yourself to feign surprise. “Oh.”
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just
 it was going to happen sooner or later, but I should’ve given you a heads-up first.”
“Well, I didn’t make myself easy to reach,” you offer.
A silence settles between you, and it isn’t entirely comfortable.
“Um
 so, what does that mean?” you ask. “For us?”
Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure that out. I mean, I wasn’t trying to keep noona a secret just from him, you know?”
You nod silently.
“I guess it depends on where you’re at,” he continues. “I understand if you don’t want to pretend anymore, after everything. If anyone understands not wanting to be around Yoongi right now, it’s me, and
 he’s not going anywhere.”
“Fuck him,” you mutter. “I still want to help you, if you need it. Do the public-facing part, at least. Maybe it’s a relief if we don’t have to pretend around your friends anymore, you know?”
“Jimin-hyung and Taehyung-hyung still don’t know anything, but yeah, I get what you mean. It was a lot of lying to ask of you.”
Well, that answers that.
“Are you going to tell them?”
Jeongguk winces. “I don’t know yet. Does that change things for you?”
“No,” you say instantly. “This is your thing, Guk. I’ll do it how you want it.”
“Okay. Well
 if you’re sure,” he says hesitantly.
“I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I weren’t,” you reassure him. “I promise.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” you say again, quieter this time. “For everything.”
Jeongguk looks at you, eyes soft. “We’re okay, YN. A lot of shit is fucked up right now, but not this.” He pauses. “Thank you for
 not giving up on me yet.”
“Same,” you murmur. Your lips curve into a faint, sad smile. “But for the record, it would take a lot more than Min Yoongi to make me give up on you.”
Jeongguk picks up the banana milk and rolls the bottle slowly between his palms, glancing at you once but not saying anything. You let the moment stretch, enjoying the comfortable silence, now that everything has settled.
Then his phone buzzes, and the spell breaks.
Jeongguk sighs as he pulls it from his pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. “Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I wanna walk you down, but Sejin wants me to meet with one of the vocal coaches in a few minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, waving him off. “I’ll let myself out.”
“You sure?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.
“You’ve got zero faith in me, Jeon Jeongguk,” you tease, earning a soft smile from him. “I can use an elevator.”
Jeongguk laughs under his breath. “Okay, okay.” He stands, tucking his phone away. “Well
 I’ll text you, okay?”
You nod. “And I’ll text you back this time.”
He starts to turn toward the door, hand on the doorknob already, but something sparks in your chest—nerves or hope or maybe both—and before you can second-guess it, you speak up.
“Hey!”
He pauses, looking back.
“Uh. There’s this thing next Saturday night,” you begin, the words spilling out in a rush. “A perfume launch I’m being forced to go to. I usually hate those events, but
 wanna come with? Do the public-facing part? Open bar. Could be fun.”
“Ah, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I would, but
 It’s noona’s birthday.”
“Oh!” you blurt, a little too brightly. “Right. Yeah.”
“Yeah.” He looks faintly guilty. “And now that I’m back in Seoul, I—”
“No, I get it,” you say, cutting in before he can keep going. You swallow down the quiet, unexpected sting of disappointment. “That’s way more important. Don’t sweat it.”
“You sure?” His brow knits, eyes searching your face.
You force your lips into a smile, make your voice sound certain. “One hundred percent. I just wanted to offer.”
Jeongguk nods, visibly relieved. “Well
 thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” You gesture toward the door. “Now go to your meeting.”
Jeongguk chuckles, reaching for the handle again. “I’m going, I’m going.”
And then he’s gone, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
★ ★ ★
Eunwoo is nowhere to be found when you leave the practice room, probably off escorting another visitor around. 
The halls are surprisingly quiet for midday. You keep walking, slow and meandering. You don’t have anywhere to be for a while, so you wander. Think. Process.
Everything went
 well. Better than you expected, honestly. Jeongguk was kind. Forgiving, even. You didn’t deserve that. And still, he gave it to you.
And you?
You lied to him.
You can still hear the words falling from your lips. How easy it was to bend the truth, to frame it in a way that would make you look like someone he could still trust. To push all of the blame on someone else. You’d come here with the intention of being honest, with the hope that confessing everything would free you from the pit that’s been hollowing out your chest for weeks. Instead, you chose comfort. Self-preservation. Whatever version of you he still wanted to believe in.
You feel sick about it. Grateful and awful, all at once.
The hallway stretches on, and you follow it without thinking. The walls here are different from the sterile ones in your own building. Sleek, sure, but full of warmth. Color. Memory.
Photographs line the corridor in neat black frames. High-res shots from concerts and tour stops, behind-the-scenes moments caught in candid black and white. A timeline of Burn The Stage’s rise. 
There’s Jeongguk on stage in Tokyo, crouched low with his mic held out to the screaming crowd. Taehyung grinning mid-strum on his bass guitar. Jimin, soaked in sweat, laughing with his drumsticks raised.
And Yoongi—never center stage, but always present. A shadow behind Jeongguk’s spotlight, fingers curled over his guitar neck, gaze cast downward. 
You stop in front of a larger canvas print. Burn The Stage at their first sold-out arena show. Yoongi’s got his arm thrown lazily over Jeongguk’s shoulders. They’re both drenched in sweat, beaming at something off-camera, caught in the afterglow of a perfect night. It makes your stomach twist.
Because here’s the thing: no matter how messy it got, no matter how much they might be hurting right now, there’s a history between them that you can’t touch. You’re the disruption. The outsider. You’ve known Jeongguk for a year. Yoongi? Barely at all. But somehow, you’ve managed to wedge yourself into the fault line between them and split it wide open.
And you don’t even know what you want.
You’re turning away from the photo when you feel it—that unmistakable shift in energy, like a cold wind curling at the back of your neck. 
One of the studio doors eases open with a soft mechanical click, and Yoongi steps out.
He hasn’t seen you yet, somehow, though you’re laughably close. He’s too busy looking down at his phone, one hand in the pocket of his dark cargo pants. 
He looks
 fuck. His jacket is a deep, bruised purple with mixed textures: ribbed sleeves, paneled faux suede. The black tee underneath is teasingly fitted, a glimpse of the muscle you had to feel for yourself to believe.
But that’s not what fucks you up.
It’s the hair.
Pulled back. Tied off, sleek and neat at the crown of his head, a few strands brushing loose near his ears. It's too good. Too unfair. It sharpens every angle of his face—his jaw, his cheekbones, the curve of his throat.
You shouldn’t.
God, you know you shouldn’t.
You’ve already lied to Jeongguk once today. Lied to his face—looked into those kind, trusting eyes and chose the easier version of the truth. The quieter one. The one that doesn’t crack your friendship down the middle.
And this—standing here, watching Yoongi like you're waiting for the chance to fold yourself back into something reckless—this is exactly what got you into all this mess in the first place.
The way your body reacts to him before your brain even catches up. The way your heart stutters just because he looks good in a fucking jacket and has his hair tied up. The way he hasn’t even seen you yet, and still, you’re already cataloguing all of the little things about him that drive you crazy.
You hate yourself for it.
You shouldn’t be feeling any of this. You shouldn’t want anything from him.
But the thing that settles in your chest is resentment—not at him, not even at Jeongguk. At the impossible standard you’ve somehow found yourself crushed beneath.
Why can’t you make a mistake?
Why can’t you do something messy, something selfish, something human—without it immediately defining the worst parts of you?
Something inside of you snaps.
Mind blank, you grab Yoongi’s wrist harshly and pull, fingernails gripping wool so tightly you’re in danger of tearing into the fabric.
“What the fuck—” Yoongi hisses, stumbling after you, but you’re not listening. You’re moving on autopilot, acting on instinct alone. You navigate the hallway of the unfamiliar building like a madwoman, trying to find somewhere private. “Yah, let me go!”
You ignore his protests, pulling harder, and your eyes zero in on a promising spot. It’s the first door you’ve seen that isn’t glass or locked or labeled conference room.
Supply closet. Sure.
The shelves inside rattle with the force of the door slamming behind you. Yoongi yanks his wrist away instantly, shaking it out with a wince. 
“Are you insane?” he snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Shut up,” you interrupt, locking the door with intent. You turn to him with wild eyes, chest heaving. “You win.”
He stares at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “What are you even talking about?” he asks, still clutching his wrist like a goddamn manchild. Like it isn’t killing you how shamelessly you’re offering yourself to him, on a silver platter. 
Okay, fuck. You’ll spell it out for him, then. It doesn’t matter.
“Fuck me.”
Yoongi blinks, stunned. “Fuck—”
“Yes, Yoongi,” you huff, impatient. You step into his space and touch because you can’t help yourself, your hands skimming over the smooth suede of his jacket and then under, to the soft cotton of his black shirt. Feeling the lean muscle beneath. “Fuck me. Right now.”
Apparently, that’s all he needs.
You gasp as Yoongi grabs your hips and whirls you around, shoving you firmly toward the nearest shelf. Your palms splay over it to catch yourself, wood digging into your skin as your body braces.
“You really wanna do this here?” he mutters, voice low, nearly a growl as he crowds you from behind.
“I dragged you in here, didn’t I?” you shoot back breathlessly.
He huffs a dry laugh, shoving his jacket down his shoulders and tossing it aside. “Crazy fucking woman.”
You hold yourself steady as his hands push the hem of your dress up over your ass.
“This what you want, dollface?” he murmurs, breath skating over your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed down your thighs as he speaks, pooling uselessly around your ankles.
“Yes,” you gasp, pushing back against him. You can feel the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans, pressed against your bare ass. Embarrassment and desire curl up together in your stomach, indistinguishable from each other.
“Fuck, look at you,” Yoongi hisses, grinding forward so you can feel him better. “You want it so bad. How the hell am I supposed to say no, huh?”
“Fucking—get on with it already,” you grit out. “I’m not here to talk.”
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll just have to use my mouth for something else, then.”
Oh, fuck.
You whip your head around fast, but not fast enough. Yoongi’s already dropping to his knees behind you, spreading your pussy with his thumbs.
“Yoongi, I don’t need—” 
Your sentence dies in your throat, cut off by the sound of your own surprised moan as his tongue licks a flat, filthy stripe through your folds.
You lurch forward, forearms braced on the shelf as your whole body shudders. His piercing flicks against your clit, and the sensation makes your vision go white for a split second.
“Holy fuck,” you moan. Yoongi hums against you, firm hands holding you open as he devours you, tongue delving deep. “Yoongi, fuck, that’s—”
Yoongi tsks, pulling away suddenly with a sharp slap to your ass. “Noisy girl,” he chastises. “Moaning my name like you wanna get caught.”
The thought sobers you, if only for a moment. Yeah, no—no. The thought of being caught, who might catch you, sends a chill down your spine. You know exactly who is in this building right now. You need to pull yourself together.
“I’ll be quiet, just—” You steady yourself on the shelf, panting against your crossed arms. “Fuck me already.”
“Impatient,” he huffs. 
You hear the shuffle of movement behind you, the sound of his zipper dragging down. Your stomach flips. 
After a moment, you feel the nudge of Yoongi’s cock against your entrance, and you try to wiggle back again on instinct. There’s a sharp huff of amusement against your neck, but to your frustration, he doesn’t give in yet.
“Say please,” Yoongi says, smug.
Bastard.
“Fuck you,” you spit.
“Getting there, dollface,” he teases, running the thick head of his cock through your folds just to be an asshole. “Just wanna hear you beg a little first. Since you want it so bad.”
You grit your teeth, pride clashing hard with want, but your body betrays you. Your thighs are trembling, cunt clenching around nothing, begging for fullness. For him.
“Please,” you whisper, broken and raw. “Yoongi, please fuck me.”
“That’s better.”
Yoongi sinks into you so slowly that your knees threaten to buckle.
Inch by agonizing inch, and it hits so deep your eyes flutter, mouth falling open and nails biting into wood. You can feel every detail of him. He’s thick, god, impossibly thick. The stretch burns in the best way, your walls aching to adjust but slick enough to take him, take all of him. 
When he bottoms out, your moan of relief is caught instantly by his hand, clamping tight over your mouth before you can make another sound.
“Quiet,” he reminds you, and you nod, centering yourself.
He gives you a moment to adjust, then draws his hips back and fucks forward hard.
“Shit, you’re tight,” Yoongi hisses, strained. “Fucking squeezing my cock.” 
He sets a brutal rhythm right away. His hips slam into the backs of your thighs so roughly that the shelves rattle with the force. Every thrust rocks you forward, and every retreat pulls a whimper from your throat as your walls try to keep him inside.
You can’t see him like this, and it feels like every other sense burns hot and sharp in its place. You can feel him—so thick, so deep, each stroke making you choke on your breath. You can hear the slick, obscene sound of your cunt, wet beyond reason, practically sucking him in.
“Oh my god,” you try to say, but it’s just a muffled sob against his hand.
He fucks you harder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other keeping you silenced, helpless and pressed to the shelf. Something falls and topples to the floor, but it barely registers. Your breasts are squished against the wood, aching with every thrust. You can feel the slick mess between your thighs, every wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing obscenely in the cramped closet.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked,” Yoongi growls, hips snapping into you again. “You hear that, dollface?”
You do. The sound is filthy, each thrust punching a wet, obscene squelch into the air. Your cunt clenches tight around him, and he groans, deep and raw.
“Oh, fuck, you’re close, huh?” he asks, and your responding whimper is so pathetic your cheeks burn. 
His rhythm falters for half a second, just long enough for him to yank your leg up onto the lowest shelf, opening you more. Making it deeper. He lets go of your mouth to spit in his hand, reaching around to rub your clit in merciless circles.
And oh, fuck, you can’t be quiet anymore.
“Yoongi,” you sob, “I—oh my god, please—”
The hand gripping your leg moves fast to cover your mouth again as he toys with your clit, but your body’s already unraveling. Everything clenches down, heat flaring white-hot in your belly as your cunt clamps around his cock. You bite down onto the meat of his palm, muffling your scream as you come hard.
Yoongi hisses at the bite, swearing low and dirty in your ear. His hips stutter, rhythm turning ragged as your walls flutter around his cock.
And then you feel it. 
He pulses inside you with a groan pulled deep from his chest, fucking you through it as his cum fills you up. Thick and hot, leaking already as he keeps grinding through it, wringing every last drop from himself, every aftershock from you.
Yoongi’s weight leans into your back, both of you breathless, hearts hammering. The air smells like sweat and sex, and the only sound is the shallow drag of your breathing in tandem, syncing up as you both come down.
After a moment, his hand finally slips from your mouth. You suck in a shaky breath, lips slick with spit.
Your knees barely hold as Yoongi pulls out, and you feel it—his cum leaking down your thighs before you can so much as catch your breath. 
You don’t dare look at him.
You feel empty. Fucked open. Raw in every sense of the word.
You hear the rustle of fabric as he probably pulls up his pants, zips himself back in. You stay where you are, bent over, trying to breathe.
“You okay?” he asks.
And that—that pisses you the fuck off.
You turn to him. His jacket is back on, his pants zipped like nothing happened. Meanwhile, you’re still shaking, your dress is still hiked up.
“Don’t,” you say, voice hoarse.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” you snap. “We both know what this was.”
He just watches you. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t apologize either.
There’s a thick, awful silence after that, and you fill it with movement. You pull your panties back up and fix your dress. The mess between your thighs presents a problem, but it’s nothing you can’t conceal with your underwear for now. You grab the doorknob and unlock it with a shaky hand, peeking out to make sure the hallway is empty.
Thank fucking god.
“Don’t fucking follow me,” you say, fixing him with the most withering look you can muster, and Yoongi only raises his hands in surrender, bewildered.
It feels like stepping out of a crime scene. You take a few unsteady steps forward, one arm clutching your bag to your chest, the other dragging your hand along the wall to stay upright.
Every movement is careful. Every step makes you feel it. The soreness, the wetness, the truth of what you’ve done. You should find a bathroom. Clean up. Compose yourself. Hide.
But you don’t. You keep walking.
Because stopping means thinking. And if you start thinking, really thinking, you’re not sure you’ll be able to handle what you find.
Fuck, fuck fuck.
★ ★ ★
For the first time in months, you’re alone. Like, actually alone.
No texts buzzing your phone. No voice echoing from the other room, asking if you’ve eaten. No arms around your waist in the morning. Just you, in the silence of your apartment.
It should come as a relief. 
It was only a matter of time before Kihyun dumped you. You shouldn’t have let it drag on for as long as you did. You should’ve ended it yourself. But you didn’t, because—
Because what? You were lonely?
Because it was easier to keep going than it was to look at yourself in the mirror and admit you were never really in it?
Kihyun was good to you. Kind, not performative. He remembered the little things, like how you took your coffee, where your neck always ached when you slept too stiffly. He was attentive, thoughtful, patient. You were physically attracted to him from the first date. And although the sex wasn’t the kind of thing that rewired your brain or left your limbs shaking, it was
 nice. Gentle. Consensual. Consistent.
You could’ve built something with him.
But you didn’t.
Because it’s you. It’s always you.
You never opened up. You held him at a distance, even when he offered you all his softness, even when he asked—gently, again and again—to be let in.
You didn’t ask about his family. You forgot his best friend’s name—Yoo-something? You nodded along when he talked about writing music but never followed up. And when he invited you to dinners or birthdays or afterparties, you begged off every time with some excuse about your busy schedule.
You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just
 didn’t care. Not really. Not about his world. Not about yours, either.
And still, he tried.
You can’t get the last few hours out of your head. He invited you over, said he wanted to talk, and you knew immediately that it was going to end. You’d felt it for weeks, hadn’t you? Maybe longer.
You almost didn’t go, but guilt won out. You showed up, and you thought—maybe you’d get one last night. One last kiss goodbye.
Instead, you got a fight.
“You don’t even care about me, YN,” Kihyun said, voice shaking. “You cling to me on red carpets, post about me on Instagram, kiss me in front of photographers—but when it’s just us? Do you even know anything about me?”
You’d accused him of being dramatic. He’d accused you of using him. Connections. Comfort. The appearance of stability he offered you.
You’d both yelled. Loud and bitter. And then there were tears. His, not yours. You just stared at the floor while he filled a box with your things and said he hoped you got whatever you were chasing.
When you finally walked out, you didn’t even look back.
Now, hours later, you sit on the floor of your apartment, hollowed out. The lights are off. Your coat is still on. You haven’t even taken off your shoes.
You don’t feel relieved. You feel sick with yourself, and you don’t know what to do with it.
There’s a bottle of vodka in your kitchen cabinet. You’ve never been much of a drinker—too many calories, too many headaches, too much loss of control—but tonight? Tonight, you need something to dull the pain.
You don’t bother with a glass. You drink it straight, the burn lighting a trail down your throat that feels like punishment.
You’re halfway to drunk when you grab your phone. The screen glows blue, too bright in the dark. You open Twitter.
You should stop yourself, but you’ve never been good at self-control.
@ynonline: i’m sorry i ruined it
A cry for help in lowercase letters. A digital bloodletting to no one in particular.
And then you keep drinking.
★ ★ ★
You can’t stop laughing. Your behavior lately has been so goddamn out of character, all you can do is laugh. It bubbles out of you, ugly and gasping, half-drunk and half-delirious, echoing through the kitchen like it doesn’t belong to you at all. The wine in your glass is mostly gone, and the second bottle on the table is already open.
You don’t know what’s going on with you. You don’t know when you lost the plot so severely that you started fucking people like Min Yoongi in closets.
How good it felt doesn’t matter. How badly you missed being kissed and touched by another person doesn’t fucking matter. Because you don’t recognize yourself anymore. And that’s funny. Like, laugh-until-you-cry funny. Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll spiral. You’ll fall into the cavern of shame that’s been yawning open beneath your feet ever since Yoongi touched you and you let him.
You’re in the middle of telling Seokjin about your week—or, at least, you’re trying to between wheezes. He’s listening intently across from you, brow furrowed and lips twitching with amusement as he tries to translate your garbled speech.
“You know,” he says dryly, “I could’ve predicted this.”
You snort so hard it turns into a hiccup. “What? All I’ve done is complain about him for weeks.”
Seokjin raises a brow. “Yeah, well. You know what they say about the fine line between love and hate.”
“Oh, believe me, we are still firmly planted in the hate camp.” You lean forward, elbow slipping slightly on the table. “It’s gonna take more than some halfway decent stroke game to change that.”
“Halfway decent, she says,” Seokjin mutters, lifting his glass to his mouth, “even though you’ve barely been able to talk about anything else for the past hour. No ‘hello, Seokjin. How has your week at the hospital been? Save any children lately?’”
You wave your hand at him. “Are you saying you aren’t entertained?”
“No, please.” He leans back in his chair, smirking. “Go on.”
Your eyes light up with memory. “Oh my god. Last week, I sent him these pictures—”
Jin frowns. “Wait, what—?”
“Look!” you cry, fishing your phone out of the pocket of your leggings. You tap open your texts with The Devil himself, dropping the phone onto your kitchen table with a clatter that makes Seokjin wince.
Normally, he’d be blushing already, flailing, sputtering something dramatic and prudish. He’s always been weird about this stuff. But this time, he doesn’t even crack a joke.
Instead, when he picks it up, his eyes widen into saucers. You watch as he fiddles with the phone in his hands, tapping into the first picture.
“YN, you didn’t—”
“Look at what he said!”
“You sent him these?” he asks, swiping out of the photos and back to the texts to confirm what he’s already seen.
The tone of his voice makes you pause. You try to catch your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes.
“What’s the big deal?” you ask, making a face. “They’re, like, tasteful.”
“They’re nudes.”
“I’m wearing underwear!”
“They’re nudes,” Seokjin repeats, like you’re stupid or something. 
What the fuck? Why does he sound so mad?
“They’re just pictures,” you mumble, snatching your phone out of his hands and clutching it to your chest.
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Because pictures like that have done you so many favors in the past.”
All of the alcohol-induced warmth rushing through your bloodstream evaporates in an instant.
“What the fuck, Seokjin?”
“I can’t believe you would do something so stupid, YN. After everything that’s happened—”
"Shut up!"
“—and you don’t even trust the guy,” he continues. “Less than a month ago, you were telling me you thought he knew—”
“Seokjin, shut up—”
“—It’s like you want bad things to happen to you, I swear.”
Something in your chest cracks open. Seokjin has never, ever implied that you were in any way at fault for what happened years ago. Even when you felt it yourself. He’s the only one who has been on your side this whole time. Unwavering.
Until now. Until Yoongi.
“Get out,” you say, voice cold.
“YN, I’m just trying—”
“Get. Out.”
He stares at you like he’s still catching up, like he doesn’t realize what he just said out loud. His mouth opens, then closes. You see the apology start to form behind his eyes, but it’s already too late.
You stand. Point to the door. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Seokjin stands slowly, reluctantly, like his limbs are made of cement. He grabs his keys from the table, fingers twitching.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just
 I’m scared for you.”
You don’t respond. Don’t even look at him. The door clicks shut behind him, and then you’re alone, still clutching your phone, wine forgotten.
And all that laughter? Gone.
★ ★ ★
You don’t sleep much.
Your body gives out around 4 a.m., but it’s not so much sleep as blackout, your limbs too heavy to move and your mind too exhausted to keep turning things over. But it’s not restful. You wake up dry-mouthed and nauseous, tangled in the sheets like you fought a war in your sleep.
The fight with Seokjin rings in your ears, louder now in the cruel quiet of the morning. 
“It’s like you want bad things to happen to you.”
There’s no more wine in your system to dull those words. They weren’t fair. You’re still furious. Still hurt. But the longer you sit with it, the more panicked you become.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
You have been reckless. You did send Yoongi those pictures without thinking. Not because you trusted him, but because you wanted him to look at you. To want you. And Seokjin’s words force you to think.
Because what if he still has them? What if he shows someone?
What if you’ve made another mistake that you can’t come back from?
You drag yourself out of bed, slow and sick, your whole body moving like it’s underwater. The nausea doesn’t fade as you brush your teeth. It only gets worse. You barely manage to brush your teeth without hurting yourself, scrubbing hard like it’ll erase your words last night. But nothing helps.
Once you’re out of the bathroom, you throw on the first clothes you can find. Clean enough, mismatched, whatever.
You don’t have Yoongi’s address, so you text Namjoon. It’s early, and you don’t expect him to respond, but he replies immediately.
Kim Namjoon: Is everything okay???
You: i just need it
You: please
You: you got my address from seoyeon, sooooo
There’s a pause, then an address. You don’t offer thanks, even though you do like Namjoon. He owes you this.
You call an Uber and sit in the backseat with your arms crossed tightly over your chest, barely able to breathe. Every bump in the road jolts your stomach. By the time the car pulls up to Yoongi’s apartment, your nerves are a live wire, ready to snap.
When you get up to his door, you don’t knock gently. You pound.
It takes a moment. Nearly longer than you can take, honestly, with how wigged out you are. But right when you’re about to raise your fist again, the door swings open, and there he is.
Yoongi, bleary-eyed and hair mussed like he’s just rolled out of bed. His stupid sweatshirt has rips across one shoulder, bare skin peeking out from beneath, like he isn’t a rich rockstar who can afford nice clothes. Everything about the sight of him makes you angry. 
“...Hi?” he says cautiously.
“I need you to delete them,” you blurt.
He stares at you for a second, blinking awake. “...What?”
“The pictures,” you say, voice too loud, too fast. “The ones I sent you last week. I need you to delete them. Like, now.”
You push past him and barge inside, uncaring of whether he was actually planning on letting you in. 
He shuts the door behind you and turns around slowly, regarding you like a spooked animal. “What happened?”
“Yoongi,” you snap, “I’m not here to explain myself. I just want to watch you delete them.”
Yoongi holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do that.”
He fishes his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt and unlocks it. You hover over his shoulder while his fingers move on the screen. It doesn’t take him long to find them. You watch as his thumb hovers over the images. One tap, two taps, three.
Deleted.
He goes to the trash folder. Deletes them again.
Then he turns the phone around, still unlocked, and holds it out to you. “Check it if you want.”
You take it, hands clammy, and check all the possible places. Empty. 
“Okay,” you say, taking a much-needed breath.
Yoongi watches you for a moment longer, something you can’t name flickering over his expression.
“I know I haven’t given you any reasons to think I’m the best guy in the world,” he says. “But I wouldn’t have shown those to anyone. Not ever.”
You want to believe that. Want to grab onto it like a lifeline. But you’re not exactly Yoongi’s number one fan, and this isn’t a matter of trust anymore—it’s survival.
And even if you were a fan of his, Seokjin was right. This isn’t something you can afford to risk.
You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Well, you can’t, now. So.”
An awkward silence settles between you.
You’re not sure if you feel better. You don’t think you do.
Yoongi gestures toward the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
You hesitate. Under normal circumstances, you’d laugh in his face. You and Yoongi don’t hang out, like, historically. Fight, sure. Make poor sexual decisions together, absolutely. But hang out and share coffee? It seems unthinkable.
But at the same time, you’re still rattled, and getting into another bumpy Uber doesn’t sound particularly appealing right now. And Yoongi isn’t being
 totally unbearable. It was shockingly easy to get him to delete those pictures, despite the way you’d built it up in your head.
“
Yeah,” you say finally. “Okay.”
Yoongi hands you a chipped black mug without saying much, and you murmur a quiet thanks as you curl your fingers around it. The heat seeps into your palms.
The two of you stand in his tiny kitchen like strangers, the silence too loaded to be easy. He leans against the counter opposite you, sipping from his own mug, eyes flicking toward you every few seconds like he’s trying to work up the nerve to say something.
Instead, you settle into the pathetic choreography of small talk.
“So
 this is your place, huh,” you offer.
Yoongi glances around. “Yeah.”
“It’s big.”
“It’s too big,” he says, and, yeah. It is. Big and mostly empty. It almost seems like no one lives here, from where you’re standing.
You shrug. “Still. The quiet must be nice.”
Yoongi huffs out a small laugh. “It was,” he says pointedly, “until someone ruined my beauty sleep.”
You try not to bristle. He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be mean, and you don’t have the energy to argue with him anyway. “Sorry.”
Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve had worse wake-up calls.”
Neither of you mentions what happened the other day. The closet. The rough, desperate way he fucked you. The way you begged for it.
Instead, you sip your coffee in silence.
“I, uh,” Yoongi starts, then cuts himself off with a quiet exhale. “I should probably go shower soon.”
You nod like that’s news you needed, staring into your mug. “Right.”
You hear the click of his mug being set down gently on the counter. “Dollface.”
You look up, partially in response to the name. Mostly because of the cautious tone in his voice. Terrifingly, you have no idea what he’s about to say.
Yoongi shifts on his feet, mouth twisting like he’s really weighing his next words before he speaks.
“Do you want to come with me?”
Oh.
Huh.
Your breath stutters. Your spine straightens just slightly.
He’s not teasing. Not playing. Not doing any of the mean things you’ve learned to associate with Yoongi since you’ve met. He’s just asking quietly, like it’s a real offer. Like there’s no pressure attached, even though the weight of it sits heavily between you.
There are a million reasons you should say no and go home. One of which being, well, the reason you’re here in the first place. You don’t trust him. You don’t like him. You keep making terrible, life-ruining decisions with him.
But still, there’s this thought in the back of your mind, half-formed but louder than all the rest. 
You’re so tired of punishing yourself for every impulse, every need. Tired of denying yourself the right to fuck up. To make mistakes.
Sending the pictures was unforgivably stupid, yes, you’ll give Seokjin that. But despite your panic in the immediate aftermath, fucking Yoongi felt good. Mind-blowingly good. Like something inside you finally got to breathe after being locked up too long.
Jeongguk doesn’t know. And as guilty as it makes you feel, he doesn’t have to know, as long as Yoongi keeps his mouth shut. Judging by the state of that friendship right now, you have a feeling he will.
So.
You set your mug down carefully, meeting his eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”
Yoongi nods once and then turns, walking down the short hall that leads to his bedroom. You follow wordlessly, heart thudding in your throat. 
When you step into his bedroom, you feel like you’ve crossed into something irreversible. Yoongi opens the door to the master bathroom while you linger in the sparseness of the space, eyes fixed on his king bed. Charcoal sheets, rumpled on one side and perfectly smooth on the other. 
The sound of the shower squeaking to life brings you back to the moment and forces you to take a few more steps. You hover in the doorway of the bathroom. Steam begins to curl around the room, warm and beckoning.
Yoongi looks over his shoulder.
"You coming?"
You cross the threshold.
Yoongi turns to face you, backlit by rising steam. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. Just watches you for a second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll change your mind.
You don’t.
You peel off your sweater first, then your shirt, then your bra. You catch the flicker in his expression when your breasts fall free. His gaze trails down your body, and when your leggings hit the floor, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.
Yoongi steps towards you and cradles your jaw in his palm, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. 
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your pussy for days,” he rasps, and your knees go weak.
Before you can say anything in response—before you can even breathe properly, he leans in and kisses you. Slow and sure, but greedy too. You kiss him back, moaning when his tongue slips into your mouth.
You shove your hands up the hem of his tattered sweatshirt, pushing it up his torso impatiently. Yoongi hums into your mouth, pulling back just long enough to tug it over his head and toss it to the floor. Then he steps out of his sweatpants and briefs in one fluid motion, unabashed.
You’d barely seen him last time, but now, you get a full, unhurried look. Smooth, pale skin. His cock is thick and flushed, already half-hard and growing the longer you look. Your thighs press together instinctively.
He tugs you gently into the shower by your hand, pulling the glass door closed behind you. The water is hot and heavy, already soaking your hair, dripping down your back. Yoongi presses you against the tiled wall, hands sliding along your waist like he’s been starving for this.
His mouth finds yours again, and your teeth clack together as you kiss him back. One of his hands slides up your spine, cupping the back of your neck to keep you close, while the other moves over the curve of your ass, squeezing.
“Always such a fuckin’ brat,” he murmurs against your lips, “until I get my hands on you.”
You mewl when he palms your breast, thumbing your nipple until it’s stiff. His other hand dips lower, sliding between your legs, fingers finding you embarrassingly wet even under the spray of the shower.
You gasp when he presses a finger inside, then a second, curling them just right. Your legs threaten to give out, but he hooks an arm around your waist to keep you upright, keeping you wide open for him.
“I could make you come just like this,” Yoongi says, fucking his fingers into you slow and deep. “But you want more, don’t you?”
“Yoongi—” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut.
“Tell me what you want,” he says as he kisses a heated line from your jaw to your throat. “Tell me how you want it.”
“Inside,” you pant. “I want you inside me.”
He growls—actually growls—and pulls his fingers out, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist. His cock slides through your folds, notching against your entrance as the hot water rushes down both your bodies. His forehead rests against yours.
“You’re sure?”
“Just fuck me,” you murmur, and that’s all it takes.
He slides in slowly, both of you groaning in unison at the feeling. The stretch is deep, bordering on painful, but so fucking good. He doesn’t move for a second, just holds you there, buried to the hilt.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, bracing himself with one hand on the wall behind you. You moan, high and raw, and he starts to move.
His hips drive forward again and again, the sound of skin slapping echoing sharply in the tiled space, mixing with the hiss of the shower and the ragged breathing between you. Your hands scramble for purchase at his shoulders, his neck, his biceps—anything to anchor yourself.
He fucks you like that for a while. Deep, heavy strokes, hips rolling into you like a tide. Your legs shake. Your cunt flutters around him, tight and desperate.
“Yoongi, please,” you moan, even though you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for. 
He hitches your thigh higher around his hip, opening the angle. Like this, every thrust has his cock pinpoint that spot inside of you, the one you struggle to reach on your own. A strangled cry is punched out of you in response and Yoongi groans, forehead pressed to yours. 
“Touch yourself,” he rasps. “Let me see.”
Your hand drops between your legs, and it only takes a few circles around your clit before you’re gasping his name, walls clenching around him. He watches as he fucks you through it, moaning as you squeeze around his cock.
His thrusts grow sloppy, unable to hold back any longer, and then he’s pulling out quickly, spilling onto the shower floor with a curse. His forehead drops to your shoulder, lips parting against your damp skin. You feel his chest rise and fall against yours, both of you trembling from the high.
Neither of you speaks.
For a long moment, there’s only the deafening beat of water against tile and the slow comedown of your heart rate. Your thighs ache. Your skin is flushed. His cum washes away down the drain between your feet, a quiet, shameful stream of evidence.
Shit.
You’re the first to move.
Gently, you press your palm to his chest, signaling space. Yoongi lets go. Steps back.
The warmth of his body leaves yours all at once, and the shower suddenly feels colder, emptier, even with the steam still thick in the air.
“I just
” you start, voice thin and heart pounding. “I need a minute.”
You don’t look at him as you reach for the glass door, slipping out of the stall on shaky legs. You find a towel draped neatly on the bar just outside the shower and wrap it around yourself, not bothering to dry off properly. The towel sticks to your skin, damp and clingy. You think you feel his eyes on you through the glass, but you can’t bear to check.
You grab your clothes from the floor and step out into the bedroom. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn, the gray light of morning barely filtering in. You dress in silence, and when you’re done, you sit on the edge of Yoongi’s bed until you hear the squeak of the faucet as it shuts off. When the bathroom door opens, you lift your head.
He emerges wrapped at the waist in a towel, hair dripping. He’s rubbing at his head with another towel as he steps into the room and freezes when he sees you.
“You actually stayed,” he says, like he hadn’t expected that.
You shrug, barely meeting his gaze. “Didn’t seem right to sneak out.”
Yoongi watches you, still drying his hair. After a moment, he sits next to you.
“Do you want to talk about it this time?”
Your stomach turns. “What is there to talk about?”
“You didn’t really give me the impression you were interested in round two, the other day.”
“I wasn’t,” you say flatly.
“And yet here we are,” he says in kind, gesturing between you. “I’m just wondering what I should expect, moving forward.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “No, you just want me to admit you were right.”
Yoongi scoffs. “I’m getting sick of people telling me I don’t mean what I say.”
Jesus.
You frown. You have no clue what he means by that—and honestly, you don’t care. Not right now. So you stay quiet.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Look,” he continues, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not fun if you’re not into it. But I need to know where we stand. So tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about how much I hate you,” you snap, on instinct.
Yoongi shrugs. “Okay. That’s not new information. Didn’t stop you from fucking me twice, though. Two and a half, if we’re splitting hairs.”
“Clearly,” you reply bitterly. 
His expression doesn’t change. “Hate me all you want, dollface. I’m not asking you not to.” He tilts his head just slightly. “Are we doing this or not?”
You stare at him for a long moment, on the edge of something dangerous.
You think about the way it felt when he touched you. The way he looked at you. The way your body still feels like it’s buzzing from the inside out.
This is a mistake. You know it. You named it. But that little thought that started to form inside you earlier is louder now, stronger, and it won’t let you walk away, even though all the logic in the world tells you that you should.
“Yeah,” you say finally. “We are.”
Yoongi nods like he’d already known the answer. “Okay. Great. Glad we could clear that up,” he says, unbothered. “You feel free to let me know if you change your mind.”
And then he stands, towel low on his hips, and walks across the room to get dressed.
Fucking asshole. 
You can’t stand how he can just act like this is easy for him. Like it should be easy for you. Like going behind the back of his best friend doesn’t bother him in the slightest. 
Worst of all, you hate how it still feels like Yoongi has the upper hand. 
Desperate to get it back, you stand. “Hey.”
Yoongi hums from where he’s rummaging through a drawer in his dresser, half-turned but not looking at you. 
“My deal with Jeongguk is still on,” you say, crossing your arms with finality. “Just so you know.”
You hope it’ll get some kind of reaction out of him. He pauses what he’s doing, gaze flicking to you for a second, and you search for any indication that he’ll falter. 
But then he shrugs, turning back to the drawer. “I don’t see what that has to do with me,” he grumbles. 
Right.
Annoyed, you twist the knob of his bedroom door, swinging it open. 
“Just keep your mouth shut about this,” you say over your shoulder, aiming to hurt. “Some of us are actually in his good graces.”
You don’t stay to see his reaction.
You wonder, as you show yourself out of Yoongi’s apartment, if this is actually going to be easy at all.
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PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER
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hwaslayer · 10 months ago
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wildfire (cs) | two.
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—spotify playlist | series masterlist
—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.
—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader
—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut
—word count: 4.3k
—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, very much giving slow burn till chapter 5 (sawwie hehe but san/oc drop more hints in ch 3-4), mingi tryna be matchmaker but san's mind is elseeewhere (which will add a lil more spice to the spice thats already planned lol), flashback scene that involves crying & hints of infidelity
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"Wow, there's a lot more people here than I expected." You tippy-toe to look over the crowd, falling in line to get your freebies at the entrance of the winter quarter welcome event.
"Do you know where the boys are at?"
"They said they were coming?" Eunchae says, also looking around and over the crowd. The line inches quickly, bringing you closer to the free university-branded hats and water bottles they were giving out. Today's event was not only to set the tone for the quarter, but to showcase all the student groups, benefits, and wellness programs available for everyone. As soon as you grab your freebies, you, Eunchae and Jurin completely forget about the boys making their way over and start walking around to grab more. You find that one of the student groups is handing out reusable bags, which you gladly take one in order to walk around comfortably. You, Jurin and Eunchae also participate in a few small games and raffles, taking pictures at the photobooths set up. Some university staff snap photos of you three while you wait in line to cash in your free lunch voucher at one of the food trucks. 
Once you've grabbed your food and settled down, the three of you find a good space on the lawn near the stage to slowly indulge in your food and the dessert. Namjoon is getting ready to start his speech for the event, while the other professors set to give a small talk are hovering off to the side engaging in conversation.
"Yo! Is anyone listening?" Professor Kim Namjoon, department chair of bioengineering, taps the mic a few times as he steps on the stage. He slowly paces around with a hand in his pocket, giving off a smile while he waits for everyone near the stage to quiet down and listen to his little speech. "Nice, nice. I'm grabbing attention, I still got it." He chuckles to himself. "Anyway, they had me come up here to kick off the welcome event. There's a good lineup of talks coming up, so please stick around for that. I promise it'll be worthwhile." Namjoon points to San. "Choi San is on the lineup. Kang Yeosang. Just to name a few. I know ya'll wanted to hear that in particular." He jokes. The crowd laughs when he gives everyone a certain look, scanning the crowd to read their expressions. "Alright, so another quarter—" Is how he starts his speech off, giving himself two minutes to give a heartwarming welcome to all the students, faculty and staff. The next session kicks off shortly after, with a few faculty members talking about their early days in their departments and what they're focusing on now. 
After Namjoon wraps it up, he introduces San and kicks it off for him— giving him a big, warm smile as he greets him on the stage and hands him the mic. He's dressed in a thick, black half-zip sweater, black slacks and boots. You briefly glance around the crowd, all eyes glued to Professor Choi; lots of people looking at him in pure admiration just like you and your friends. His talk flows well, and he easily transitions from talking about his early career days to where he is now and what his focus is. He speaks with so much poise and grace, it's obvious he's incredibly passionate about what he does. He has a softness to him, a certain glint in his eyes while he slowly paces the stage and maintains contact with his crowd. 
"He's so fucking dreamy, are you kidding?" Eunchae mumbles. You giggle and gently nudge her before returning your attention to the stage. Your eyes glance over to the side, smiling to yourself as Namjoon plays around with everyone around him. Professor Lee Iseul stands off to the side next to her husband, and they quietly remain to themselves. She watches as San does his talk, arms folded tightly against her chest and she couldn't look any more disinterested. You clearly don't know the full story, and it's definitely none of your business. But, you can't help but be a little curious as to what happened between her and Professor Choi and why she acts the way she does around him.
"Aye." Felix plops down next to you. "Where have you been, loca?" You snort, pushing him and causing him to almost fall to the side. "Ouch. We've been calling and texting!"
"Next time, don't be late." Jiung plops down next to him.
"We were trying to find the free smoothies and acai bowls!"
"Excuse me?" Jurin looks at Jiung. "Why didn't I know about this?!"
"Maybe cause you were too busy drooling over Professor Choi and his friends." Jurin sticks her tongue out at him. "It's over there. We just didn't get to it before coming to the lawn."
"I'm definitely going as soon as these talks are over." 
"I want some, too!" Eunchae adds.
"We can go." You chime in.
"We're gonna lose you guys again!" Felix slightly whines.
"You won't! You can just sit here and save our spot." Eunchae smiles with some sass. "That way, we have our spots and you won't lose us."
"Fine." Felix clicks his teeth before returning his attention to the stage. The rest of the talks also go well— Yeosang taking the stage next after San, with a few other professors. Iseul does a talk, and although San doesn't care much for it, he at least tries his best to show some support in front of the crowd and be the bigger person.
He does it to just keep the peace. Mainly for Namjoon. San knows he did a lot to try and bury all the mess that went down, even got in trouble for trying to do so. Namjoon cares about San and his other friends, he'd do anything to protect them. But yes, there is no denying that it was a shit show. 
Once all the talks have concluded, you, Eunchae and Jurin scurry off to the smoothie and acai booth, taking the boys' orders to kill two birds with one stone. The lawn and surrounding areas are back to being loud and chaotic with everyone trying to go around and finish grabbing freebies and samples, and participate in other games. You and your friends fall in line and wait for about 15 minutes before they've taken your orders, another 10 minutes before they've given you your drinks.
"Oh shit, this is good." Jurin sips on her drink as it sits in the carrier with Felix's and Jiung's. 
"It is. The boys finally have a good eye." You snort.
"Leave them be."
"What! It's true! I didn't think they'd care much for the stuff here at the event, but here they are, putting on their favorite girls to free smoothies." You laugh, sipping on your own matcha smoothie. Once Eunchae has gotten her drink, the three of you start to make your way back towards the boys on the lawn.
"Oop—" You let out a small squeal, damn near coming face to face with Professor's Choi's chest when you turn. He's about to grab his own smoothie from the worker when you quite literally almost run into him trying to keep up with Eunchae and Jurin. "Oh, I'm sorry Professor Choi." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks even though you didn't do anything wrong.
"No worries. Good morning, ladies." Professor Choi flashes you, Eunchae and Jurin that 100-watt, dimpled smile that everyone is crazy head over heels for. He does a curt bow to acknowledge you and your friends properly, Eunchae and Jurin biting on their bottom lips to prevent themselves from smiling too big and giggling too loud. "How are you doing?"
"Good. Really good. Great talk, by the way!" Eunchae says, making him chuckle at her reaction. "How are you doing?"
"Aw, thanks. I'm good, can't complain. You guys having a good start to the quarter already?"
"I'd say so, yeah. Can't complain either." Jurin adds, holding onto the drink tray tightly. He nods, but turns his direct attention to you with a small smile. "Y/N. Excited to meet next week and talk about projects."
"I am, too." His eyes linger on yours for a little longer and Eunchae doesn't miss it. She gives your arm a good, subtle [but hard] squeeze— one that has you slightly squirming in her grip while trying to maintain eye contact with Professor Choi. He furrows his brows a bit when he catches it, trying his best not to chuckle at the way you and your friends are acting around him.
"Yo!" Mingi says, patting San's shoulder. His eyes go from him to the three girls in front, still lingering around. "Beautiful morning, ladies! Hope you're enjoying the event." 
"Hi Professor Song." You all say dreamily, watching as the taller man chuckles and bounces to the music playing. 
"Sorry to have to do this, but mind if I steal Professor Choi from you?"
"Go for it!" You respond. "See you next week, Professor Choi." You smile sweetly at him and he swears he feels his knees buckle a bit. He watches as the three of you turn and squeal, definitely talking about them as you continue to walk away and find other things to distract yourselves with.
"What's new?" Mingi laughs, making San chuckle.
"Stop it. They're just enjoying themselves." Mingi gives him a look that screams 'sure, whatever you say,' but he keeps it professional. Doesn't make any side comments and keeps it at bay, even though he enjoys the eye candy himself. They're still young. Although work and keeping up with their labs is tough, they're finally out of school— which their days only consisted of science, publishing papers, graduating ASAP and launching their own careers. Of course, they've had their shares in relationships, one night stands, situationships; whatever you wanna call it, all clearly not working out because of all the work they've had to put in. The attention they've had to put into their education, early careers. It has become such a norm for them that a relationship isn't even in their minds right now. Not because they don't want to, but because they're afraid. Afraid of not having enough time while they're still balancing their loads, afraid they'll accidentally put their relationships on a backburner. Afraid of things just falling out terribly. Mingi can honestly say he's afraid because of how San's marriage unfolded. Of course, all experiences are unique, but it still doesn't mean he can't be afraid of his own. 
Once they've gotten a better hang of things, then maybe. Right now, everything seems risky. Everything.
"Mmkay." Mingi snorts. "Good talk earlier."
"Thanks, my guy." San smiles. "They asked me to do it last minute because someone else dropped the ball."
"That was a nice impromptu talk then." Mingi and San start walking down the path, greeting other faculty and students that pass them by. "How is your progress report going?"
"Almost done now that I've gotten my class schedule out of the way."
"You have two TAs this semester, right?"
"Mhm. Alex is actually doing a bulk of the classes, then the TAs. I'm teaching 8 classes this entire quarter."
"That's nice." 
"What about you?"
"Around the same. I've got Doyun helping take over most lectures, along with the TAs."
"Can't believe it's another quarter."
"Time just flies." He nods towards another group of professors. "By the way, have you met the new Applied Physics professor? Zara?"
"What's her last name?"
"Cho."
"Oh." San nods. "Yeah, heard of her. I saw the announcement about her starting, but that's it."
"Let's go say hi." Mingi smirks, causing San to furrow his brows in confusion.
"Why?"
"Don't we like meeting new people?"
"For good reason, yeah. Not yours."
"Hey, mine is a good reason. Who says it isn't?" Mingi smiles. "You know, just making her feel welcomed." He lazily hangs his arm over her shoulder. "Discussing potential collaborations, joint advising." San rolls his eyes, shaking his head just as they approach the group. 
"Yeah, let's keep it there." 
"Maybe—" Mingi suddenly shifts his attention to the group as soon as they face him and greet the both of them. Phew, San thinks. Now he doesn't have to hear the stupid shit bound to come out of his mouth. "Hey!"
"I was looking for you two." Namjoon has hands dug deep into his pockets with that usual Namjoon smile of his, Yeosang on his free side. "Wanted to introduce you to Zara Cho." He looks down at her and gestures at the two. "Zara, this is Mingi and San. Both under bioengineering with me, Mingi in Biology by courtesy, too."
"Oh, I've heard all about you two." She smiles. She's got a beautiful smile, and San notices the way her eyes glaze over him the most. She's attractive, and she's softspoken; has a certain grace that she upholds. Her hair is in a pretty bob that comes right below her jawline, and it fits her well. "It's an honor, truly." She says, shaking their hands.
"So, how's it been on campus so far?" San asks.
"It's been alright, I think. Settling in well and trying to get a hang of things."
"Thats good! Taking it day by day." She nods in agreement with a small giggle. "How's getting the lab situated going?" Mingi chimes in.
"Ah, it's tough but I at least have a post-doc and grad student onboard." She shrugs.
"It's a start. Sooner or later, it'll be overflowing with them." She giggles and nods.
"Yeah, that's the hope." She fully turns to San again. "Now that I'm a bit settled, I was hoping we could chat a bit more, San." Mingi shoots him this certain Mingi look before slowly nodding with a smirk.
"Yeah, that'd be great."
"Don't you have a free schedule in the afternoon?" Mingi instigates, making San furrow his brows in confusion.
"Uh yeah, but I was hoping to—" Mingi nudges him.
"Sure you can make a few minutes, yeah?" Namjoon chuckles. San doesn't mean to shrug her off or anything. Truthfully, he can get pretty shy and he is aware of the work she does. He just doesn't wanna make a fool out of himself, and he wants to make sure their conversation is productive; as with any he has.
"We can meet any time, no worries." 
"No, they're right. Later is good. My office is at the Harvey Center."
"I can stop by later in the afternoon if you're around? 4:30 or 5?"
"4:30 is good."
"Cool." She looks around before checking her watch. "Hate to cut this short, but I have to head back for a meeting." She gives everyone a curt bow. "See you all around?" Everyone says bye in their own ways before Namjoon and Yeosang close the gap in between them, Mingi and San.
"I knew I couldn't trust your reasoning." San glares at Mingi and he chuckles.
"Bruh, I told you. Collaborations and co-advisorships are in the works." Namjoon laughs.
"He's not entirely wrong but, she seemed to be a big fan of your work. Thought it'd be good to chat with her anyway."
"I don't trust you guys." Yeosang snorts.
"Just have a good productive meeting." Yeosang pauses. "And if it ever flourishes into anything, we'll be right there to support—"
"I knew it. I'm heading back to my office." San starts to walk away from the group, sipping on this smoothie.
"Just want you happy!" Namjoon yells.
"I am already!" San smirks before saluting at the three and heading back to the Harvey Center. He greets people on the way over to his office, checking in on a few of his lab members before shutting himself away in his office. San likes to think he's happy. He feels happy. He doesn't think he's lacking anywhere even though for the longest time, he felt like he was after his marriage fell apart. It took him a long time to get to where he is now, and he hopes he'll never go back to feeling that way. Feeling hurt, lost. Betrayed.
—FLASHBACK
"Hey." Jongho looks at San with concern, stepping aside to let him into his home. San gives him a forced, tiny smile, but doesn't say much— immediately making his way to Jongho's couch. Jongho can tell it's been a rough couple of days, San looking more exhausted than he's ever seen him. His eyes are red. Hair's a mess. He can tell San hasn't had a proper meal or sleep, yet he's still coming into work like he's okay. 
He can only imagine how difficult it is. To have someone go from being your world— to absolutely nothing. Your bestfriend being the most trusted person on earth— to nothing.
"What's going on?" Jongho feels like it's such a stupid question, but he isn't sure how to break the silence right now and he needs to. He watches San sink into the couch and just let out a sigh, and it's clear he's about to release everything he's been holding in. "What happened?" Jongho repeats in a different form.
"Where the fuck did I go wrong?" Jongho sees his bottom lip trembling before he buries his head into his hands and starts sobbing. It breaks his heart to see his bestfriend like this; he wishes he could tell him everything will be okay because he knows it will, even though it feels like miles away right now. He wishes that'll be enough. He wishes he could just take the pain away and shove it somewhere else. Because someone like San, someone who loves hard and deep, someone who is loyal until the very end, doesn't deserve this.
"You didn't go wrong anywhere. It was never you, San."
"Why would they do this to me? Why didn't she just talk to m-me about everything? How could she do that so easily?" He continues to mumble as he cries, Jongho rubbing a hand down his back. He truly hates this. He has never seen San so defeated.
Destroyed.
"Because they're both immature and didn't care. I know this is a lot easier said than done but this isn't worth it. You don't need her. You don't need him. They don't deserve you and you'll find someone who'll truly love you for you and who wouldn't even dare do this to you. I'm sorry it had to happen to you, but I promise you'll find someone better. Worth everything. Let yourself feel this out and process it, but once you do, brush it off and continue to move on." San doesn't say anything because Jongho is right; he still needs to process this, and he still needs to feel this out in order to properly move on. 
"Jongho, I don't even know how I'll make it past this. I really don't know how I can."
"You will. Give yourself some time, but in the end, you'll come out stronger and you'll realize why all of this was never meant for you in the first place. There's always a reason, one being that something way better is in the works." San doesn't say anything, but he continues to cry. He continues to wallow in his sadness, what's left of his heart crumbling to pieces and shattering. He knows this is only temporary— but that light, the 'better' that Jongho speaks of, seemed so, so far away.
Unreachable.
—END
San shakes off the thoughts and continues to power through his work, getting through other emails and lab financials he needs to sort through. He's also skimming over his class schedule and hopping into a quick kick-off call with his TAs and lecturers this quarter. 
Sooner or later, time flies on by and he's wrapping things up, getting ready to meet with Zara. He realizes he didn't give her any details on how to get to his office, so he grabs his phone and heads upstairs to wait for her. 
"Hi!" She rushes in, heels clicking against the floor. "Sorry, I'm running a few minutes late." San chuckles and shakes his head.
"No, don't even worry about it. I, uh.. just realized I never gave you proper directions to my office and the lab." San digs his hands into his pockets and presses the button to the elevator. "How was the rest of your day?"
"Good, busy. Just feels like it's nonstop." She giggles, stepping in next to him but with some distance. 
"Mm, yeah. I get that feeling all too well." He laughs. "But, it'll settle in due time." Luckily, the elevator ride isn't too awkward and it's quick— prompting San to step out and lead her down the basement hallway. "I can show you around the lab."
"Do you still have lab members lingering around?"
"Oh, always. They're always holed up in a behavior room or doing surgeries. Some of them really just prefer to work late nights so they don't have to share the space and equipment with anybody."
"Makes sense." She smiles up at him and he nods. He continues to show her around, taking her room by room; allowing her to see his wetbench lab space, his behavior rooms, laser rooms and the mice. She's impressed by how tidy and kept together the lab is despite so many people running around and being together in one space. It's bound to get messy and chaotic, and it does, sometimes. He explains that he tries really hard to keep his space clean and organized, emphasizing it to his lab members so much that they do actually listen especially when it's time for them to go and start their own careers. He's never had a problem with anyone leaving mess behind. He always tells people it's a space for another person to grow and they take that to heart. It's the least they could do after San has been nothing but supportive of them during their time in the lab.
Afterwards, he takes her into his office and she compliments him on all his awards. He rubs at his chin to brush off the heat rising to his cheeks, sitting onto computer chair to talk to her a little more about her plans. She even turns to him for advice about how to keep things steady once they get going, how to tour the labs with donors properly, how to successfully snag grants and funding for the future. The conversation turns out to be a long, productive one, even though San doesn't feel like he's qualified enough to give great advice. Yes, he's done most of it on his own but a lot of it was through Namjoon's guidance. He does slip that in there, giving her a nudge to talk to him a bit further about the perfect grants to go for at this stage, things to do to keep recruiting great postdocs and lab students, funding in the meantime. She appreciates all the guidance and help— so much that the conversation continues even as San packs up and heads out of the office with her.
He does enjoy their conversation, but he definitely could tell you he wouldn't take this anywhere even if his friends tried to push him into doing so. He respects her, he respects her work and he respects her as a colleague.
"Look, look, look!" Eunchae grabs your arm and pulls you aside. She stops in her tracks and nods towards the other side of the street, spotting San speaking to Zara. "He's talking to the new applied physics professor. Professor Cho or something."
"I heard a bit about her work. She's really smart."
"And pretty." You nod in agreement. "He's legit walking her to her car and everything. What if they're into each other already?! Or, do you think it's a tap and dash thing? Do you think Professor Choi is an undercover hoe?"
"Girl?" You look at her questioningly. "What do I do with you?" You laugh and playfully nudge her. "Professor Choi is probably just trying to be a good colleague to her."
"Yeah, okay. She's definitely interested, though. Look at the way she looks up at him. I mean, who wouldn't be?"
"Definitely can't get anything by you, can I?"
"Nope. I'm excited for your rotation with him."
"Excited for the wrong reasons." You playfully run a hand down her hair. "Get out of your head, missy." She snorts.
"I can only dream and live through you." You laugh and link your arm with hers, carrying onto the gym. Meanwhile, Zara finds her way to her car with San in tow.
"Well, it was great talking to you, San." San smiles and nods, watching as Zara gets into her car in one of the smaller lots near the Harvey Center. "Thanks for showing me around your lab and for all your advice."
"Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything else. Happy to help. Maybe I can swing by once your lab is settled and kicking off." She nods. "But, definitely try to catch Namjoon and get that old man's wisdom." She laughs.
"Of course. Will do. Have a good rest of your evening." He gently taps the hood of her car before giving her a small nod.
"You as well, drive safely." He waits until she gets settled in her car and drives off before slowly walking over to his car in the usual lot he parks at. He catches sight of you and Eunchae walking towards the gym, your laughs echoing as you seem to be joking around, playfully pushing each other and in good spirits. Hearing your laugh brings a small smile to his face, remembering the events earlier today.
He can't help but be a little flattered, even a little curious as to what exactly you think about him.
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