#good job oppa you did well tonight and your hard work has paid off

[leeknow-bestboy]

If You Close One Eye - Chapter One

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5277

Chapter: 1/?

Next chapter 

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

As per usual, the playground was packed; children of all ages ran wild, squalling and laughing like the little menaces they were- all of them avoiding a short kid who couldn't be older than five, seated at the very end of the sandbox and holding back tears of offense and loneliness.

It's not that he got bullied, he wasn't. His mom raised a tough kid who'd bite back when he's bit, but no one would play with him now. Not with how he looks, they'd rather scream and run.

Five year olds shouldn't worry about that.

Rubbing his left eye- the good one, he could see a woman's shoulder and hair. Her smile, bright and comforting, wording out a song with no sound.

"Jisung!" His mother's voice rang aloud, recognizable and warm in the hostile environment.

"Baby," She called again, finding him and wrapping her son in her arms. For the moment, there was no strange woman- only his own mother.

Jisung sniffled. "I hate people." -These words that shouldn't be said by a child flowed so easily from his lips, as if it was the only reasonable conclusion.

"We need to talk about something" his mother's voice, once excited and lively sounded utterly defeated. Little did he know, it was the last time. Years of telling him he's perfect just the way he is, special and unique in a good way, definitely- have ended up making no difference in the end.

That day, he learned to put on contact lenses.

.

"I know you're upset about the divorce, but you have to accept that it happened."

The woman's voice, high pitched and unpleasant, drove Minho ever so slightly closer to the edge. By now he knew no adult in the world would ever take him seriously, so what was the point in sitting here and listening to her talk?

The woman pursed her lips, plump and telling of the many times they went under the scalpel. Tapping her foot, she hazily reminded Minho of his own mother when scolding was due.

"If you don't talk to me, that's fine. Nothing's going to change. I get paid by the hour you know, I can do this all day."

That being said, she was probably stressed- no therapist had ever gotten Minho to talk, he's been changing doctors since his hallucinations began, which adds to a little over three years now.

"Minho, I can't help you like this. Tell your mother I give up."

A sense of dread spread over the eight years old. Again, another adult doesn't get it. Another one giving up on him, leaving, and suddenly he wanted her to stay. Pretty badly he did, at the time.

"I don't care that my parents broke up, I've been seeing monsters all day"

The woman blinked, stunned into silence. At the tinge of tears he rubbed his right eye- and there it was, certain as ever; drawn with a sharpie, people with horns. In a moment, a pair of hands that weren't his took the drawing away and pulled out a new one, drawing harshly a sad smiley face.

Although he was a big boy, he cried right then, scared out of his mind and very confused. He cried so hard it almost slipped off- the contact lens hiding his mother's disgrace.

Looking up, the woman made no effort to comfort or dissolve his fright. Rather, she was scribbling down the whole ordeal. Taking notes, furiously assessing and picking him apart, she finished her analysis smugly and said,

"It's time we get you a prescription, my dear"

And that was definitely not the last of it.

.

"Oppa"

Minho groaned lowly, alerting the speaker to the fact he's been woken from sleep.

"Minho oppa!" the voice persisted. Fully intent on hanging up, Minho side glanced at the caller id to make sure it wasn't important.

"Motherfucker!" the voice on the other end rose. From the corner of the bed Doongie meowed, alarmed.

"Freaking shrimp, what do you think you're calling your oppa?" He blurted. This isn't a call he should skip.

"Egg laying bastard! Answer me when I call you!" His sister's comforting voice trickled out.

"Gremlin twarp!"

"ballerina!"

"Whiny child!"

"Prune old man!"

"spoiled princess!"

"Mean hoe!"

"-!" Wheeze.

"I got you, you horrible gay bitch"

"We're both gay, Ryu" He threw back.

It's been a while since she last called.

"Well, you live alone, so I assume you're doing much gayer things than I can do at home."

Minho started, failing to hold back his horrified gasp. "Ryujin, you're eighteen!" He exclaimed. It seemed like yesterday she was still following him around, like some baby duckling.

"She's being mean Doongie, like you three don't count." He added, Ryujin electing to ignore his comment.

"How's dance going?" her tone changed, turning softer. For all their differences, dance for sure has always been something both loved and loved together. From copying idols on TV, to taking ballet and hiphop together, Jazz too.

"I'm not in college for dance and you know it" He groaned, immediately softening as well.

"I miss it a lot. I wish I could do more than minor in it.." On the other side of the call Ryujin hummed, understanding. She has always known his passion best.

"You're good at what you do too. You'd make a kickass detective." She claimed.

"I'm not taking criminology to be a detective." Why she had to be reminded was beyond him. If anything he aimed to be an officer, someone to tell kids off if they mess with the neighborhood cats.

"I'm just saying you could be!" She defended- which wasn't wrong, if he played job openings right. He did have a knack for picking apart mystery books too, but that was nothing out of the usual.

"How's grad life?" He asked with genuine interest. Nothing could ever matter to him more.

"I asked Chelle out, finally." She said, and Minho couldn't help but notice the edge evident in her voice.

"What happened? Did she let you down? Should I come over?" The questions left his lips before he could consider them, worry clouding over him.

"No, it's nothing like that. She said yes, but.. Yeah, oppa, I really wish you were here. I need to talk to you, face to face. Mom misses you too." She ended lamely. It was so unlike her, Minho couldn't find it in him to correct the fact that it was only Ryu's mom and not his.

"Tell her I'll be visiting tonight then, I'll go get ready." He said, fully intent on making the sudden drive over. It was only a two hour ride over to his father's, where Ryujin and his step mother lived too. If he headed out now, he could make it before dinner.

"Really? You don't have to, I know you hate it here-" Her attempts of taking it back wouldn't work once he set his mind to do something.

"Really really. I miss my stinky troll sister too," He insisted. No way was he leaving her be. The moment something felt off with her, he knew he had to go make sure she's fine; there aren't many things as precious in his life as she is.

"Dumbass," she relented, voice worryingly relieved. "I'll go tell mom."

He smiled, tapping his nail on the headboard, now sitting up at his bed. "Bye"

She huffed, pausing for a moment before giving her last reply. "Goodbye, oppa. I love you."

.

Minho sighed, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

For what little time he spent at his father's place, a surprising amount of bad memories were made. Up until his teen years he wouldn't even enter, and every time after that made for a rich history; first panic attack, first time breaking a leg falling down the stairs, coming out, taking Ryu to junior prom- door shut in his face that time, claiming she was grounded for beating up the neighbor's son. First time stung by a bee, and that weekend when his father's doberman puppy bit him in play, tore open his front lip and got sent to a dog pound despite his protest.

'Come on,' he thought. 'You can do this. Count to three-' and at three he did, opened his car door and walked up through the front gate.

"Minho! How lovely to see you." Smiled his step mom, a warm, if not a tad unnerving woman.

"Nice to so see you too. How have you been?" He asked, clean-cut manners kicking in. Dal and Byul had meanwhile made their way running over to the door, immediately rubbing against him with some level of desperation. He leaned down, rubbing Dal's small head.

"I've been well, your father too- that's right! Honey, come say hi to Minho." The short, lean woman called, still blocking the entrance to the oversized house and keeping Minho at the door. Whether this was on purpose shall forever remain a mystery- she did it every time.

"That brat has nothing to do in this house" His father's voice warmed over.

"Hi dad." He tried still, calling over the woman's shoulder. "Can I come in?"

Said obstacle smiled, moving aside at last. "Of course sweetie, Ryujin will be right over."

Taking that exchange for what it was, he made fast pace towards the kitchen. Avoiding his father has become a praised skill by now, a crucial one by all means.

"Dallie, Byulie, psps" he tried, pleased when both ran on over towards his outstretched hand. Two more allies at the ready.

Light steps cleared the remaining discomfort sullying his mood in short moments. "You!" A pair of arms tightened around his shoulders, prompting Minho to lift his little sister in a piggyback.

"You too!" He answered, relieved at feeling welcomed at last.

"I can't believe you actually came. Did you tell your mother you're over?" She asked, tactless as ever. He loves her a whole lot for that, too.

"She's not the boss of me, I'm twenty one" He announced, eyes closed in a content smile as his sister gently pet his hair like a cat.

"What about me? I'm almost nineteen, I wish I was free like you, Lino!" Exclaimed Ryujin, but really she didn't. There was a certain freedom gained from nobody caring about you that no one should be jealous of.

Letting her hop back onto the ground, Minho kept the smile on his face. She seemed fine, but he could tell better. Still, they couldn't talk before dinner- the pots and pans at the stovetop smelled just about ready, after all.

Instead he turned to face her, petting her head lovingly like she had his. "What's this? This tiny Ryuddaeng's nineteen? No way."

"Almost!" she growled. "Next month I'll be."

"Where have the times gone?" he questioned, shoving her playfully at the comments of "old man".

.

Dinner went as uncomfortably as expected, his father and he had behaved remarkably well- hadn't spoken a word to each other throughout. Minho ate neatly, made sure to compliment his step mother for every dish, and Ryujin helped by washing them after. All in all, it was successful unlike many dinners before.

Making way to the guest bedroom, Minho paused at the sight of his sister's door left slightly open. Right, yes- this would be a good time.

Knocking quietly, he waited for permission before entering and closing the door, waiting for Byul to enter alongside him. "Are you alright?"

Ryujin nodded, glancing up at him and back to the floor. He took that as a sign to take a seat down on her fancy dragon themed carpet.

"Are you really alright? Ryujin, I know we're not great communicators, but I'm still very worried. Is it dad?" At that his sister shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"Don't get mad, but I have a huge favor. You know Chelle, I swore I'll ask her out when I graduate and I did, but she…" Minho crossed and uncrossed his legs, chin finding its place resting on a knee. Byul purred, rubbing against it.

"She's missing. She's been missing for two weeks now, no one knows where she is." She explained, voice stern.

"I don't think she ran away, but her parents keep saying she did. She said nothing to me." She added, hoping he'd fill in the rest on his own.

"They're not filling in for missing person?" He asked, worry making his back stress and ace.

Ryujin nodded. "I know she's the bad girl type, but she wasn't into drugs and her friends seem fine. I keep trying to ask around but I can't, what if something serious happened?"

Minho nodded, realizing where he comes in. "You want me to investigate? See where that takes us?" He asked. For sure, that should be the police's job- but with her parents saying she ran away, would they even bother?

Ryujin kept quiet, eyes burning holes into Minho's. This was her crush, a big one- he's never liked Chelle, but now? If Ryujin cares that much… sure. It's not something he should be messing with legally, and a new project to be added atop his ever growing college work, but he'd do it for her. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryujin asked back, relieved.

"Yes. I'll do it." He assured.

Ryujin's features softened farther, mouth breaking into a smile. "You're my new favorite person."

Minho smiled lightly, mind running full speed. "I need details. When and where she was last seen, and about her; exes, Instagram, friends and hangouts."

Ryujin's smile faded. Nonetheless she turned, pulling a notebook out of her bedside drawer.

Scribbling away the details he requested, she paused to ask a couple questions before turning back to her chore. "I know less than I thought." She admitted.

"That's fine, but I have a few more. How was her mental state, where did she study, was she on meds and did she mention any places?"

This kept on for a few hours, ending after they let an annoyed Byul out of the room - with Ryujin tiredly announcing that her brain is fried and he can ask the rest over chat when he's back in college. On his end, Minho learned one important thing:

This girl was not who she seemed to be.

.

Back at his apartment, Minho re-read all eleven papers of info they've gathered. On the way he's prepared a list of places to visit, only two of which stemmed from the info Ryujin herself had given him. Other than the school and family bistro down the street, it seemed the two have never gone out together, although Chelle was one to do so.

Good, he thought.

Scrolling through her Instagram, he noted which followers seemed to comment more, and who would show most often on highlights. Her latest post have been boring- it was landscape art of what he assumed to be a tall grass field on the outskirts of seoul. Around three months back he found a picture of some guy at the beach, shirt off and abs in clear view. Seeing as he looked nothing like Chelle, it would seem they weren't related.

Sorting through the packed comment section, someone's request to take it down stood out. Tapping on the person's icon, he realized that was probably the guy in the picture, although the account was made private. An ex? That would make a good trail.

Not having an account himself, by now Minho has used Ryujin's, but to follow guys it would seem he needs his own account.

Setting up all the necessities, he took a nice picture of Dori and made it his profile, sending the guy a follow request right away.

Now we wait.

.

"Oppa, if you have no photos or description and no followers, and he doesn't know you, did you really expect he'd approve your request?" Ryujin's laughter trickled through the speakers, as if it's been obvious. "You're going to have to find him." She pointed, before hesitantly adding, "Or I can-"

"No." Minho said, stern. "This guy could be Chelle's ex, he might be really dangerous! You don't get to follow his Instagram."

Ryujin sighed, and Minho got the sudden mental image of her rubbing the bridge of her nose as she did. "You have friends right? Ask one of them." She advised.

"I need to go, dad said I can't go out unless I finish these applications." She explained, hanging up after a round of goodbyes.

Right. He did! He has friends.

Picking his phone back up, Minho scrolled his contacts looking for either Felix or Hyunjin. The two weren't in his major, but they shared a dance class. Out of the student body, they were closest to his definition of friends.

A couple rings went by before the line picked up. "Hyung? Hello!" Felix's cheerful voice calmed the older's nerves ever so slightly.

"Felix, hi." He answered, trying to seem casual. "How are you?"

Felix took a moment before responding. "I'm great! I'm actually out with Chan hyung, is something up?"

"Who?" Minho asked, confused.

Felix took another moment. "Bang Chan. He's a fourth year in sociology, I don't think you'll know him."

Minho came close to a sob right then. "Can you pass him the phone?"

"Yeah sure." Felix agreed immediately, followed by ruttling sounds.

"Hello?" A voice sounded, accent similar to Felix's own.

"Hi! My name is Minho, I followed you on Instagram a couple days ago."

A short silence. "Oh my god." Chan exclaimed.

"No, never mind that, I need to talk to you." He rephrased.

"I have no idea who you are." Chan replied, confused.

"It's about Chelle." Minho added, hoping to learn anything from the other's reply.

"Oh." Was all he got. "Okay, I guess we should meet sometime then. How is she?"

The question caught Minho off guard.

"I, I'll tell you more when we meet. When are you free?" he asked, quickly seeking out a pen and scribbling the time and date on his wrist, phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, sounds great! See you then." He concluded, getting passed back to Felix and thanking him profoundly before hanging up.

"In my own college." He muttered after the phone found its place back on the table.

"Unbelievable."

.

Not many people occupied the café, despite its convenient location not far off the olympic park. For that reason Minho concluded, the coffee there probably sucked.

It wasn't his intention to show fifteen minutes early, but his nerves got the best of him, taking shape in miserable pacing until he deemed it late enough to leave his apartment already. Worst case scenarios running through his mind, he wasn't expecting it as someone took seat in the chair opposite of his.

"Hello. It's Minho, right?" Asked the stranger, dimples forming in an awkward smile.

"Ah." Minho voiced dumbly before quickly picking himself up adding,

"You're Chan?"

In the short time that passed between first learning of Chan's existence and actually seeing him, Minho's mind managed to fill with expectations and fears, all of which shattered right in that moment.

First of all, the guy in the picture had very defined abs and arm muscles, making it seem as if he'd be your average muscle-head, someone who could pull apart limbs off boys like Minho- a description that apparently had nothing in common with the hesitant and awkward person in front of him. Rather, he found that this Chan was a tad shorter than him, barely filling the light gray sweater he threw on.

Secondly, while the photo showed a man with straight dark brown hair, the man in front of him had soft blond curls that seemed so, so fluffy- invoking a primal urge to pet them in, Minho assumed, not only himself, but also every innocent bystander.

Lastly, by the amount of english in his Instagram description, one would expect an obvious accent, but that had been proven false on the phone call anyway. Regardless, Minho imagined a foreigner, so seeing his face up close had been a surprise on its own, especially considering the smile… he was, how would he put it? Cute.

"Yeah! Nice to meet you. I was worrying I'd be early, but it's good to see you are too." Minho could only half process the words, a glance at his phone telling him they both still had around ten minutes before the planned meetup time.

"Right! Right, I wanted to talk to you." Minho started, forcibly clearing his mind of any strange thoughts.

"You said it was about Chelle? I assume you're her new boyfriend?" Chan asked, voice a bit strained.

"No, It's not like that. I wanted to know if you've heard from her for the last couple weeks." Minho replied, quick to correct him so to not make things needlessly awkward. Right, he thought- Chan still might have had something to do with this girl's disappearance.

"Oh, well, I actually hadn't, I try not to do that anymore. We didn't end things on good terms." Chan confessed, picking Minho's interest.

"What happened?" He asked, worries picking back up.

Chan paused. "Are you her friend? This kind of thing is a little personal, I don't want it to affect your friendship."

Minho blinked, thinking up a smaller scale storm. "I live in her neighborhood. We're not very close, but some things happened that made me look for you."

Chan hesitated, saved by the waiter's interruption asking which drinks the two would have. Still suspicious, Minho only ordered a small iced americano, Chan matching with a small iced tea.

"You probably know we dated for around two months, it ended after I found she was cheating for a long time."

Minho's breath hitched, dangerously close to choking on his coffee. "She cheated on you?"

Chan's expression fluttered before he nodded, sheepish smile back on. "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? I couldn't hold her attention. At least, the others didn't know."

Minho gaped, unsure how to handle the new information. Chelle, the girl Ryujin asked him to look for. Was that her true nature? "What do you mean others?"

Chan's embarrassment grew, yet he didn't look away. "We were around.. five, I think.. that I know of. I followed her for a bit."

The awkwardness settled, leaving both speechless.

"Okay, I'm really sorry but I still need to ask you a couple more things." Minho was the first to break the silence.

"Go ahead." Chan smiled in relief.

"Were you mad? Wait, no- Can you think of anyone who could have held a grudge against her? More than, I guess, this."

Chan shook his head. "She's a really nice girl! She has some serious issues, but I liked her a lot at the time."

Minho bit his lip, ready to push on. "Chan, I'm going to be honest with you.. Chelle's been missing for over two weeks now."

If Chan was drinking at the moment, it would have been his turn to choke. "What?" he asked, voice steady.

"I got in touch with you because right now, nobody knows where she is. Or someone does know, but I don't" Minho explained, hoping his message went through alright.

"Are you sure she's not ghosting you? She might be." Chan offered. Minho stiffened. If Chelle was fine, if she was ghosting his sister- there will be hell to pay.

"I don't think so?" he continued anyway.

"I can't remember a specific person who would want to hurt her, but.. God, I'm worried. Chelle's gone? Like, kidnapped or.." Chan paused, taking deep breaths.

"If you have any information on where she could be, it would help a lot. I don't know her well, I'm not sure who else to ask either." Minho added.

"What do you want to know?" Chan asked, worry clouding his face in an unpleasant way. Minho almost felt, scratch that- he did feel really bad for the guy.

"Hangouts, friends, habits, names of other exes- mental state too, it's a little invasive but I can't find her otherwise." Chan stared, eye contact with Minho intensifying as neither averted their gaze.

"Okay." Chan replied after a while. "I don't really know you, but I guess it suits her. If anything happened, I wouldn't expect an officer anyway."

Slightly disturbed, Minho pulled his notes from his bag, offering Chan a big sheet of paper. Just like that, the two had begun- Just as Minho had with Ryujin before.

"I can't help with other Exes, I don't know any of their names. I do know where she hangs out usually." Chan supplied helpfully.

"Chelle, she's very into art. She thinks her art, only hers, is the best of the best. She considers herself an undiscovered gem, that kind of mentality. She'll do anything for exposure, and she likes compliments a lot." Chan bit his lip, pausing in his writing.

"She's not on good terms with her parents, and sometimes I remember, she said she wanted to run away. She has horrible mood swings, but when she's happy she can be the sweetest, most considerate person in the world. I think she had too much love in her, that's why…" Chan trailed off, sighing before shaking his head and writing down some more details.

"I'm not okay with that, you know? It's the worst kind of betrayal, but I'm still so worried. I never wanted anything to happen to her, I don't wish that for anyone." Minho hummed, recalling back on his previous suspicion, how ridiculous it seemed now to think that of this person.

So it went on, the two of them coming up with important details and question marks to jot down. Before they knew it the sky turned dark, an impatient barista politely asking them to leave.

"You have my number, right?" Chan asked.

"I don't." Minho replied, glad Chan remembered. The two exchanged phones, filling in their details with some hesitation.

"Call me if you need anything, or if you find her." Chan added, eyes glinting under the streetlights.

"You too, call me if you remember anything important." Minho replied, parting with a wave goodbye and heading towards the bus station.

It was only on his way back that he recalled their first exchange through the phone, and how stupid it had been to expect anything else from a friend of Felix's, of all people.

Groaning lowly, Minho moved his bag up, staring at the paper pile stuffed inside it neatly. Ahead was, he expected, a night full of reading- all 38 new pages of details about this girl, who he found himself liking less and less with every passing statement.

.

Over an extended time period Minho had found himself visiting many different places to no avail. He tried asking around, dropping Chelle's name here and there for good measures, but it seemed that the girl had vanished into thin air. Her only legacy had been the outrageous rumors surrounding her name, such as dating kids much younger than herself and having sex to get her way in the art world. Really, Minho should have stopped there- he wanted nothing to do with this girl anymore, was happy even; happy that she didn't get to lay her hands on his sister. Yet he couldn't stop thinking, this girl.. She was missing, it was real, and not one soul other than him have made a single attempt to locate her. How could he give up now?

It had been a long day- visiting a bar from the list in the morning before moving to a café nearby and finishing one of his assignments, Minho decided to follow up on Chelle's tracks. Twelve days have passed since his meeting with Chan, and although his anxiety kept getting worse, the list of things to check kept getting shorter with every lead he crossed out.

This one had honestly been a lame lead, but he wanted to make the most out of it- a short trip out of seoul, to a grass patch stretching a couple miles that was similar to the one he saw on her Instagram. If he couldn't find her with anyone's help, he thought- maybe he should try to think like her more. This girl, where would she go? Who would she meet? What would she do? And for that this practice was important, too.

The land stretched, tall grass for as far as the eye could see. He roamed around, looking at the tall buildings that made his home from afar. From here, definitely- he recognized the scenery as the one she drew that time. Stepping back through the grass, it didn't make much of a difference from how far he's already been, but the moment felt special somehow.

Minho breathed in, a strong breeze blowing from the front and carrying the dust and pollution of the city with it. Bad air, even this far back. At least it was silent, no cars, no birds either- it felt peaceful. Minho stepped back again, pulling out his phone, intending to take a photo. A couple more steps back, and he tripped- landing on his butt in the grass.

It was there that he found her.

.

Jisung stretched, back aching after sleeping in so late.

"Good morning, and good luck falling back asleep at a normal hour." Seungmin commented. True that, Jisung managed to mess his sleep schedule pretty badly. Good thing it was friday.

Standing up, he considered responding before giving up and making his way to the kitchen.

"Ji," Seungmin spoke up once more,

"At least brush your teeth. I'm your roommate, not your mom- I shouldn't have to tell you this!" His voice, although annoyed, remained calm. He did have a point.

"Okay mom." Jisung replied, deadpan. Without another word he turned, entering the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush to do as instructed.

Life as an art major was hard- he had so much work to do in little time, and the pressure made it feel a little like a job. Nowadays his minor in music made for the only stress reliever he could put time into without guilt, and he wondered if maybe he should have chosen it for major instead. Useless thinking about it now, anyway.

Jisung went on brushing, releasing a small whine at the thought of his next assignment. Whatever- he rolled his eyes, raising a hand to rub the remains of sleep away.

Tall grass, the clear view of seoul from afar- blurring, moving, fast as if he was struck by lightning.

The toothbrush clinked loudly against the sink as it dropped, leaving Jisung with the reflection of himself in the mirror, left hand raised. He made quick way, spitting the paste and powerwalking back to their room, brushing against Seungmin on his way there.

"Jisung? Jisung, you can't just leave this here." Seungmin bristled, pausing at the sight of Jisung pulling out his sketchbook with the craze of someone going through a revelation.

He sighed, recognizing the scene in front of him. "Inspiration struck?"

Jisung hummed, wiping his mouth and beginning to sketch. This happened every once in a while, it was one of the things that made Jisung��� well, Jisung.

"I'll clean up. Should I order takeout?" Seungmin asked, affection sneaking into his voice. He's a bit weird, but sometimes he was cute too.

"Thank you, please." Jisung replied absentmindedly, focused on the paper.

"I will. Okay." Seungmin concluded, fishing his phone out to call his favorite fast food handler.

To them, after all, it was nothing more than an average friday night.

[outroshooky]

for him | jhs

⇢ genre: series (fluff, brief smut)

⇢ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

⇢ word count: 2.3k

⇢ warnings: drinking, vaping, hobi almost gets electrocuted. mild smut, mentions of sex.

this work is based off of the song for him. by troye sivan. listen here.

We are running so fast and we never look back

And whatever I lack, you make up

Your hand was clutched tightly in his, and you were sprinting down the abandoned city block like your lives depended on it.

The sound of your Converse hitting concrete echoed against the stony buildings. Store lights flickered in the distance, and a car alarm’s whoops resounded through the chilly air.

How he had convinced you to take a shortcut back to your apartment down a shady side street, you’d never know. You’d said it looked suspicious, and he brushed it off. He said if worst came to worst, you could just run, and you’d get a good workout out of the experience, so why not?

Of course, fifteen feet down the block, a trash can cover clanged against a metal fence and scared the crap out of him. You simultaneously bolted, one thing led to another and now you knew why not.

The street light shone off of the creases in his jacket, the stylish leather sharpening his features. He turned to make sure you were next to him and it contrasted against his face, throwing it into shadow.

“Christ, Hoseok,” you wheezed as you loped along next to him, legs stumbling. “Slow down and consider that the person you’re running next to has legs half the size of yours.”

“All the more reason to run faster,” he teased, slowing down a fraction of the pace.

“Shut the fuck up, you do this for a living.”

“I never said I was good at it.”

“Well-“ You were interrupted by a wheeze, throat beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen. “You are, so shut the fuck up.”

We make a really good team

Though not everyone sees

We got this crazy chemistry between us

He’d taken you out to dinner to the nice Italian place on 48th East and 12th Street and gotten a table tucked back into the corner, away from other restaurant goers. You’d snuck in through the back with a reservation and miraculously, word hadn’t yet gotten out that J-Hope was out and about. With a lifestyle like his, you could never be sure, and although the fans knew about you, he kept you safe from their prying eyes.

He didn’t go all-out with the designer clothing, but the Prada dress shirt and musky cologne hinted at enough. He looked like a god who’d come down from heaven, settled across the table from you, and introduced himself as the utterly ridiculous man you knew to be your boyfriend.

He caught you staring over the top of the menu and smiled widely. “Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” you stuttered over the words, cheeks reddening. “I’m good.”

He chuckled and went back to perusing the pasta options. “You’re too cute.”

It had been a long, long time since you had him to yourself. Thus, you had a lot to talk about, from life at the studio with six other type A boys and Namjoon’s destructive abilities to the latest Broadway show you had seen and the weird guy at your job that didn’t seem to take no for an answer. The waitress came by to refill your waters after the three hour mark, and long after the meal ended, you were still talking even as the last customer paid their bill and gathered their belongings to leave. That was what you loved about him, loved about your relationship- you connected endlessly on so many levels, although you were completely opposite people.

Jumpstarting your car cause the city’s a bore

Buyin’ e-cigarettes at the convenience store

Makin’ new clichés on our own little tour

Let’s ride, ide, ide

The hair was sticking to Namjoon’s forehead, and Hoseok was trying not to get electrocuted.

You sat on the sidewalk edge with your head in your hands. “Why, just- who the hell thought it was a good idea to give practically teenage boys jumper cables and go off of Google to learn how to restart a car?”

There was a stripe of grease on your boyfriend’s cheek from where he had wiped off his hand. “I don’t know, but he was a genius, whoever he was.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, sitting next to your right on the curb. “See, I trust you two to restart my car, which is probably a mistake considering Namjoon destroys everything he touches and Hoseok might spontaneously explode from excitement.” He blew mango smoke into the air- he’d been trying to quit smoking recently, it was damaging his vocal cords.

“Dammit, Suga. This is all your fault.”

“Hey,” he shrugged. “He’s your boyfriend. You’re the one calling 911 if this backfires. No pun intended.”

Taehyung lifted his chin from where it rested from the pile of leftover boxes from dinner on his lap, sitting to your left. “Yoongi, that was awful.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

Maybe there was a god up there making sure your friends didn’t accidentally electrocute themselves, because Yoongi’s car fired once, twice, and rumbled low, puffing smoke much like its owner.

“Lo and behold, the car lives another day.” The slim blonde rapper stood, pocketing his e-cigarette. “Come on kids, get in the back. And buckle your seatbelts this time, I don’t need one of you destroying the roof along with the engine on this thing.”

You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you

Forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons

We be makin’ shades of purple out of red and blue

Sickeningly sweet like honey, don’t need money

All I need is you

All I need is you

You had no idea how he’d planned it, but it was two days of the road, your boyfriend, and the best trip of either of your lives.

“How did you manage- you know what, I don’t even want to know.”

Your boyfriend had somehow booked two days off from work and rented the smallest camper van you’d ever seen. It hooked onto the back of his car, and had the appearance of a somewhat rusted tin can that someone forgot about for a few years, then found and cleaned, only to abandon again.

It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, and you fell in love with it instantly.

You planned out the route the day before, covering as much as you could, stopping only to eat, sleep, pee, and replenish the gas. It was the perfect short road trip- long enough to get away from the rush, but not long enough to miss anyone. In fact, you didn’t even have to miss home- home was next to you in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the rim of the wheel and the other interlocked with yours.

Oh, and the sex was pretty good, too.

We try staying up late, but we both are lightweights

Yeah we get off our face too easy

You promised him you wouldn’t fall asleep during the movie, but your head was on his chest, one thing led to another, and you were dozing under the blanket he’d thrown over you.

He noticed you’d fallen asleep and was about to wake you with a tickle fight, but after the week you’d had at work, you deserved a rest. He kissed the top of your head and brushed your forehead with his nose, admiring your cute little snuffles and the way you pressed yourself closer against him.

“How did I ever deserve someone like you?” he mused, kissing your nose and running his hand down your back. You sighed in reply, cuddling ever closer to him.

And we take jokes way too far

Cause sometimes living’s too hard

We’re like two halves of one heart

We are, we are, we are

Your legs were crossed over his on the couch recliner, sliding as you toppled into the cushion in a full bodied laugh. He was laughing just as hard, shoulders shaking, breathless with mirth. You glanced up at him and found that even in a crowded room he was paying attention only to you, tender eyes gazing into yours. Time slowed and you were in your own little world with him, and only him.

His hand slipped into yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. You leaned your head on the swell of the pillow and smiled. Your thumb traced his knuckles, finding every curve and edge.

Across the room, Jungkook aimed a throw pillow at Hoseok’s head, but Taehyung batted it out of his hand. “Let them be.”

Eat a pill, stay and chill, you don't need to go

I'm about to bring emo back if you leave my home

“Oppa, I have to leave for work.” You tried to pull free of his arms, which had wrapped themselves tight around your waist.

“No, stay. Please?” He widened his eyes and batted them at you, putting fists up against his cheeks, doing aegyo. He knew it was your weakness.

You huffed at him, pretending to be upset. “Five more minutes.”

I'd panic at the disco and you'd rather watch a TV show

Then I'll squeeze your booty real hard like I'm kneading dough

His mouth was on your stomach and he was crawling up your front, kissing every bit of exposed skin he could find.

He pressed his lips against the sweet spot on your neck, listening to the cries that fell from your mouth like prayers. Hands ran up your sides and down your front, settling on your hips.

You snaked your nails down his back, tracing down his spine. He tipped his head back and you took the opportunity to kiss a trail from his throat to his lips. He crashed them into yours, needing you ever more closer to him, and let out a sudden yelp.

You had cheekily decided to pinch his ass.

His gaze darkened and he grinned seductively, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and stealing a not so casual peek at your chest.

“You fucking tease.”

Pizza boy, I'm speeding for ya

We can get married tonight if you really wanna

Me in a cheap suit like a sleazy lawyer

And if you break this lil' heart, it'd be an honor

You were drunk and he was tipsy, nearly shitfaced on the living room carpet. He was dancing around with a champagne bottle microphone and glittery top hat, trying not to trip over his own feet. You were draped over the couch arm, half hanging off in a stupor. You kept bursting out into fits of giggles when the hat would fall into his eyes and he’d have to stop and fix it.

“Hobi…?” Your voice trailed off, dragging out the ‘i’ in an upwards glissando. He twirled around to find the source of his name and lost his balance, pitching backwards.

“Jagiya?” He tilted his head so the world was sideways. “You look funny.” He completely tipped over now, flopping sideways like a rag doll. “Jagiya, I love you.”

To your alcohol-addled brain, that was the most monumental thing anyone had ever slurred to you.

You crawled the length of the couch and ran your hand through his hair, welling up. “I love you too, Hoseok.” Your tongue felt heavy, and the words weren’t coming out quite right.

“Jagiya…” he swayed a little as he sat up to take you in. “I want to marr’y you, you’re my e’rrything…”

You were pulling him closer by the ends of his crumpled bow tie as the door opened and Yoongi poked his head in. “Everything alright? I heard a crash.”

“Yoongi!” You opened your arms like a toddler wanting a hug. “C’mere…”

“I’ll pass, thanks. Jesus, Hobi, how many shots did you have?”

“Jus’ one. Maybe three.” He held up two fingers.

“Oh my god, this is worse than the car incident.” Yoongi scratched the back of his neck. Hoseok rarely ever drank, so his tolerance was fairly low, and he was more than a little plastered. “You’re both going to have awful hangovers in the morning. Ah, god. I’ll get Jin.” He turned on his heel and strode out.

Yoongi poked his head back in the room. “Oh, and by the way, happy new year to both of you.”

Your love for each transcended alcohol and late-night talks, pasta dinners and scuffed high-tops. It flickered and sputtered like a flame, growing until it was a roaring bonfire. You made sacrifices and he made sacrifices, giving up personal time you could have had to yourselves to spend it with the only other person in the world.

You helped him flourish, to break out of the mold he had made for himself to discover something new- a person he had never known before. The Hoseok who cooked you dinner and kissed your nose and fell asleep beside you wasn’t the same Hoseok who rapped Cypher looking like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, nor was it the same Hoseok who sang the tribute to his mother at her birthday party, or even the same Hoseok who made cute faces in selcas and joked with the boys. It was a Hoseok that was somewhere in the middle of all of those, a perfect mix of boyfriend and performer and goofball and everything you had ever looked for in a person, wrapped up and tied in a bow with a cute smile to boot.

So as you passed under the glow of a flickering street light, running hand in hand with the only man you’d ever come to love, your mind wasn’t on the burning in your lungs or the shooting pain in your ankle or the intoxicating drone of the city. It was on him, and only him.

You don't have to say I love you to say I love you

Forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons

We've been making shades of purple out of red and blue

Sickeningly sweet like honey, don't need money

All I need is you

All I need is you, you

[smochiis]

dress me up, buttercup I two (m)

✩ pairing : hoseok x reader

✩ genre: idol+stylist!au, drama, humor, slight angst

✩ warning: light dom!hoseok, spanking, oral, light dirty talk

✩ word count: 7.4k

✩ summary: There are nearly 1,000 reasons why mixing work and romance is a terrible idea. Unfortunately, Jung Hoseok makes it very hard for you to resist.

✩ chapters: one | two | three | four

✩ a/n: so hobi has a thing for butts..... (゜▽゜;)

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

 The lingering touches, the compliments, how he looks at you and teases you even after you tried to ignore him… And while a part of you is jumping in excitement and disbelief, the other is curling up in dread. Standing there in the dark, you realize that deep inside, you’ve been hoping that he has special feelings for you. Some part of you picked up on it.

 And while you want to reciprocate those feelings, you can’t.

 It would be a conflict of interest. It’s never a good idea to mix work and romance. No doubt you would be severely reprimanded, maybe even fired, if management found out. Staff is supposed to be just that: staff.

 And if that isn’t enough to deter you, then there’s the matter of Hoseok’s public image.

 Because Hoseok can’t be sullied by dating rumors -- just imaging what it would do to his reputation makes you dizzy. A dating scandal with one of his stylists, no less. It would put not just Hoseok, but all of BTS, on the front cover. And not necessarily in a good way.

 For all these reasons and more, you know you should walk away from this. You never dip your pen in the company ink, after all.

 You could tell him all of this, everything going through your mind. But as you stare at him, take in his damp hair, barely-smudged make up, his eyes honest and intense and open… You can only stare and swallow.

 Gently, you tell yourself. You have to let him down gently.

 However, the only thing you manage to say is his name. “Hoseok…”

 His expression tightens at your tone but he still smiles. “I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhales, and his smile falls. “I guess I knew that’s how you’d feel which is why I never outright told you. Even though I knew it was totally one-sided I wanted to keep flirting with you.” He laughs then, trying not to sound hurt while also covering up his embarrassment.

 “It’s not necessarily one-sided,” you blurt before you can stop yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing your stupid mouth.

 In front of you, Hoseok straightens and looks at you with wide eyes. “What? So, wait, are you -- ”

 “But we still can’t,” you interrupt, watching his face fall again and feeling horrible for it. “I’m your stylist, Hobi. You are part of my job. And mixing work and romance never ends well.”

 Yes, you’re worried about being able to effectively do your job and about his public image. But while you carefully watch the minute changes in his face, you realize that you’re also worried about how it would change your relationship with him. You like being around him, he makes you feel happy.

 He’s your friend.

 And you’re too scared to jeopardize that, too scared to lose a friend.

 “Oh. Yeah, you’re right,” Hoseok says but you can tell that he thinks otherwise. He puts his hands in his pockets. “We can go and pretend like this conversation never happened if you want?”

 The suggestion pains him, you can see the hurt in his eyes. But it’s for the best, which is why you say, “Yeah,” even though it hurts you too.

  You try to fall back into your old routine but there’s no denying that it feels awkward. At least to you. Hoseok is still the same as ever, all smiles and sunshine and light-hearted teasing, but you can’t bring yourself to call him oppa. And though he doesn’t show it, you know it bothers him.

 He tries to give you some space, as much as he can manage with you being his stylist. He doesn’t touch your hair or your shoulders, or compliment or perfume or ask about your earrings. He doesn’t call you angel. But it isn’t like he ignores you, either. In fact, he’s very polite -- polite to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable though he doesn’t mean it that way.

 He just treats you like the other stylists, like he should have from the beginning, and you can’t lie: it hurts.

 What hurts worse is the coverage Hoseok receives after the wardrobe malfunction. For weeks, he's the topic of hot gossip and his half-naked body is plastered on every news article, magazine, and blog. You feel ashamed every time you see J-Hope’s abs make their stage debut! but Hoseok doesn't seem to care all that much. Actually, he's more proud of the fact that they're talking about his abs, rubbing it in his friends’ faces.

 “See? I do have abs! Look, they're right here. Don’t they look good?”

 “Wow, photoshop is really good these days.”

 “Agh! You brat.”

 You're grateful that he doesn't blame you for the mishap. Even more grateful that he's mostly unbothered by the coverage.

 On a positive note, your pay isn’t docked for the ripped shirt. For nearly a month you wait for a bill in the mail or for there to be a noticeable dent in your paycheck but it never happens. And you’re not sure if it’s because the company decided to let you off with a warning or if it’s because Hoseok made good on his promise and paid for it himself. If he did, he hadn’t told you.

 You’re so tempted to ask him about it but you never do. You don’t really feel like you have the right to bring up that night at all. So you keep your mouth shut while you straighten his ties and tape down his wires and pin bits of fabric here and there.

 The worst part of this mess, you decide early on, is that now you want to be around Hoseok even more. You miss those friendly conversations, how he would smile down at you, even when he would pinch your cheeks and make you call him oppa… You miss his voice when he calls you angel.

 You’re still his friend -- an acquaintance, really -- but that isn’t enough for you anymore which scares you.

 It really is true that you always want what you can’t have.

 You can’t have Hoseok, you know that. You tell yourself that every day when you’re forced to touch his warm skin and smell his vanilla-scented body wash. It’s the most you can allow yourself and you take advantage of it.

 Even though it’s selfish and wrong, you can’t help yourself.

 Your hands linger on his clothes. You find yourself checking him over more than necessary, keeping him with you just a little bit longer. You even imagine what it’s like to kiss him, a completely desperate delusion. And now, as he’s preparing to go out on stage, you allow a self-indulgent graze of his neck as you triple-check his earpiece. The pads of your fingers feel the heat of his skin, the softness of it, the short hairs leading to his nape. It lasts longer than you intend and you have to jerk your hand away.

 Thankfully, Hoseok doesn’t notice.

 After he’s gone out on stage, you close your eyes and sigh. You’re going mad, you’re sure. And while you would love to blame him, you know it’s your fault. You think about him far too much, he consumes your thoughts to the point that you’re beginning to fear it’s unhealthy.

 And so that night, sitting alone in your apartment after successfully wrapping up the tour, you decide to get rid of your feelings. You can’t let yourself continue like this. It’s the first time you’ve been home in months, having traveled all around the world with the boys, and all you can think about is Hoseok and work and work and Hoseok.

 “Enough,” you tell yourself firmly.

 What you need is some quality R&R. When was the last time you just sat down and watched a movie? You can’t remember.

 So you get changed into your comfiest pajamas, wash off your makeup, and plop yourself down on the couch with a bag of chips and some tea. You’re fully prepared to pamper yourself tonight because you deserve it.

 Halfway through the movie, you’re contemplating doing a facial when there’s a knock on your door. At first you think it’s part of the movie, but then the knock sounds again, louder, and you pause the screen with a frown.

 It’s late, almost midnight, and you haven’t yet told any of your friends that you’re home. You’re saving that for tomorrow morning. You have no idea why someone would be at your door and you contemplate ignoring it as you finish the last chip. But, as the knock comes yet a third time, you’re compelled to answer.

 You’re fully prepared to tell off whoever is behind your door, but when you open it, you almost swallow your tongue.

 Even though he’s wearing black sweats, a ringed ball cap, and a mask, you still recognize Hoseok. His frame and stance is unforgettable to you.

 “Hobi?” you splutter. “What are you doing here? Where is your manager?” You poke your head outside and look around quickly, not seeing anyone else. “You came alone?”

 He shifts on his feet but before he can answer, you tug him inside your apartment and lock the door.

 “You’re crazy! What if someone saw you?” you demand, heart hammering.

 You could see the headlines now: BTS’s Jung Hoseok caught loitering outside staff member’s apartment. God, wouldn’t that be fun. The media would have a field day.

 “Yeah, you’re right. I’m definitely crazy. But whose fault is that?” Hoseok asks, tugging down his mask so you can see his frown.

 “What?”

 He takes off his cap and ruffles his wet hair, the smell of his shampoo wafting to your nose. Warm vanilla and sugar with the barest undertones of spice… “You honestly think I didn’t notice?” He stares down at you, bare-faced, skin glowing and dewy in the light of your apartment.

 You’re alarmed at how very good he looks like this. Completely serious, not a touch of makeup or styling. He’s come to you straight after showering and the knowledge does funny things to your stomach.

 “What?” you repeat after licking your lips.

 He snorts, for once not the smiley, happy Hobi you’re so familiar with. He’s austere as he stares at you, brown eyes intense. “The way you touch me, how you double and triple check me even though you know I’m fine. They way you stare at me and bite your lip when you think I’m not looking…” he trails off, sounding frustrated. “For a whole month. You’ve been driving me absolutely insane.”

 Your heart almost stops. He’d noticed.

 “I…” you begin, scrambling for an excuse. But you don’t have one.

 “You’re the one who said we couldn’t work,” Hoseok continues, “but now you’re doing this? I’m not sure what to believe.”

 You can’t bring yourself to blame him. In his position, you’d be just as confused -- probably angry too. To say one thing and do another is hypocritical.

 You’ve certainly become a hypocrite this past month.

 “You’re right,” you sigh after a moment. Then you swallow your embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I won’t -- ”

 “I don’t understand. If we both want each other why can’t it work?”

 Hoseok’s interruption stops you cold, your lips pressing together in surprise. He wants you. His blunt seriousness, combined with the hard look in his eyes, makes you almost cave in.

 “I told you, Hoseok,” you say and he twitches at the use of his full name. “You’re part of my job. If we were together it would be a conflict of interest and just end in disaster.”

 “How do you know that?”

 “Because that’s how it always happens,” you grumble. “We’d be seeing each other every day, unable to separate work and home. We’d drag home life to work or work stuff home, which would only lead to fights we can’t take breathers from because we’re around each other all day, every day. And then we’d wind up hating each other. I don’t want that to happen, Hobi,” you finish with a whisper.

 Every workplace romance you’ve observed in the past has ended exactly like this. Even the perfect couples, the ones you have hope for, never make it.

 And imaging yourself and Hoseok in that position makes your eyes burn. You don’t want that.

 “So that’s what you’re really scared of.” Suddenly, Hoseok’s invading your space, pushing you up against the wall. His chest presses against yours, his warmth surrounds you, and you can smell his vanilla body wash. “It’s not work. You’re scared that our friendship will crash and burn,” he murmurs.

 You swallow, unable to deny it.

 “You’re scared of losing me.” It’s a statement, but the way he phrases it makes it sound more like a soft question.

 You look down in response, eyelashes brushing your cheeks. It’s almost embarrassing how easily he can read you. It makes you feel open and vulnerable.

 He uses his knuckle to raise your chin. “That won’t ever happen,” he says as he stares into your eyes, face drawn in serious lines. “I promise. No matter what happens, even if things don’t work out, you’ll still have me. So please,” his thumb runs along the corner of your jaw, “let’s just try? We’ll never know for sure unless we do.”

 You struggle to form a response. Because you know that he’s right. You will never truly know unless you try, though regret can be a result no matter what you choose. So the question you should be asking yourself is, what might you regret more? A failed try at a relationship? Or never trying at all?

 Your body and mind are at war, his scent and his touch persuading you far too easily.

 Though you know you shouldn’t, you again imagine what it would be like to kiss him, touch him. And unlike before, you realize that all you have to do to make that happen is lean up on your toes -- he’s that close. It’s physically possible for the first time.

 You stare at his lips, soft and inviting, debating. Hoseok watches you watch him before suddenly leaning down, his mouth just barely grazing yours.

 “Tell me you don’t want me,” he murmurs against your lips, voice soft. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll go. We’ll never talk about this again.”

 You should do exactly that. You know that you should because you’re right too -- workplace romances always end in failure. But having him here, feeling his warmth after being deprived of it for so long, his lips just millimeters from your own, you just can’t. You can’t fight it anymore. You want him.

 “Don’t go,” you whisper.

 His inhale is sharp, surprised, and he pauses for just a moment as if to make sure he heard right. Then his mouth is on yours. Hard and insistent, he kisses you like he’s starving as his hands frame your face.

 You gasp into the kiss.

 It’s better than what you imagined, so much better. His lips are warm and soft and you can feel the heat travel all the way through your body, stirring your dormant passion and desire. You chase his lips with your own, following his lead, but when he sucks on your bottom lip you freeze and shiver.

 Hoseok pulls back, admiring his work. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this, touching you, kissing you…” His thumb swipes across your flushed bottom lip before he devours you again, this time with teeth. “You’ve been driving me crazy lately. Licking your lips all the time, biting them…” he mumbles against your mouth, teeth catching on your bottom lip.

 He bites it gently as if proving a point.

 “You’re one to talk,” you say as soon as he releases you. Your hands slide around his neck, travelling up to the short hairs along his nape and pulling him down. “Do you know how many times I imagined this?”

 “I can guess.” He nips your upper lip this time, a smug look in his eyes. “You practically wear your thoughts on your forehead.”

 In the dim and narrow space of your doorway, pressed up against the wall, you kiss Hoseok. An idol, your client, someone you rightfully have no business lusting after. Yet here you are with his hand cupping your neck, his nose bumping yours, and his still-damp hair tickling your cheeks. There’s a pile of shoes on the floor just to your left, the TV remains paused, and an empty bag of chips sits on your couch. This isn’t how you imagined it at all.

 But there’s something strangely romantic about the atmosphere.

 Part of you thinks it’s because this feels so normal. The other part thinks maybe it’s how he touches you. His lips have turned slow and lazy, like he’s trying to memorize how you feel.

 When one of your hands slides down his chest and dips beneath his black sweatshirt, he braces one arm against the wall next to your head. The heat of his bare skin sears your fingertips as they learn the ridges of his abdomen. It feels so good, so inviting, that you want more.

 “Please?” you whisper, asking for something unspoken.

 But he somehow understands, breaking from your lips to nod. One hand falls to your thigh, covered in your fleece pajama bottoms. “Up.”

 Wordlessly, you wrap your legs around his hips and slide your arms around his neck. And though you’re instantly worried about Hoseok supporting your weight, he holds you with surprising ease, both hands flying down to cup your thighs.

 “Bedroom?” He nuzzles into your neck.

 It tickles, making you smile and tug on his hair. “Second door on the left,” you tell him.

 As he carries you to your bedroom, his lips on your neck, it occurs to you that this is the first time he’s been to your place. His very first visit and you’re already inviting him to your bed. Once upon a time, that would have probably concerned you but you’re too caught up in the reality that he’s finally touching you, kissing you. You don’t care one bit.

 Not even about the TV, still paused, as the two of you stumble past it and into your bedroom.

 You unlock your ankles and he sets you down gently. The moment you lean back, his hands are stroking down your torso and fiddling with the hemline of your pajama shirt.

 “Sheep?” One of his brows lift.

 You glance down at your fleece pajamas, little cartoon sheep printed all over them. You’d bought the set with your first paycheck. “They’re comfy,” you defend.

 And 100 percent minky fleece.

 “They’re cute,” he says with a grin, one dimple flashing. Then his hands are rubbing the bare skin of your hips and stomach and he leans down. “But they’re not really suitable for what I have planned.”

 His voice is low in your ear, igniting a full-body shiver. You stand still as his hands travel upwards, pushing your shirt up. Past your ribcage, all the way to your bare breasts. He stops then, testing the weight and feel of them in his palms.

 “No bra?” he muses, thumbing your nipples.

 “I wasn’t exactly expecting company,” you mumble on a sigh.

 Hoseok hums deep in his chest and continues to play with your breasts, squeezing and massaging them. His hands are warm and soft, moulding your skin with ease. Your breasts have never been much of a erogenous zone but his touch has you all but melting in his arms and when he kisses the side of your neck, you sigh again in bliss.

 Finally he pushes your shirt over your chest and shoulders, and you help him by tugging it off. It falls to the carpet, leaving you clad in just the matching bottoms.

 Hoseok’s eyes are dark and hungry as they rake over your naked torso. One of his hands lightly skims the column of your throat before moving down, all the way to your stomach where he traces circles around your navel.

 “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, crowding you again. He’s so close that your toes touch. “You’re so pretty, I used to get jealous when the other guys talked about you.”

 The other guys?

 “Your members?” you ask.

 Hoseok nods, hands roaming all over your body like he’s trying to learn every dip and curve of it. “On your very first day, Taehyung saw you in the dressing room. He was so smitten he begged me to switch stylists with him. Of course I told him no.” His smile was smug as he touched you, your body warming from the inside out. “They all think you’re pretty but I’m the only one who gets to have you.”

 His hands slip past both layers of pajamas and underwear, squeezing your ass like he’s staking a claim.

 You groan, leaning into him. Your face presses against the fabric of his sweatshirt and you realize that he’s still fully clothed. Your hands latch onto the bottom of it and tug. “Off.”

 But he shakes his head. “Not done touching you,” he protests, squeezing your ass again. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long, imagining what you feel like. Just a little while longer and then I will.”

 At the realization that he’s been wanting you just as badly as you’ve been wanting him, your body flushes with heat. He’s had his eyes on you, from day one, pining after you for so long. And that he admitted to being jealous? Because of you?

 You won’t lie -- your ego is practically purring.

 When his hands come around to your front, ghosting over your mound, you groan in anticipation. His hands just hover over you, bare centimeters away.

 “I’m not even touching you and I can feel the heat from here,” Hoseok murmurs in awe.

 For once, you’re the one squirming as you try to get him to touch you where you need. It doesn’t really work and he pulls his hands out of your pajamas. “Because I need you.” Your voice is a whine, a protest.

 It feels good to finally admit that. You’ve been denying it for so long, too scared to admit it to yourself. But here, with Hoseok, you can be honest.

 He inhales sharply at the sound of your voice. Then he’s tearing off his sweatshirt, revealing his bare chest. This time, you can ogle all you want and admire how toned he looks. Ever since the wardrobe fiasco, some hidden part of you has desired to feel him for yourself and now is your chance.

 You press your hand against his abdomen and marvel at how firm the muscles are. He’s so slim they’re easy to miss underneath layers of clothes. But here, they’re an undeniable presence.

 “It’s not photoshop.” Hoseok lips curl into a grin.

 “I can see that,” you murmur, fingers exploring his stomach. They follow the thin trail of hair down to the waistband of his black sweatpants and pause when you spy the very noticeable bulge. “Already? I haven’t even touched you.” You glance up at him.

 “You’re so pretty I can’t help it. Also,” he dips his head for another kiss, “you taste good.”

 He steals the grin from your mouth with kisses, his tongue licking the seam of your lips. But where you expect him to kiss you breathless, he instead moves his mouth down to your jaw and even lower. Hoseok’s lips skim your pulse, stopping to nurse a bruise on your skin. He soothes the resulting throb with his tongue and continues onward, leaving scattered splotches of blue and purple across your collarbones and chest.

 You’re sure your upper body will be one giant hickey by the time he’s finished.

 With each hard suck, there’s a zing of pleasure that shoots down to your panties. They’re already sticky and uncomfortable. And you’re aching to be touched as you writhe in Hoseok’s grasp.

 So when he pauses to catch his breath, you pull from him and clamber onto the bed with an impatient whine. You can hear his amused splutter and out of the corner of your eyes, you see him push down his sweats. But you’re not paying that much attention. All you can focus on is the horrible ache inside you and you shove one hand inside your pajamas to fix it.

 You’re hot and slick under your fingers. They slide through your folds easily, rubbing in circles, and your head tips back onto the mattress.

 Hoseok looks up at your whimper of relief, sees your bottom lip caught between your teeth as well as your busy hand. “You started without me. That’s not fair,” he says with amusement, but you can tell he likes what he’s seeing.

 Resting against his hard stomach is his erection, longer that both your fists stacked on top of each other and plenty thick too. Flushed and veined, the tip looking as soft as his lips. Everything inside you clenches as you imagine how good he’ll stretch you, how amazing it will feel. And when he curls one of his hands around the base of his cock, pumping up and down slowly, you moan.

 Your hand slides up, trapping your clit in the V of your fingers. The light pressure is enough to make your toes curl, your breath stutter in a gasp, and then Hoseok is with you on the bed.

 “You’re leaving me with nothing to do.” His voice is low and rough, obviously turned on from watching you touch yourself, and he yanks your pajamas and panties down your legs in one go. Then he grabs your wrist, forces your hand away from your core, and kisses your fingertips when you whine in protest. “On your stomach,” he says.

 You lick your lips, excitement stirring your blood, and you willingly turn over. It leaves you unable to see what he’s doing but you’re surprisingly very willing to do it.

 But of course you are -- he's Hoseok.

 The first touch of his hands on your shoulders make you jump. But when they begin trailing down the curve of your back, making a path for his lips to follow, you shiver and arch into him. His lips are petal soft against your skin and when he reaches the end of your spine, he kisses the dimples just above your ass.

 You’ve always been slightly embarrassed of them, but when Hoseok touches and kisses them like that, you completely forget to be. He’s very good at that, you realize.

 Those hands of his travel even lower, grabbing your ass and plumping it up. One cheek in each hand. He squeezes hard, just like he did earlier, and you stifle a groan.

 Distantly, you wonder if he has a thing for butts.

 “I keep telling you how pretty you are but I don’t think I’ve mentioned, specifically, the parts of you that I really, really like. First on my list is your ass,” he says, confirming your suspicions and giving your right cheek a light tap.

 You rest your cheek on your pillows, toes curling in excitement.

 Hoseok continues to touch you, staring at his hands. “Soft and firm, it’s so perfect. When you wear those tight jeans and little mini skirts… God, you should see the way guys look at you. And when you bend over?” He makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and kneads your ass. “I always imagined how good it would look underneath my hands. Now I don’t have to,” he murmurs.

 Every word, every low sigh, every groan of his elicits an echoing throb between your legs. You’re practically dripping onto your bed sheets at this point and you can’t take it anymore.

 “Hobi…” you whine impatiently.

 His open palm lands on your right asscheek without hesitation. “Who?”

 “Oppa,” you correct on a gasp as the initial pain fades to a sizzling warmth.

 He hums, placated, and rubs the pink mark left behind. The sensation makes the wetness pooling between your thighs even larger. “Yes?”

 Tomorrow you’ll scold him for making you call him oppa in bed. But for now, you’re too far gone to think about it, too turned on to function.

 “I need you,” you mutter into your pillows.

 His hands smooth over your ass one more time in response, squeezing. Then he lets go, only to grab both of your wrists and guide your hands back. He places one on each cheek, just like his hands were moments ago, and then you’re holding your own ass.

 You should feel ridiculous and vulnerable, but Hoseok’s appreciative groan makes it impossible.

 “Keep it spread for me, angel,” he murmurs.

 And there it is. Angel. You’ve been wanting to hear him say that for so long, craving the way his voice changes, that it’s practically enchanting when he finally does.

 Fingers digging into your flesh in anticipation, you wait with baited breath. The first touch of his fingers is hesitant, testing the waters. He slides his fingers up and down your slit, becoming familiar with you. Then he’s spreading your lips apart and pressing into your folds.

 You quickly realize that he’s trying to figure out what you like. And so you allow yourself to be vocal about the pleasure. Moaning and whining when he touches just the right spot, when he brushes the hood of your clit, when he dips just one finger inside your entrance. It feels like his middle finger, but you can’t be sure, and he pushes all the way inside until his knuckles touch your lips.

 You’ve secretly admired his fingers more than once. They’re long and slender and strangely graceful-looking for someone who can roll his hips in such a rude fashion on stage. And now they’re touching you, filling you, and it’s so much kinkier than you could have imagined.

 Hoseok moves his finger slowly, taking his time. “You’re dripping,” he says, voice tight. And then his mouth joins his fingers. He greedily laps up all your juices before pulling out his finger and sucking it clean.

 You can hear the smack of his lips as he feasts, your stomach tightening.

 Then he’s pushing two fingers into you and his mouth finds a place at the top of your slit. The flat of his tongue presses directly against your clit while his two fingers start pumping, stretching your walls.

 “Oh, god, Hobi -- ” you gasp, cutting yourself off. You’re partly afraid that he’ll correct you, insist you call him oppa, but he’s too focused apparently.

 He fucks you with his tongue and his fingers, a single-minded intensity that you can feel. His one and only goal is to make you come, his focus is your pleasure alone, and his grunts against your hot flesh tell you that he’s enjoying this almost as much as you. And maybe it’s his skill, or maybe it’s because you haven’t been touched like this in so long, but you’re climbing towards your release embarrassingly fast.

 It’s only a little over five minutes when you start clamping down on his fingers and your hands begin to slip.

 “Hands,” Hoseok grunts, wrapping his lips around your clit.

 Obediently, you readjust your grip, spreading your cheeks. “Hobi, Hobi,” you begin to gasp as your back arches. “I need to come.”

 You’re hanging over the edge. All you need it one little push.

 You can feel his grin against your folds. “How badly, angel?” His fingers thrust harder, faster, making you drip down to his mouth.

 “So bad,” you whine, eyes scrunched shut, mouth dropping open. “So, so, bad.”

 He hums against you. “Go ahead, come.”

 And you do, with him sucking hard on your clit and his fingers pumping. You come so hard that you see stars. Your thighs are tensing, all your inner muscles are spasming, and all you want to do is reach back and root your fingers in Hoseok’s hair in an attempt to hold yourself steady as the world tilts on its axis.

 But you keep your hands on your ass, right where he wants them. You can feel yourself gushing, Hoseok’s fingers squelch as they move. He greedily takes everything you have to give and more, lapping up your release until you’re shaking.

 You’re panting by the time he leaves you. His fingers slip out of you so easily and he sits up, breathing heavy.

 Taking that as your signal, your arms fall limply to your sides and you try to piece yourself back together. But it’s hard to do when he begins leaving wet, sloppy kisses up your spine. Your head is still spinning by the time he gets to your neck and noses your damp hair aside.

 “Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps.

 “What about you?” Your voice is breathy as you rise to meet his request on shaky limbs.

 Hoseok’s hands smooth down your sweaty back before going back up and repeating. Up and down, rubbing into your skin, helping you relax. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later. I’ve waited so long for this, I can’t wait anymore.”

 You can't agree more, pushing your hips back and propping your ass up as much as possible.

 His soft murmurs of appreciation have you grinning over your shoulder, watching as he runs his hands over your ass. He gives your left cheek a swift slap and you yelp, which melts into a moan as he rubs away the sting. Then he spanks you again, twice in rapid succession, until your ass is bright red and burning.

 Feeling your juices drip down your thigh, you release a needy whimper.

 “So pretty,” he whispers before fisting his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him against your throbbing center. But suddenly he pulls back with a muttered curse. “Condom. Do you have one?” he asks, sounding frantic.

 You’re struck with sudden clarity. “No,” you say. Behind you, Hoseok curses again with more feeling, and you lick your lips. “But it’s okay. I’m on birth control.”

 His sigh of relief is practically palpable. “You sure?”

 You nod, wiggling your hips.

 “Sorry. Believe it or not, I didn’t come here with ulterior motives,” he chuckles as he realigns himself with your sopping core. “I’ll make sure to bring some next time.”

 Next time…

 The knowledge that there will be a next time makes you happier than you expect. Your hands and knees sinking into your sheets, you realize that there’s absolutely no rush. You’ll have time to learn Hoseok’s body and explore.

 His hands massage your flushed ass, spreading you apart to watch the tip of his cock press into your folds. “Fuck, I could look at this all day,” he hisses, pushing inside you slowly. The sight of your wet, glistening pussy parting for his dick has him groaning and squeezing your cheeks, repeating, “Fuck,” under his breath.

 “Oh, my god,” you groan when he bottoms out. Your back arches as you adjust to his size and Hoseok is more than patient, staying precariously still.

 But the grip he has on your hips betrays him. He wants to move so badly that he’s practically shaking, knuckles white as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. You almost pity him as you push your hips back, encouraging him to move.

 Immediately, he pulls out and slams back in. The force knocks the breath from your lungs and all you can do is hold on as he starts fucking you. His thrusts are slow and precise but also filled with the passion and concentration that he’s known for and you can’t hold back your moans.

 “Yes, Hobi, just like that.” You shove back against him, relishing the slap of your ass against his hips.

 This position allows for him to easily reach your g-spot and he thankfully knows this. He aims his thrusts, angles your hips so your back arches just a little higher, and then he’s there. With a scream, you’re falling onto your elbows and burying your face in your arms.

 “Fuck, angel, I love this view,” Hoseok grunts, releasing your left cheek only to give it a light slap. He grabs it again, spreads you open. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wish you could see this, how good you take me...”

 You wish you could see it too. But mostly, you wish you could see his face as he fucks you into your mattress. He’s probably flushed and sweaty, grinding his jaw in that way he does when he concentrates. And his eyes...you can see them now, pupils blown so wide his eyes look black and bottomless.

 There’s always been something so attractive about him when he’s focused, that quiet intensity. And right now that intensity is focused on you. You're the center of his world right now and you love it.

 “God, yes, Hobi,” you whine. At the sound of your voice, he starts fucking you harder until your whines dissolve into undecipherable sobs. And he keeps going until your arms give out and you collapse face-first into your pillows. “Please,” you gasp, reaching back for him. “Please, Hobi, please…”

 He grabs your hand, thrusts slowing back to their original pace. “What d’you need, angel?” he asks.

 You can finally think again. “I need to see you.”

 Although you love this, the angle, the feel of him, the way he grabs and slaps your ass and pulls you back into his thrusts, you want to see him. You want to see his jaw flex as he pushes his dick inside you, his lips form those grunts, his eyes as they burn a thousand thoughts and desires into your skin.

 You need it.

 His hips slow until he comes to a stop and you can feel the soft press of his lips against the middle of your back as he pulls out of you. The sudden emptiness is horrible and you have to swallow a pitiful whine, but then his strong hands are on your waist, flipping you over. Your back sinks into the mattress and finally, you're staring up into Hoseok’s face as he settles between your spread legs.

 He looks even better than you imagined.

 Sweat glistens all over his golden skin, his throat constantly works like he's parched, and his rust-colored hair is just a shade darker and sticking to his forehead. But the best are his eyes. A brown so dark they almost look black, deep enough to devour everything you have to offer and then ask for more.

 And you would give it to him.

 You should be afraid of that knowledge, of the power he has over you. But you're not. Because he's Hoseok -- your hope, your angel.

 And everything in this moment is perfect. Your thighs wrap around his waist and he slips back inside you easily, likes he's meant to be there.

 Hoseok almost falls forward, eyes closing. “You feel so good. So tight,” he grunts, beginning to move again. “Fucking hell, so fucking warm and perfect…”

 Your inner muscles squeeze his cock and he stutters, hissing under his breath. You can't help it, the telltale pressure of a second release hanging low in your belly. It comes closer and closer with every roll of Hoseok’s hips, but you need a little more. Just a little more.

 As if he knows, Hoseok’s fingers tumble down to touch your sensitive and swollen clit. He presses it lightly, rubs in tight circles, and swallows your cries with his mouth as you tumble over the edge.

 He fucks you through your orgasm, just like earlier. Taking each one of your whimpers and moans with a kiss. You find anchor in the strength his back provides, fingers digging into his skin and leaving behind bright red streaks.

 He grunts with each scratch, thrusting relentlessly. And eventually, your lips part so that he can take in deep, gasping breaths.

 You can tell by the way he's breathing that he's close. His forehead is wrinkled, lips twisted into a snarl, as he chases his own high. He's beautiful like that, you decide as you watch him, your mind completely fogged over with pleasure. He's probably even more beautiful when he comes and you know you want to see that. You want to see his expression when he comes, knowing that you're the one pushing him over the edge.

 So you encourage him. You squeeze him tight on purpose and whine and moan.

 His reaction is instantaneous. “Fuck,” he moans, thrusts turning sloppy. “You feel so good, Y/N. So, so good. Ah, fuck, you're gonna make me come.”

 “Come for me, Hobi,” you grunt, grinding against him. “I need you.”

 “Fuck, so good…” Hoseok finally comes to a standstill, his hips pressing flush against yours as he spills inside you.

 Your foreheads are pressed together as the two of you just breathe, taking in the moment. Riding through the waves and aftershocks as one. His eyes are shut and his hot breath fans across your sweaty face and your skins stick together, but you're perfectly content and blissed out. You aren't expecting his chin to dip and his tongue to push inside your mouth, but you welcome it happily.

 He kisses you slowly, as if he's suddenly exhausted. You're tired too, admittedly, but you're too content to care. The kiss is a strange intimacy, like you're both confirming that yes, this is happening.

 And it's funny to think of it that way considering you've just had sex.

 You have no idea how long the two of you lay there, kissing in a tangle of sticky bedsheets and legs. But Hoseok is soft by the time he rolls off of you, settling down with a tired sigh. He turns his head to look at you, still damp with sweat, and brushes your hair away from your forehead.

 “You know, I think I like this view even better,” he says in a hoarse voice.

 Despite yourself, you flush and scrunch your nose. “I can't believe you made me call you oppa in bed,” you scoff.

 “Just once!”

 Your laughter is airy and exhausted. And then the two of you are quiet for a moment, the heat of his body next to you comfortable. “Are you staying?” you find yourself asking hesitantly, afraid to burst this little bubble of bliss.

 Hoseok blinks. “Yeah, unless you want me to leave?”

 “No,” you hastily assure him. “No, this is nice.” Perfect, even, you think to yourself with a smile.

 He smiles back, flashing dimples that just beg to be touched. Just as you go to give in to your impulsive desire, he suddenly sits up and pushes himself off your bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he pads around your bedroom and heads directly to the connected bathroom.

 When he returns, he's holding a damp washcloth.

 “Hobi, I can do that,” you tell him, embarrassment warming your skin.

 But he shakes his head and nudges your knees open. His touch is gentle as he uses the warm cloth to clean the insides of your thighs and your still-throbbing core, wiping up as much of his release as he can.

 “Let me,” he murmurs.

 When he's finished, he presses it against your swollen folds and the warmth is so soothing you sigh. You'll be so sore tomorrow you don't know if you'll be able to sit, but it's worth it. He keeps the cloth held against your center until the warmth fades and you shiver from the chill. Then he tosses it on top of his pants and boxers on the floor and flops back down next to you.

 The way you snuggle into his side and rest your head on his shoulder is so natural you're almost surprised. But then again, everything with Hoseok feels natural to you, like the two of you are meant to be with each other.

 And as you fall asleep, Hoseok’s fingers drawing patterns on your shoulder, you hope that's true.