#guess what this is referencing :3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smileysuh · 9 months ago

Text

dumb frat boy

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.”

tw/cw. yandere/stalker sub themes, ‘unknown’ caller, he’s horny, mentions of porn/masturbation, weed/alcohol use, unprotected sex, oral (m/f receiving), deep throating, face fucking, nipple pinching/nipple worship, fingering, dirty talk, praise, hyuck has a thick cock, cum/fullness kink, creampie, etc… I pet names: (hers) Angel (his) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.1k

🍭 aus. uni/frat au, yandere subthemes, Halloween, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. We're back in the Ghostie au! I'm so happy to be able to put out a fic for Hyuck a year after the original story captivated so many of us <3

Prologue

“I’ve got the best idea ever,” Hyuck says the moment after he’s released his first breath from the bong.

Johnny lets out a sigh, leaning back in his recliner. “This better not be another themed wet tittie car wash fundraiser.”

“Excuse me, that idea was brilliant- pairing up with our sister sorority and being horny on cars while in costumes that somewhat resembled cars from the Disney movie Cars made us more cash for the Humane Society than we’ve ever raised, so dial it down on your tone there, Ghostie.”

The elder frat boy rolls his eyes at the nickname. When word got out about how he wooed his girlfriend last Halloween, the term ‘Ghostie’ ended up sticking, and Johnny’s never been able to let down the sexy stalker angle, even this year's pledges know about it.

“As I was saying,” Hyuck continues, “I figure I’ll take a page out of your book, and do some weird phone call thing to woo my Angel.”

“Oh, so you’re finally gonna admit your feelings to your best friend?” Johnny asks in shock, sitting up to take a better look at the younger frat boy.

“Yes, but after a week of toying with her,” Hyuck announces. “It will be fun. We all know she got her nickname Angel because she’s really more of a demon, she’s going to love this shit.”

“Well, I guess you know her better than I do,” Johnny muses. “So what’s the plan?”

“Basically, you took the best phone call stalker with Ghost Face, but I figure there are other options out there. Have you ever seen Black Christmas?”

“Like… the one from the seventies?” Johnny’s apprehension is clear in his features, and he reaches for the bong to take another hit.

“Yeah, the one where the dude calls the sorority and is a horny fuck on the phone.”

“Isn’t there some weird incest plot and jaundice thing in the second movie though?”

“No one watches the second movie! We don’t claim the way they butchered the story with that!” Hyuck exclaims, feeling agitated already.

“I feel like, if you called her, and did the whole Black Christmas thing, she wouldn’t know what the fuck movie you’re referencing.”

“They did a remake in 2019,” Hyuck insists.

“Did anyone actually watch it though?” Johnny’s an avid horror film lover, and if he hasn’t seen the remakes, it’s not looking good for you to be able to pick up the references, a thought that throws Hyuck off.

However, even though he’s been swayed, Hyuck won’t give up on this idea. “Look, think of it as a Love is Blind sort of thing- I can make her fall in love with me over the phone, and then when I reveal myself as her best friend, she’ll be all ‘woah, we’re soulmates!’”

Johnny looks as skeptical as ever. “Are you sure that’s the way this is going to go?”

Hyuck scrunches his nose up in distaste at the lack of support. “Yes.”

The elder frat boy takes in a deep breath, shaking his head. “If this is what you want to do, I won’t stop you. I just… I think your Angel would react better if you were just straight up with her. Maybe there’s a reason the two of you have never gone past the friend stage. I think the good thing about me doing this last year, was I was just acquaintances with Tiny, I made it clear off the bat that I just wanted to know her better. If she didn’t want me, then that would be fine. If you do this with Angel, and she finds out it’s you and doesn’t return your feelings, you’re going to ruin a friendship.”

Hyuck thinks about what Johnny’s just said as he watches the tall resident Ghostie take another bong hit. It’s true- In Hyuck’s heart of hearts, he knows that… there must be a reason the two of you have never hooked up, but it’s a reason he’s never been able to identify.

The cocky side of him refuses to believe it’s because you’re not attracted to him- there’s definitely sexual tension between the two of you, so it must be something else.

He’s so tired of toeing the line, especially since you’ve always been kindred, mischievous, horny little souls.

You were with Hyuck when he pranked Sigma Veta Tau last Christmas and put glitter on their ceiling fans. You were with Hyuck when he put a rotisserie chicken in Alpha Tappa Zeta’s air vents. In fact, you’ve been present at almost all of Hyuck’s master plan shenanigans.

There’s something going on between the two of you and he knows it.

Last year, when Johnny had pulled his little semi-stalker Ghostie stunt, Hyuck had noted that whoever was behind the anonymous calls had some balls to hit on a girl that way, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t live up to that.

“Listen,” Hyuck sighs. “This is between us. Angel is going to try to figure out who’s calling her, and I need you to keep your mouth shut, okay?”

“Fine,” Johnny agrees, shaking his head. “Hyuck, I love you, but sometimes I forget how much of a dumb frat boy you are.”

“You know what?” Hyuck grabs at the bong. “I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.”

Sunday

You’re in the middle of a much-needed nap. Curled up on your fuzzy blankets, your textbook long since discarded while your mood lighting twinkles through the space, it’s the most comfortable you’ve been all term. It’s late October, the nights come early, and you’re starting to not mind the cool air that seeps through the crack in your window.

It’s because you’re dead asleep, that when your phone rings, you don’t even check who’s calling. You simply bolt up, dazed and confused, reaching to pull your cell to your ear.

“Hello?”

At first, all you hear is breathing on the other end of the line, and you roll your eyes. You’re no stranger to dumb calls, spam calls, and the like- but then, “Angel?”

Well, this is definitely not a spam caller, they wouldn’t know your nickname if it was.

“Who’s this?” you ask, pulling your phone away from your ear to look down at your screen. It’s a ‘No Caller ID,’ and you let out another exasperated sound.

“A friend,” the person on the other end of the line tells you.

“A friend I don’t have in my contacts?” you scoff.

“Burner phone, baby.”

“And what would be the point of getting a burner phone just to call little ol’ me?” you sigh, relaxing against your pillows and pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Why so serious, Angel?”

“Jeeze, dude, if you’re going to do the whole creepy caller before Halloween cliche, at least stick to your character.” You can’t believe he’s quoting Health Ledger’s Joker at you now. “Who are you even trying to be? Ghost Face is so last Halloween, we all know Johnny knocked that shit out of the park. A copycat sequel is just… early 2000’s.”

“Okay, let me drop character for just a second,” the man on the other end of the line sighs, and you giggle at how his voice modulator emphasizes his own exasperation. “Think, horny telephone guy.”

“I wouldn’t call Ghost Face particularly horny, he was just a nerd.”

“I’m not Ghost Face!” he insists. “Scream came out in the mid-nineties, think earlier than that.”

“What, am I supposed to be some kind of horror movie expert?” you scoff.

“Fine, I’ll just tell you,” the guy sighs. “Have you seen Black Christmas?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Well, don’t go watch it, it has some cult following but it’s not even one of my favourites- the reason I chose the dude from that movie is because he’s a horny little fuck and calls a sorority house and some shit- and also, don’t look up the second movie, I don’t claim the sequel.”

“Wow, I love that you chose a character based purely on horniness and not if the movie is even good,” you giggle.

“Well, Johnny took the best slasher caller! What was I supposed to do? Go all ghost child from The Black Phone movie?”

“What’s The Black Phone movie?”

“Ethan Hawke? Horror veteran, who plays the hero author in Sinister, turned bad guy in the 2021 film by the same director?”

You let out a whistle. “TBH, dude, it sucks Johnny got to Ghostie first last year, because I’d bet money you know more about horror movies than he does.”

“I one hundred percent do!”

“Okay, so back to the point,” you laugh. “You’re calling me as this horny dude from some Halloween Christmas movie- for what?”

“To talk to you?” he suggests. “To uh… be horny… at you?”

“And what does this accomplish? I mean- we all know Johnny’s Ghostie story from last year, he called a girl every day, told her to come to his frat party, and revealed himself there. Is that your game plan?”

“I was thinking about it, but it sounds kind of lackluster now.”

“That’s because it’s not an original idea at all,” you point out.

“Sequels aren’t always original,” the man counters. “Lots of movies have the same plot just different characters, some recurring- look, it doesn’t have to be original. The original angle to this Halloween movie is that I’m going to be way more horny than Johnny probably ever was last year.”

“And I’m just going to allow that?” you grin.

“Yeah, because we both know why you have your nickname, don’t we, Angel? You’re a dirty little minx, and you’re going to love this.”

“Except, what if, Halloween comes, and you’re a frat guy that I think is ugly?” you ask. “If you know me, you know I have very specific tastes. There’s only a handful of guys I’d actually be interested in, what makes you think you’re one of them?”

The line is dead for a few stagnant seconds, then, “I just am, okay?”

“Cocky little fucker,” you giggle.

“Don’t be rude.”

At this point, you’re pretty sure you know who’s on the other end of the line.

There’s been a few tells from your best friend, Donghyuck. For example, he’s the biggest actual horror buff in the NCT frat. He idolizes Johnny, and was always salty that Mark got the Chicago man as a Big and not himself, so he had a close eye on the events that took place last year in NCT’s ‘Ghostie’ Saga. On top of all of this, there’s an extreme familiarity in the way he’s talking to you, a preexisting natural tint to his diction. Lastly, Hyuck’s the cockiest little dumb frat boy of them all, and it’s one of the reasons you’ve always loved him… one of the reasons you’ve also always kept a bit of distance from your best friend whenever situations have had the option of turning romantic.

Well, if this is how he wants to make his move at you, so be it.

Maybe he’ll convince you that he can be more than a good fuck- you’d never risk your friendship for a one-night stand, no, he’ll have to prove that he could go all in, that he deserves you.

And if all else is just extra, you can at least have some fun toying with Hyuck while he thinks he’s the one toying with you.

“Okay,” you sigh, stretching. “Let's do this, but we can start tomorrow, you woke me up from a nap, and I’d very much like to get back to it.”

Monday

“I’m not waking you up from a nap, am I, Angel?”

“Nope,” you grin, mischief working its way through your mind as you think of the best way to throw Hyuck off. “I was just watching some porn, flicking the bean, you know, that sort of thing.”

You hear him choke. “F… Flicking the bean?”

“Come on, you have to have heard of flicking the bean!” you insist. “Buddy, you’re the one who’s supposed to be calling me to be horny, this is your perfect opportunity!”

“Right, I uh…” he coughs. “How’s… how’s the bean flicking going?”

“Dude, do you know anything about seduction?” you scoff. “‘How’s the bean flicking going,’” you imitate. “Lame!”

“Rude!” he counters.

God, he’s so obviously Hyuck and you bet he doesn’t even realize it.

“You know what, if you must ask, the bean flicking is going really well.”

“What kind of porn do you watch?” he questions next.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease.

“Tell me,” Hyuck insists.

“Might have to get you to beg if you want to hear those kinds of details.”

“I’m the creepy phone stalker, I call the shots.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure you do, buddy.”

“Stop calling me buddy.”

“Okay, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude either!”

“Then what am I supposed to call you? It’s not like anyone knows the name of the slasher from Halloween Christmas, or whatever. You’re no Ghost Face, friend.”

“It’s Black Christmas,” he corrects you. “And I’m pretty sure his name is Billy.”

“Wow, how sexy, Billy,” you scoff. “You really didn’t think this one through that well, did you, buddy?”

“Original Ghost Face is who? Stu Matcher and Billy fucking Loomis,” Hyuck points out. “It’s not the worst name in the world.”

“Tell me one person who refers to Ghost Face as Billy Loomis though, one person, and I’ll tell you what porn I watch.”

“The… screenwriter?”

“Jesus Christ, dude. That’s such low-hanging fruit.”

“Now tell me what porn you watch.”

You let out a deep sigh. “All this bickering has me not in the mood anymore.”

“Weird, I’m extra in the mood now.”

“Cuz you’re a weirdo who gets off on play fighting, I bet.”

His voice takes on a whiney pitch when he says, “Tell me what porn you watch!”

“Honestly?” You’re tired of this conversation, but you see one last opportunity to toy with Hyuck before you hang up. “Hentaid on Porn Hub, I’m all about that alien, tentacle shit,” your voice takes on the air of a damsel in distress when you muse, “No mortal man can ever satiate me, I’m afraid.”

“Holy shit,” Hyuck whispers. “Are you for real? Tentacle porn?”

“Uh huh, now, goodnight, buddy.” You hang up on Hyuck with a shit-eating grin on your face, knowing you’ve left him something to think about.

Tuesday

“Hey,” you say, sitting down next to your best friend in the on-campus burger joint where you spend your Tuesday two-hour period between classes. “I’ve got something to talk to you about.”

Hyuck is mid-bite of a burger, and he holds up a hand, covering his obnoxious eating style. “Just a sec,” he mumbles.

You wait patiently, staring at your friend while he finishes up. He’s in a black hoodie, and black t-shirt, and his laptop is open next to where he’s eating his combo meal. He’s usually here before you are, scoping out a booth and food so you two can chill in peace before your shared history course.

History isn’t your major per se, it’s more of a special interest, and the same goes for Hyuck. He’s a film major- another obvious dent in his plan to fly under the radar as your phone stalker who just happens to know everything about horror movies.

“Okay,” Hyuck says, swallowing the last of his large bite of food. “What’s up?”

“So on Sunday, I got a phone call from some dude with a burner phone,” you explain, watching closely as Hyuck’s brows raise just a moment too late to be legitimate surprise.

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’s trying to recreate Johnny’s whole Ghostie thing from last year, but as is the case with most sequels in the horror genre, he’s kind of missing the mark.”

Hyuck chokes a little on his food, and he reaches for his Coke to wash it down. “What’s he doing wrong?”

“What an odd question, Hyuck,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “But, to answer it, he’s just… not loose enough. He feels too rigid. I gave him an in last night, if you know what I mean, and he just, fumbled it.”

“An in?” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“You know, an opportunity to be horny with me.”

“And you want him to be horny with you?”

“I mean, that’s the whole point isn’t it? He promised me he’d be more horny than Johnny was last year, but I feel like Johnny probably had this whole daddy dom thing down- I don’t know what this new guy is trying to give, but he’s not giving, you feel me?”

“Huh, that’s weird,” Hyuck shrugs, picking up his burger again. “Do you have any guesses who it might be?”

You shrug. “He told me it was someone I think is hot. So that means it could be Jaehyun- God, you know how sexy I think Jaehyun is,” - you’re relishing in the way you get to tease Hyuck like this - “it could be Jeno, or Jaemin- I don’t think I’d even mind if both of them came up to me on Halloween, full original Scream style- Jaemin is definitely the Stu Matcher character, though.”

“Jeeze, Angel,” Hyuck grimaces, putting his burger down and leaning back in the booth. “Do you have to talk about two of my best friends tag teaming you while I’m eating?”

“Sorry, babes,” you snicker. “I just think this week is going to be fun, and I can’t wait for my Billy Halloween Christmas stalker to find his A-game.”

You half expect Hyuck to correct you on the movie title, and you see him bite his tongue, fighting the urge to throw his own cover under the bus in a bid to protect the sanctity of cult films. But alas, Hyuck shuts himself up with another bite of his burger, and with one last look at your friend, you pull out your laptop to actually get some work done.

Wednesday

“Hey, bud,” you answer your call with a grin, twirling your hair around your finger while your eyes skim your textbook. “What happened yesterday? You never called.”

“You looked busy,” comes a curt retort.

“Oh… did you see me with Hyuck?” you stifle a laugh, of course he’s going to play this jealousy angle, when in reality, he was probably just butthurt about you toying with him.

“It was hard not to notice you with him,” he responds.

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“What’s your relationship with him?”

God, Hyuck must be very desperate to be trying to get details out of you about how you feel about him, through his alter ego.

You take a deep breath, closing your book and leaning back in your chair. “We’re close,” you start.

“But just friends.”

“Just friends,” you confirm. “I guess, I mean, obviously he’s cute. There’s no argument about Hyuck being cute. And he’s fun, he’s cocky, he’s mischievous- I guess my one concern with him is if he could do something long term. I may come off as a dirty little demon child, but in reality- I don’t want to put all my eggs in one guys basket if he’s busy collecting eggs, if that makes any sense.”

“You want a guy who just wants you, who puts in the effort.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m putting in effort,” your ‘mystery man’ points out.

“I suppose this could be considered effort.”

“I spent twenty five bucks on this burner phone.”

“Wow, buddy, that must have broke the bank.”

“I have money!” he insists.

Hyuck definitely has money, it’s one of the reasons he’s probably so cocky. He comes from a large line of Lee’s, a family group that owns development all around the country. You’ve tried not to let any gold digging inklings stain your perception of the frat boy though, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Hey, friend?” you ask, choosing a base level nickname for this man who is clearly Hyuck.

“Yes, Angel?”

“Were you thinking about it yesterday?”

“Thinking about what?”

“Me, you know… watching alien tentacle porn and flicking my bean.” You try to make your voice sound innocent, but you can’t help the mischievous grin that works it’s way onto your face.

You can hear him swallow thickly. “Hold that thought, I’m going to call you back.”

“Wait-” before you can get an explanation, the line goes dead, and you release an annoyed huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He’s such a little shit, leaving you hanging like this-

Two minutes go by, then five- and just as you’re starting to be really annoyed, Hyuck calls you back.

“Took you long enough,” you snap.

“Listen, Angel, I needed to get in the mood. I’m too rigid talking to a pretty girl like you, had to take some of the load off.” You can tell, even under his modulated voice, that Hyuck has most definitely just gotten into some weed.

This is so classic him- and to be completely fair, you’ve witnessed the effects of Mary-Jane on one mister Lee Donghyuck. He’s much more suave while green, less anxious, more willing to take risks.

“So, to answer your question,” Hyuck continues, letting out a breath. “I have been thinking about you. Been thinking about your cute voice, how it would sound begging, whining, whimpering- what little noises you’d make choking on cock, or tentacle-” Hyuck laughs. “I’ll be honest, I don’t have an octopus dick or anything. If you let me, you’ll have to be okay with a human style back breaking.”

You’re shocked.

Had he really just said all of this to you?

Was weed all it took for him to pull up his big boy panties and lay some actual sin onto you?

You can’t ignore the way your pussy flutters with interest at his words, and you shift uncomfortably in your chair. “I’m sure we can make it work… what kind of tool are you packing, buddy?”

Hyuck chuckles. “It’s thick, I think it will do the job.”

Hyuck isn’t the tallest frat boy, but in no way is he the smallest either. He’s average, and to think that he has an above average girthy dick- well, you can’t help lick your lips in interest.

“Stalker got your tongue, Angel?” Hyuck asks. “You’ve just gone awfully quiet.”

“I’m just…” you swallow thickly. “Just thinking.”

“About my thick cock splitting you open?”

God, your pussy is throbbing now- “How… our first few calls were so awkward-”

“I promised you dirty, didn’t I? Needed some courage first, but… I can tell you’re not mad about it.”

You’re definitely not mad about it.

You think maybe part of you would be upset if you didn’t know your ‘mystery caller’s’ identity- but the safety of knowing, in your heart of hearts, that this is Hyuck- it changes everything, and you can allow yourself to feel the pleasure already beating through you.

“I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.”

“So…” you find it hard to even speak because he’s so right about his assessment that it hurts. “So… you’re more of a switch?”

“I can be. Generally, I’m not about strict roles in the bedroom, but if you’re into that sort of thing, I can see what it’s about.”

“Tell me more about being a switch?”

“Don’t want to give you too many details about myself, these calls are about you, Angel.”

You let out a groan.

“Be patient,” he reminds you. “And tell me, are you as wet right now as I am hard?”

This time, the sound you release is really more of a moan, and it makes Hyuck chuckle darkly.

“I’ll take that as a yes… are you gonna touch yourself after this? Gonna do all the work I can’t do, not yet, anyway.”

“Maybe…”

“I like the thought of that, two horny people, whacking off together after a phone call, different rooms, but we’ll be on each other’s minds.”

You get the suspicion that Hyuck is going to be on your mind for a whole lot longer than simply your upcoming bean-flicking session.

Thursday

“I’m here, I’m here! What’s the emergency!” Mark asks, out of breath, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside and having just run across campus.

“It’s not an emergency, don’t worry, just sit!” you tell him, pushing out a chair.

“Angel, you texted me, and I quote,” he pulls out his phone, “911, meet me at our spot in the library asap.”

“Well, I wanted you to come,” you shrug.

“God, you’re as much of a drama queen as Hyuck is,” Mark sighs, taking his seat across from you.

“Speaking of Hyuck��” you grin, leaning forward and clasping your hands together, “your roommate decided to go full Ghostie this year.”

“Wait, he’s not doing Ghost Face for Halloween-”

“No, I mean, like, stalker phone call Johnny Ghostie,” you clarify.

“What?” Mark’s expression is blank, and he looks completely unimpressed.

“Basically, he called me on Sunday, did this whole thing about doing a Black Christmas character or some shit- he’s been calling me from a burner phone with a voice modulator-”

“Jesus Christ,” Mark sighs, covering his eyes with his hand.

“The moral of the story is, Halloween night, I’m calling dibs on your room.”

“My room?” Mark peaks out at you through his fingers.

“Your roommate has to get laid. Actually, scratch that, I have to get laid… with your roommate.”

“This is so-” Mark groans. “I thought we were over this stalker Halloween thing to get girls. Don’t any of us have respect or standards anymore?”

“You’re frat boys, Mark, so the answer on that one is going to be a no from me.”

“Why are you even into this?” Mark questions further. “Like- what’s so sexy about any of this?”

“I mean… it shows Hyuck cares?”

“He cares enough to get a burner phone and a voice modulator and call you and be creepy and horny? Wow, what a huge chivalrous act of love.”

You narrow your eyes at Mark Lee. “I’m not enjoying your sarcasm, mister.”

“And I’m not enjoying this,” Mark retorts, pointing between the two of you. “Fuck, fine, have my room on Halloween.”

“Last thing though, Hyuck can’t know that I know that he’s the one calling me.”

“Wait, so this isn’t a bit? He’s committed to trying to trick you?” Mark leans back in his chair, his expression getting even more bleak. “The two of you are crazier than I thought.”

As you open your mouth to respond, your phone rings, and you look down to see Hyuck’s burner ‘No Caller ID.’

“Heya, buddy,” you answer, bringing your finger to your lips to shush Mark.

“Watcha up to?”

“Just in the library with a friend.”

Hyuck’s tone shifts. “Which friend?”

“Mark, you probably know him.”

“Of course I know fucking Mark. Why’s he with you?”

“Just chatting… why? You jealous?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!” You let out a laugh. “Buddy, settle down, we both know I’m not into Mark Lee, we’ve talked about this before.”

“We’ve never talked about Mark,” Hyuck responds, and you realize, you may have just betrayed that you know who he is-

“I mean, he wasn’t on my list with Jaehyun, or Jeno, or Jaemin-” you quickly cover your blunder, and Hyuck releases an annoyed sound.

“I get it, I get it,” he groans. “Fine, finish up your time with fucking Mark, then.”

“Don’t be salty about this,” you warn.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Friday

It’s the final day before Halloween, and if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that Hyuck is working. The SVT and NCT frats are the primary workers at the on-campus bar, Skeets, so they have a deal that NCT works the Friday before Halloween, and SVT works the Saturday.

Knowing these details, you’re also aware that it’s possible Hyuck won’t be home till three am, so you’re a little shocked when you get a call at one.

“Hi, Angel.”

“If it isn’t my favorite stalker,” you grin, pausing your horror film- in all truth, you’d decided to watch Black Christmas, and now you can see why Hyuck told you not to bother, he hasn’t nailed the deranged attitude of the main villain at all.

“Watcha doin?”

“Not much, you?”

“Not much,” he responds.

“Are you sure?” you counter. “Cuz something tells me maybe you’re working right now… did you get a break, buddy?”

“I’m not working,” he insists.

“Sure you’re not,” you laugh, dropping the line of questioning. “Hey, tell me again why you chose Billy from Black Christmas?”

“Seriously?” Hyuck lets out a sigh. “I guess I just wanted… an excuse to be horny on the phone for you, even if it’s just for a week.”

He sounds defeated, and you’re not shocked. Halloween is the busiest night of the year at the bar Hyuck works at, if anything, you’re surprised he even had a moment to dip outside and call you.

“You’re cute,” you muse. “You sound tired, so I’ll let you go, but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You will.”

“And how will I know it’s you?”

“You just will, goodnight, Angel.”

Saturday

You’ve just arrived at the frat party, and already, you’re on the hunt for Hyuck.

At this point, you’re tired of the games. You feel closer to Hyuck, in some odd, sinister sort of way- closer than you ever have before. And you’re tired of hiding it, tired of this weird cat and mouse- you just want to have a conversation with him, to get everything out into the open so you can truly discuss your feelings.

You find him by the beer pong table. He’s in a full denim fit, and you can’t put your finger on who he is as you approach.

“Hey, Hyuck,” you greet, tucking into his side so he can hear you over the music. “Nice Canadian Tuxedo.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

“Uh…” You look at him blankly. “Are you talking about your denim costume? Or the way you’ve been calling me all week?”

Hyuck stares at you in shock. “Uh…” he clears his throat. “I’m Ken… you know, from the Barbie movie.”

“Right…” you trail off, wondering if he’s going to touch on the Black Christmas side of things.

“Also… what do you mean? About me calling you all week?”

“Hyuck,” you sigh. “Please don’t try to avoid this. Just be honest. It’s you. I know it’s you.”

He looks at you, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind.

“You told me you’d reveal yourself tonight,” you continue. “I know I kind of just threw you under the bus, maybe I ruined your master plan or something, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t know it’s one of my best friends who’s been calling me all week being horny.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice lowering. His eyes search yours, as if he’s trying to get a read on you.

“Hyuck,” you let out a laugh, “I’m not mad at all, but I think we should go to your room and talk this out a little, don’t you?”

“I guess that’s a good idea,” he acquiesces.

“Then let’s go.” You grab his hand, lacing your fingers so you can drag him to the stairs that lead to the second floor. You don’t say anything as you move, you’re on a mission, and what you need to discuss with him is better said alone than in a crowd of horny Halloween partygoers.

You make it to the privacy of his room, and you shut the door behind you. “So?”

“So?” Hyuck moves through the space, and you notice him heading for his bong.

“Hey, don’t do that,” you sigh.

“Don’t do what?” he asks.

“You don’t need to get high to have this conversation.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t want you to be high when we do this.”

Hyuck lets out another deep breath. “This isn’t how I planned things.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” you admit, watching him take a seat on his bed. “How did you see tonight panning out?”

“I suppose I figured I could get some drinks in, liquid courage, that sort of thing. And then, maybe I’d reveal myself at the end of the night or something.”

“Are you really so scared of me that you need to be drinking to confess how you feel?” you ask, melting a little. You approach Hyuck, sitting carefully on the bed next to him while he faces clear inner turmoil.

“I’m not afraid,” he states, but you can tell from the tone of his voice that there’s something else going on. “I just… You told me you only want a man who can commit, a guy who only has eyes for you- and, I do, but… we both know my playboy track record, and I guess… I just worry about hurting you.”

“Do you want to hurt me?” you question, tilting your head as you try to understand him.

“No, never.”

“Do you think you’re at the point where you could settle down a little? I’m not trying to get you to stop partying, I just mean… committing to one girl, is that something you think you’re capable of?”

“If it’s you, then yeah… I think so,” he nods, finally meeting your eyes.

He looks so vulnerable, and it’s very different from how you usually view your mischievous friend.

“Hyuck,” you whisper, unable to help the way your hand raises to cup his cheek. “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. If there’s something real here, and it’s not just you being a horny, dumb frat boy.”

“Okay, rude,” Hyuck laughs, showing you a glimmer of the him that you know and love, “It’s more than being horny… but… in all honesty, seeing you in this fucking faerie costume has me all hot and bothered.”

“Yeah?” You lean closer, grinning. Your lips ghost over his when you say your next words, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Hyuck sucks in a sharp breath, his pupils dilating- you’re so close to him, and you can make out all the pretty shades of brown in his irises. Gosh, he really is a pretty frat boy.

His hands find your hips, and he tugs your body closer. You can feel him breathing, his gaze darting between your own and your mouth. You watch his tongue dip out to wet his lips, and he swallows thickly.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, finally smashing his lips to your own.

It’s not gentle by any means, but it’s not necessarily aggressive either- one word to describe this kiss, is: desperate. He’s so eager, and you kind of love it, love the way he tugs you flush to his own body, one hand moving to cup your cheek- his tongue glides against your own and you stifle a moan, shifting in his embrace so you can wrap your arms around his neck.

It feels so good to be pressed against him like this- you’re actually kind of shocked at how good it feels. And his hands, exploring your body, keeping you close, fingers digging into your hips-

Hyuck is everywhere, devouring you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh,” you whisper, when Hyuck’s mouth moves to your neck. “By the way, I called dibs on your room with Mark, he won’t be bothering us.”

Your dumb frat boy pulls away from your throat, a grin on his face. “You really knew it was me all along, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, buddy,” you laugh.

Hyuck shakes his head, reaching to lock the door before his hands ensnare you again. He pushes his body against yours, urging you to move backward until your calves hit the bed. Before pushing you down, he removes your faerie costume wings, and only once the more delicate part of your costume is discarded, does he shove you onto his mattress.

“Hyuck,” you giggle, looking up at him with starry eyes.

“You look so good like this,” Hyuck muses, tugging his denim ‘Ken’ style vest off to reveal a body hardened from Frat mandated work out brother time. He’s not too big, not too built- Hyuck still has some pudge on him, but you kind of love it. You love that it’s not a full six pack and bulging biceps- you can imagine that when this is all done, he’ll be lovely to cuddle with.

In fact, you’re not sure it would matter how muscled Hyuck is. Sure, it helps that he’s physically fit and hot, but- at this point in your friendship, you’re attracted to him for so much more than his body.

No man makes you laugh like him. No man has spent the time that he has to understand you and make you feel comfortable with him knowing you, the true you, the you that you don’t get to show many others.

Hyuck is just… he’s good for you, and he always has been. That goodness has so far been a friend capacity sort of thing, but you’re excited about the new development in your relationship. You think there’s true potential with him, and it makes you dizzy as you stare up at one of your best friends.

“I kind of want to eat you out, Angel,” Hyuck admits, one hand finding your thigh and pushing your short dress even higher up your leg.

“Funny, I kind of want to suck you off,” you grin, lifting one foot out of your shoe to tease your toes across the front of his jeans.

“So… sixty-nine?” Hyuck asks, gently tracing his fingers across your exposed skin, setting tingles of pleasure off to erupt and skitter through your form.

“That would work, but… I guess… I kind of want to lay with my head lolled off the side of the bed, your cock in my mouth, and your fingers pinching at my nipples while I work my own clit at the same time.”

“Jesus,” Hyuck breathes, swallowing thickly as he looks up at you. “How could I say no to that?”

“Then, when I’m close to cumming, you can eat me out, get me there, then fuck me stupid for your own release.”

“It’s funny,” Hyuck chuckles, “Here I thought I was the horny one calling you and trying to be a creep, but you’re the one with the dirty mouth and the great ideas.”

“Yeah, your whole Black Christmas thing really wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever heard,” you tease.

“How many times do I have to admit it was a shitty plan but I just wanted to get close to you?”

“At least once more.”

“Fine. Now flip around, loll your head off my bed, let me put my cock down your throat and pinch your nipples while you toy with your cute pussy.”

“How do you know my pussy is cute?” you ask. “You haven't even seen it yet.”

“I’ve been imagining, baby, and as a film major, my imagination is pretty fucking good.”

You giggle, getting into position for Hyuck. He stands near your head as you loll it off the side of the bed, and you get a good view of his bulge straining in his jeans.

“You’re excited,” you muse, cupping him through the denim.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he laughs, undoing his button, then the zipper. “Fuck, you look so good laid out like this.”

“Yeah?” You pull the top of your dress down, releasing your boobs.

“Fuuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pausing his motions on his jeans to reach down and massage your newly exposed breast. “I knew your tits would be perfect.”

You moan at the feeling of his warm hands. His fingers pinch at your nipple and your moan turns into a whine. “Feels good.”

“You feel good,” he counters.

“Get your cock out,” you instruct, feeling impatient.

“Start rubbing your pussy,” Hyuck retorts with a laugh.

“Yes, sir,” you respond teasingly, reaching one of your hands down to your thighs. You slip it under your dress, deciding on taking your panties off alltogether.

Hyuck continues to massage you as you pull off your thong.

You can’t help yourself, you toss it at him, and Hyuck lets go of your breast in favour of catching it. “Fuck, these are cute,” he says, admiring your panties.

“I knew I’d be getting laid.”

His tone shifts to the darker, more annoyed side of things. “Yeah?”

“And don’t get all angsty, I knew I’d be fucking you tonight.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Hyuck grins, putting your panties in his pocket before he undoes his jeans, shifting them down his thighs.

The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, and you get a good view of his cock for the first time.

“Fuck, dude, you weren’t lying when you said you were thick,” you muse, licking your lips.

“I’d never lie to you about my cock,” he laughs.

You slip one hand between your thighs, stroking your wet core- it’s crazy how turned on you are from this, but part of you thinks this has been building for a while- for a week, actually.

Hyuck strokes his cock, looking down at you. “Ready for this?” he asks.

“Put it in my mouth,” you command, opening wide for him.

“If I’m going to deep, push my thigh,” he tells you as he slips his cock past your lips.

You moan a sound of affirmation around him, immediately beginning to suck on his tip, getting used to his size before you take more.

Hyuck is surprisingly gentle with how much he’s allowing you to take. If you hadn’t been pacing yourself, you’re sure he’d be pacing you of his own accord.

One of his hands finds your breast again, pinching the nipple and sending jitters of pleasure down to your throbbing core.

You groan louder around him, sucking more into your mouth as you increase the pressure on your clit.

“This is so fucking hot,” Hyuck moans, thrusting gently into your mouth so you can lay flat and still, allowing him to do most of the work while you rub your pussy deliciously.

You can only let out a sound of affirmation as he uses your mouth.

With your eyes closed, you can focus fully on the feeling of pleasure that’s building inside of you.

When you’d imagined fucking Hyuck for the first time, this hadn’t necessarily been a position at the forefront of your thoughts- but when he’d suggested eating you out, you’d realized this is exactly what you’d wanted.

You want to give back to him, want to show him how much you’ve appreciated him taking the leap and telling you how he feels- even if it was in some weird, dumb frat boy, phone call kind of way.

The way he’s pinching your thighs is actually delicious- and then, you hear him spit, and you feel the cool liquid hit your chest. This time, when he rubs his thumb over your nipple, he spreads his spit across your skin, making it even more intense.

“Part of me just wants to cum on these perfect tits,” he admits.

You make a very clear sound of disagreement, and Hyuck pulls his cock out of your mouth. You’d been salivating so much that as he moves away, your own saliva drips back down onto your face from his length. You swallow thickly, finding your voice. “Need you to cum inside of me.”

“Fuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pinching your nipple even harder. “You and your creampie kink.”

He slips his cock back into your mouth, and you greedily eat him up.

Then he leans further over your body, his fingers joining yours on your core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he muses, pushing your hand out of your way so he can rub your clit, gently fucking your face as he does so.

It’s a shallow face fucking, as he’s bent over your laid down body to access your core, but you don’t mind.

Your eyes are still closed, and you’re enjoying every sensation, bringing your free hands up to your breasts to massage them and pinch your own nipples.

“You look so sexy, want you to cum so bad so I can fuck you stupid,” he tells you, rubbing your clit even harder.

You rut your hips up toward his hand, a non verbal motion that tells him you’re close.

God, it’s like he’s been in your pants before- he knows exactly how to stroke and massage your clit-

“And you’re still sucking me off so good-” he continues. “And grabbing at your tits too, you’re my insatiable little Angel, aren’t you?”

You moan deeply around his cock, and Hyuck fucks you a little harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, feeling tears in your eyes.

“Shit, sorry, Angel, fuck, that just felt so good- can I do it again? Can I fuck your throat again?”

You make a sound of affirmation, shocked at how your body had reacted to his cock being fully inside of your mouth. A tingle of excitement had run through you, your nipples getting intensely sensitive, your core throbbing-

Hyuck does it again, hitting the back of your throat, and the same sensation happens. You can feel yourself getting desperately close to the edge, and you hardly have to do anything. Other than pinching your own nipples, Hyuck is the one taking care of you, and you kind of love it.

“I can tell you’re close, Angel,” Hyuck chuckles. “Fuck, gonna cum from me fucking your face and rubbing your clit, right?”

You moan desperately, wiggling your hips. Hyuck reads your cue, rubbing your clit even harder.

Now, you can’t help but pull off his cock, pushing his thigh to give you a bit of space.

“You good?” he asks, motions pausing.

“Yeah,” you tell him, swallowing thickly as you grab his cock to stroke him off. “Just keep- fuck, keep rubbing me like that, I’m so close-”

“Fuck this,” Hyuck mutters, and all of the sudden, he’s pulling away.

You let out a whine- only for him to spin you on his bed. He sinks to his knees, drawing your core to the edge where your head had just been, then he dives in, his lips immediately suctioning around your clit.

Two fingers push into your aching core and you whimper desperately, grabbing at his hair to keep him on your pussy as he works you closer and closer-

“Hyuck-” you cry out, muscles clenching-

One more slurp on your clit has you topping over the edge, entire body electrified by the orgasm surging through you.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your sounds as he works you through your high. He doesn’t quit, doesn’t pull away- he sucks your clit through your entire high, until your thighs are shaking on his shoulders and you’re on the verge of tears.

“Okay-” you whimper, pushing at his head. “Sensitive-”

Hyuck finally lets up. You open your eyes to watch him stand, pulling his fingers from your core and sliding them into his own mouth.

“You taste just like Halloween candy, baby,” he muses, eyes clouded with lust.

“I wanna taste,” you whisper.

Hyuck pushes his jeans completely off, and then he gets on top of you, smashing his lips to your own. The flavour of your pussy is hot on his tongue, and it invades your senses, driving you wild as you kiss him deeper, threading your fingers through his hair.

His cock nudges between your pussy lips as he grinds down against you, rocking his hips.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, moving your mouth to suck on his ear lobe.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans, shivering from the sensation of your tongue on his ear. “Want you naked first.”

He pulls away just long enough to tug your dress up and over your head, then he returns to his spot, his cock rutting against your core once more.

The two of you have been friends forever. Hyuck knows you have an IUD, he’d been there for you when you’d gotten it last year, when you’d just wanted to stay in bed and rot for a few days. There’s no need to discuss birth control or safety- all there’s left to do, is have his thick cock fill you in ways you’ve been wanting all week.

Hyuck adjusts, grabbing his base so he can push his tip into your throbbing hole.

“Fuck,” you whimper in his ear, clutching his shoulders as he pushes an inch into you.

“You good?” he asks, breath hot on your throat.

“So good,” you respond, locking your legs around his hips.

He pushes deeper into your pussy, and your core welcomes him in, walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

Hyuck bottoms out, and you both groan deeply. He forces his lips onto your own again, and it’s a clash of teeth and tongues.

It’s animalistic in the best sort of way- like you’ve both been caged up for as long as you’ve known each other, and you’re finally letting your beasts out to do the most primal thing imaginable.

There are no thoughts in your mind as Hyuck begins to fuck you, there’s only you, him, and this intense feeling of pleasure.

You feel so connected to him- missionary isn’t always the most fun position, but with Hyuck, it feels right. It feels like this was meant to be your first time together, face to face, lip locked, breathing each other in, moaning desperately as he takes you as his own.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, gently biting on your lip. “Your pussy is taking me so fucking well- first your mouth, now this- how do you expect me to last long?”

“I don’t,” you giggle. “You made me cum so hard on your tongue, I’m about ready to be filled with your cum and then lay here.”

“I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you after this.”

“You better,” you grin.

Hyuck smiles against your lips, kissing you again as he fucks you even harder.

The stretch of his girthy cock is unlike anything else- and it feels like heaven as he pounds you into his mattress.

“Rub your clit?” he suggests.

“I can’t- I can’t cum again,” you whimper, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

“I’ll have to train you to cum more after this,” he promises.

You can only grin, drawing his lips to your own again as he uses you to find the ends of his own pleasure.

His whimpering sounds are like music to your ears- fuck, Hyuck is too hot to even imagine. Had this guy really been one of your best friends for this long without you ever exploiting this?

You’re so fucking happy he’d called you and been weird all week- it was the perfect foreplay, and now, you’re completely enraptured by him.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans.

“You close, baby?” you ask.

“Fuck, call me baby again.”

“Baby,” you whimper, “your cock feels so good in my tight pussy.”

Hyuck moans even louder.

“Just like that,” you encourage him, tightening your legs on his hips. “Keep doing that- right there-” The tip of his cock is hitting the perfect spots inside of you, and you’re gasping from the feeling, burrowing your face in his throat and panting against his skin.

“Shit, Angel-”

“Cum for me, baby, cum in my pussy,” you urge him.

That’s all it takes for him to explode, letting out a deep groan as he releases deep inside your core, coating your walls with him.

His thrusts falter, his breathing laboured, entire body shivering-

You stroke the back of his head, cooing in his ear, helping him through it until he’s finished, coming to a stop ontop of you and breathing heavily.

“Good boy,” you tease.

Hyuck lets out a deep chuckle, and it turns into a sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“And you’d love that.”

“I would,” he admits. “Okay, fuck, I’m gonna pull out, gonna grab some tissues and sweat pants- we can head to the bathroom down the hall and hopefully clean up a little, then we’re gonna cuddle.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you grin, laying there as he groans and gets off of you, following through with his intentions.

Soon, cum is being wiped from your pussy and you’re being helped into sweatpants.

The two of you exit his room, and you’re very pleased to see that most of the party is downstairs, leaving his floor pretty vacant.

You make your way to the bathroom with him, clutching his hand.

Once there, you both clean up, and you listen to Hyuck splash water on his face while you pee, making sure all his cum is out of you.

The two of you make it back to his room, collapsing into bed. He pulls you to his chest, cuddling you close.

“Before I pass out… how did you know it was me on the phone?” he asks.

“Out of everyone in the frat, you idolize Johnny the most. It wasn’t a reach that you’d recreate his Ghostie thing last year. On top of that, you’re a film major, you know horror movies better than anyone else. And, you’re a horny fucker, which is something I’ve always loved about you- I just… I needed you to make a move, which you never really did, until now. It just… made sense that it was you. The way we talk to each other, I could tell it was you from the very first call.”

“Here I was, thinking I was all suave and shit.”

“You were very suave, baby,” you grin, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Happy Halloween, Angel.”

You giggle. “Happy Halloween.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! find my other nct frat fics (including Ghostie) HERE. I made this meme for this fic because it's so them.

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🔮 preview. “So, I’m gonna finger fuck you stupid,” he explains, pushing his digits back into you. “And then, I’m going to apply pressure, right here-” Hyuck’s hand smooths across your abdomen, even the slightest push makes you feel his fingers deep in your core, and you release a whine of pleasure. “Yeah, you’re going to love this,” he confirms with a grin.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral ( f receiving), pussy worship, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, overstim, squirting, dirty talk, praise, Hyuck holds the reader down by her abdomen, etc… I petnames: (y/n’s) Angel. (his) Baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

You love Hyuck, you do- but sometimes (especially when watching movies) he has this tendency to… well, never shut up.

“Okay so, coming up, when the alien pops out of his body, the director didn’t tell anyone this was going to happen, so when Sigourney Weaver and the others react, it’s genuine shock and surprise-”

You love his facts too, you do… but… sometimes, they get a bit much.

“Baby,” you coo, cuddling closer to your boyfriend, “Can we just… watch the movie?”

“We are watching the movie.”

“I mean… God, I’m going to sound like a bitch, but can we get through like… ten minutes without a fun fact?”

“But… my fun facts are fun.”

“They are, baby, they are,” you assure him, patting his chest, ��I just…” you sigh, “ten minutes?”

“I can think of a distraction for my mouth,” Hyuck grins.

Your pussy immediately flutters, picking up on what he’s saying. “Yeah? Don’t you want to watch the movie?”

“I’ve seen it a billion times.” His hand rubs your shoulder and he nuzzles against your cheek, breath hot on your skin. “Come on, let me eat out your pretty pussy. I’ve been wanting to overstim you for a hot minute- I think I could get three or four out of you while you’re watching.”

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smallsies · 1 year ago

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#waitwaitwaitwait off topic but FINCH. FINCH i have been pestering Cat to tell me what character he plays for the past forever #For the past however long #And they won't tell me. can you BELIEVE this /joke

prev, i am well aware of your plight and i am reveling in it /j

what they don't tell you about making an audio drama is AHHHHHHHGGH

#im so curious what this is referencing within space specks btw i’m gonna be thinking about it all night #< prev >:)#also moo i actually told Cat they could tell you. i'm sorry but this is out of my hands /lht #guessing game figure out who is playing what character with next to no information loll #gosh im very excited for space specks #< IM ALSO EXCITED I'M GLAD YOU'RE EXCITED <3 #moo tag

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hollyhomburg · 2 months ago

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Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)

(Pack alpha Hoseok focus, Background ot7 x reader, Omegaverse, Forced Caretaking, Omega scarcity au)

୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: When a performance keeps pack alpha Hoseok from tending to his sick omega, he struggles to contain his rage (and looks back on all the reasons he has to control his anger).

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 16.6k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sicfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Background ot7 x reader, eventual Brat! m/c, Implied chronic health issues, themes of trauma, Hoseok has PTSD from enlistment, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, brief smut, Brief allusions to omega obedience training, Brief Dom! Hoseok, Breif Sub! m/c + Jk, referenced Dom Jimin + spanking, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: This was inspired after i got /dreadfully/ ill after seeing HOTS in march. i've been writing it for a good long while i guess! i'm open to adding more to the story if i'm inspired but as of right now it will only be 5 parts. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! this story also does go non-chronolgocially, if we organize it by chronology this is actually the middle. basically it goes 3 < 4 < 5 < 1 < 2, but i think you'll enjoy the flashbacks of how they got togeather!

The sound of the audience and the rumble of screams and shouts are still ringing in Hoseok's ears as he exits the stage. The roar of the lyrics are a hum filling his veins. Adrenaline pumps through his system better than any drug or instinct. More addictive and more natural to him than breathing.

He’s sweat tacky in places he’d rather not name and yet despite this night- a show, the dance of performer and performance, the validation that comes from the screams of many waiting fans- despite all of that- Hoseok's still not calm. Hoseok's still not satisfied.

He yanks his in ears out, nearly tearing at the wiring the second he's clear from view. Not even bothering to put his microphone in its correct case as he moves, breathless and hurried in the direction of the dressing room.

A stagehand tries to help him, but after clocking the rage and aggression rolling off of him they think better of it and lower their gaze as he passes, practically curling in on themselves.

He's on alert, aggression a hairpin trigger just waiting to be pulled below his skin. Almost hoping for an outlet. The still lingering roaring cheers of Alphas, a good number of betas, and a sparse select few omegas ferry him as he cuts through the sea of staff.

By all metrics the show had gone well. He's not angry because he stumbled or because someone messed up the queue for the cube again. This performance had gone perfectly. It has nothing to do with why he's about to snap and punch someone. Maybe bite them. Maybe tear them limb from limb- yeah his alpha likes the sound of that. But none of this, none of this is what makes his blood hot in his veins.

That honor belongs to his omega.

You’re not just his, of course, you belong to the others too. But he’s pack alpha, so they all belong to him to some degree. The pups more so, his peers, Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi- less. Being a part of a pack is more like belonging to matching a set and less ownership.

But not anymore. You're Hoseok's. In every way that matters. You're his.

It's hard to believe, but Hoseok was not always so possessive and exacting as a pack alpha. He never had to deal with any of this- the instincts and the near-feral need that comes with them before the pack became fractured. Broken in a way that can’t be fixed by words and promises. Leaving Hoseok's alpha to pace back and forth the inside of his mind like a monster caged and understimulated.

Hoseok wishes he knew what he was giving up when he enlisted.

Not that knowing would have changed anything. But at least then he'd have been prepared.

Hoseok has seven pups and seven packmates registered to his pack. four alpha's, two beta's, and one precious omega. He's never been without his pack for so long and before 22 months ago they'd never been apart for more than a few weeks. Enlisting posed new challenges, some that Hoseok thought he'd be better at handling by now.

But adjustment takes time. Healing takes time. It doesn't matter how many times he repeats that to himself. Nothing ever gets easier (You might disagree).

The military wasn't easy. They didn't go easy on Hoseok.

He'd never been one alpha among the many, never had his rage cultivated and honed as a weapon to be used and wielded by his superiors. Hoseok learned he was good at being angry- good at melding his body and his alpha together as one- it's only now that Hoseok's out that he's struggling to detangle his sense of self from his alpha.

He'd never been without some sort of pack structure. At least not in so many years. He'd presented with Namjoon and Yoongi- had dealt with their instincts and learned how to settle his own alongside them. A good thing too because a few years after when Jungkook and Taehyung had come along. Young and wide-eyed and entirely unprepared for anything like presenting- they'd needed a pack alpha to help settle them. Someone to guard and mind their instincts, to take care of them, to push when they needed pushing and get them to bend when otherwise they might break.

But war is different. Rage- Hoseok is learning, Is a particular monster that doesn't go down easy.

Of course they'd never been completely broken as a pack. Even now Yoongi is home in the pack house still doing his daily service and coming home at the end of the day. The last time Hoseok had been home (nearly 5 weeks ago before the start of the tour). Yoongi was still struggling; Hoseok saw signs of it everywhere.

His camo jacket wasn't in the house even, it's in the garage where he leaves his boots. Takes them off before he even sets foot inside. separate lives and separate alpha's. There are pack house slippers set up by the door. 16 slippers, 8 sets, color coordinated. Kept meticulously clean like the rest of the house. Namjoon's coffee mug left by the coffee maker, Tae's scarf laid over the chair. A still life painting. hints of the pack left undisturbed. As if they'd just popped out for a moment and where coming back later.

Maybe Hoseok should have realized it when Seokjin was discharged, how you and Yoongi had gone radio silent for 6 hours. How much more communicative Seokjin was after and how every day after he told Hobi how much he couldn't wait for the pack alpha to come home. A new edge to his tone. Hoseok should have suspected something was wrong.

Now that Hoseok's home, he knows. Jin had it easier. Jin's a beta Jin doesn't have a monster in the back of his mind constantly out for blood.

He knows that Yoongi's still not used to buying less than 8 people's worth of food at a time after so many years of cooking and shopping for 8. That he struggles to fall asleep at night- too used to the press of warm bodies around him. Now Hoseok knows that Sometimes when Yoongi wakes in the morning, his hands shake. Instincts and body unsettled.

Hoseok knows, for the first 6 months of his service, his hands shook in the morning too. Call it psychological dependence or physical addiction- Hoseok doesn't quite know what it is. Although Hoseok expects that had more to do with you.

Alpha's can grow dependent on omega's after all. It's no more addictive than a cup of coffee, and yet,

And yet…

In his worst moments, Hoseok wonders what the pack would do if they didn't have you.

If you hadn't have asked, Hoseok wouldn't have let you come on this tour, would have never dragged you across the globe from city to city and would never have taken you from Yoongi. But the fact of the matter is that Hoseok is...it's not that he's not handling this well exactly but...but...

But you'd pouted, and Hoseok (notoriously weak for your every whim and desire) had predictably melted. (He'd been a little oblivious to the thankful looks shot at you over his head, he'd missed the way that Yoongi had cornered you just before the start of tour, how he'd folded himself across you.

"I'll get him back, you know I can be persistent."

"I know, I'm just worried, he's so...unhappy." Yoongi finally settled on. Even if you're both aware that that's not quite it. "You know how I hate it when you push yourself.")

But trauma changes people, it affects everyone differently. Hoseok had changed.

Now Hoseok regrets letting you come even more. When he checks his phone he doesn't have a single text from you. Not a 'good luck on the show.' Or an 'I'll be watching alpha' or anything. Which is not like you. Hoseok shouldn't be so surprised. You're probably sleeping. You're probably just resting like you should be. He'd ordered you to rest last night.

Exiting the stage, Hoseok does try and settle himself. Pausing in the darkness listening the the shouting of the crowd, slowly becoming a murmur and rumble. 60 thousand footsteps trudging towards the exit.

He spends a few moments standing there, staff around him waiting on bated breath, waiting for him to move. He's at least practicing his breathing exercises even if his body still feels like a weapon poised to attack.

When Hoseok closes his eyes, he sees each member of his pack as a pinprick of light against the map. Five dots clustered across the ocean back in Korea, one here close by, and one on the other side of the world. 7 dots and 7 breaths.

Seokjin is in France for an event that left him looking glittery and bejeweled. But he's existed as little more than sinful pictures and soft check-ins on Hoseok’s phone. His phone buzzes, but Hoseok keeps his eyes closed and breathes before he looks at it.

Those check-ins are the only way Hoseok stays sane these days. The updates from Jimin and Jungkook- shots of the dinner they make for the thousands of other recruits. 30 gallon pots of honey potatoes. Recordings of Namjoon's military band. The few promos that Taehyung is allowed to shoot- although he out of all of them is radio silent most weeks. Hoseok knows it's just because he's military police and has a higher clearance than them- even though Hoseok's technically a sergeant- but still-

Taehyung is a shifting wolf, he has different expectations than the rest of the pack.

Hoseok isn't in the military anymore. He's just Jung Hoseok. Only Hoseok could never be just Jung Hoseok- no matter what universe you put him in.

As long he knows exactly where and what his pack is doing the instincts are a little bit easier to bear. As long as he knows when Yoongi's going to come home, when Seokjin will be done with his photoshoot or recording session or this or that and is ready there waiting at the front door for a scenting or a brief nibble at their throat. Hoseok's instincts stay mostly in check.

Mostly. It's easier if Hoseok gives in, just a little bit, to what his alpha wants.

Hoseok's alpha wants more than Hoseok can give him right now, Hoseok's alpha wants blood, wants to tear this stadium apart and hunt across the city, tearing through anyone that steps in his way until he gets to you.

They haven’t all been together in so long his body is almost used to it. His body has adjusted. It’s been months now but there is still aggression that lurks under his skin, alpha constantly roiling to get out out out out. To get back to his pack, to drag them back by the scruff of their necks to the pack house and place them gently in your nest where they belong. Damning laws and discharge dates and all associated consequences.

The truth is that Hoseok's alpha doesn't know what to do when they're not together. Will keep him awake, will keep him from eating or resting. He'd heard that enlistment time could be dangerous for pack alphas, that many don't survive their 18 months without going feral at least once. Hoseok had skimmed by the skin of his teeth.

In many ways, the fight between man and alpha is like a dance, Hoseok’s alpha asks for obedience and Hoseok gives him his body but not his mind when he can help it. He runs and moves, and puts every ounce of discipline and dominance into his dance. His moves are always mastered, never shaky.

Hoseok's not sure he'd know it if he went feral.

When he'd been announced as pack alpha back just after their debut, there had been more than one article that questioned why the sunshine of the group, the ever-smiling and genial member, neither the largest nor the tallest was made pack alpha.

But size has nothing to do with it. Now, no one wonders. After seeing him perform solo on the stage they bought and paid for with their youth and hard work. After seeing him and what he can do no one questions him. Hoseok made discharge look effortless, no one would ever guess. No one would ever wonder.

Other times, Hoseok's alpha asks for more than Hoseok can give without showing it. Like tonight.

The only thing that made their military service at all tolerable was the fact that for those 6 months when the 6 of them had been in active service- at least Yoongi had been able to come home to you.

There’s a text from him on Hobi's phone and he's not asking about the show. Yoongi always watches the live stream and usually texts him the second he's hot off the stage. Asking about how it went even though he saw it. Namjoon might be the group leader but Yoongi has always felt a bit more like Hoseok's second in command.

Hoseok has no doubt that Yoongi saw right through him tonight, saw the furious crispness to his movements, and was able to tell how close he was to breaking. Hoseok doesn’t doubt that the other alpha checking his phone every few minutes. Anxiously waiting for Hoseok's response.

When Hoseok is certain he has enough control over his body that the text isn't going to make him trash the backstage area. He checks his phone.

Yoonie (10:32pm): How is she? Any news? Has her condition gotten any worse?

Yoonie (10:33pm): I know you're probably already considering it, but you know traveling isn't healthy for omega's long term. She needs her routine. You should consider sending her home.

Yoongi has gentler instincts and always has. But even he can't stay settled when their omega is sick. Yoongi also wasn’t taken away from you for a year and a half and taught to kill so Hoseok thinks he’s allowed to be a little on edge.

Hoseok shouldn't feel so fragile and so volatile. He should feel better. This is nothing compared to how it was right after he got back.

Yoongi's not the only one who's texted, the rest already have using their precious 30 minutes of phone time a day to check in. Most of the time, Hobi tries to time his updates to accumulate before they wake.

Jin gets it, Jin understands. Even though he's a beta. His text came through just before Hobi got on stage.

Jinnie (7:05pm): Let me know if you want me to change my flight.

They’ve been separated for a year. There was only Jin’s discharge and then his that they’ve all been together for. They all keep in regular contact and that’s not difficult. They check in and text daily and call weekly. But it's never enough.

As a pack with a registered omega they’re offered some allowances by the government. They get more days off and leeway if one of them gets sick or injured (like last month with Taehyung- Hoseok’s little alpha, bundled close in the nest, face tucked under your chin, so achingly still. His newly big body oh so carefully placed so that he wouldn’t strain his cracked rib.)

Alphas don’t have a better reason to fight than for omegas and recovery rates are always always higher if an alpha has been scented by an omega. The boost to their immune system alone is enough to make omega’s necessary for the war effort. The government even employs some omega's and compensates them greatly for their service as scenters.

The pack would never think about going to a government omega, not when they’ve got you at home.

As a bonded pack there’s no use, it wouldn’t work the same (and Hoseok would never offend you that way). But there’s less time given if more than one alpha is out. It’s one of the few reasons why Hoseok went in first so that he'd be able to help them all adjust when the time came.

He never expected to be the one to have trouble with it. To struggle to turn his instincts off now that they've been turned on.

The people around must be able to tell that Hoseok’s on edge, and the crowd too. Their cries reached a feral pitch, the same shouting that still vibrates the stage beneath his feet. Rage rolls off of him in waves as he stalks back to the dressing room. Smile and grin and smirk falling from his face.

They must be able to smell it on him underneath all the smell of the show, the gunpowder and fire from Hangsang, the roil of steam from sweet dreams, all irrelevant.

This is what they’ve all been waiting for for what feels like years, a chance to be on the stage again, a chance to perform. This is only the beginning leg of the tour and there are still kinks to work out and problems to solve. The logistical nightmare of moving staff and stage across multiple countries never ends. Hoseok is used to this. Hoseok is comfortable here.

He keeps telling himself that.

But right now, Hoseok can't think about it. He can't think about anything else but you.

Because you're sick.

~-~

Omegas are so rare that not every pack can have one.

Only those who can supply an above-average standard of life usually get one. Both prize and packmate. They're more common in celebrity and chaebol circles. Having an omega in your pack is the ultimate sign of success and wealth.

Some packs even have two, especially if the omega's have decided they're nestmates. But Hoseok can't imagine needing more than you.

A disease two generations ago wiped out nearly 90% of omega's. The sickness left only the most looked after, the most cared for unscathed. But those that were alive by the end of the nearly 10 year period scrambled to cope. To this day the omega population still hasn't recovered in any meaningful way. They make up only about 1 in every 100 individuals worldwide, less in Korea.

Most omega’s go through a very rigorous courting period if they're going to belong to a pack at all, only the richest and well-esteemed packs can covet one for for themselves. The rest of the world survives off of government-sponsored nesting and scenting services. There are even government agencies in charge of omega’s. Each omega gets an id card and a social worker. Hoseok hasn't had to talk to yours in years. Omegan Health Services or the OHS that tracks any omega that might have come into contact with the virus and quickly disseminates antivirals and vaccines.

You have to get yours every few months. Hoseok makes sure you never miss your appointments. Usually, he spends the following day confining you to the nest, immune to your restless squirming and your insistence that you're alright, just a little tired. Resistant to his insistence that he carry you where you need to go, that he fuss over you.

Luckily- the rest of the pack gangs up on you after your shots too. Namjoon puts your bandaid on the inside of your arm and Yoongi soothes your stomach with bone broth and light food to support your immune system. Each spoonful blown at, your lips dotted with reassuring kisses between bites. Jungkook and Taehyung usually wrap themselves around you like a living blanket to keep the shivers at bay. Nosing into your spine.

Only Hoseok and Yoongi usually attend your appointments. They're a little too intense for the others. Sometimes Jin comes. But he's the most likely to burst into tears and then you end up comforting him instead of the other way around.

Hoseok is usually good up until they actually put the needle into your skin. He'd broken a chair the first time he'd seen it. Gripping the wooden arm so hard as he heard your intake of pain that it had splintered under his hand.

There's a genetic component to being a pack alpha. Jungkook has the gene too. Hoseok has always been a little stronger, a little more resilient than the others.

Hoseok has only ever missed one of your appointments. Last year, the year Hoseok was enlisted for your shot. You'd spent weeks telling him he didn't have to take a day off for it (he'd been saving all of his leave for his packmate's ruts and your heat, but even then Hoseok knew he was going to have to miss one or two.) You said you'd be fine, that the shot wouldn't be too bad, you've had them before after all.

Only you hadn't been alright, you'd had to be hospitalized for it. It wasn't all that uncommon, omega's have weak immune systems and yours has always been particularly fragile.

Hoseok hardly remembers it. The static through the line, he'd hardly been able to hear Yoongi's voice over the roar of his heartbeat through his ears. An emergency call from Yoongi, something about an allergic reaction, anaphylaxis.

He'd have gone awol if his commander hadn't granted him emergency leave. His brain hadn't stopped roaring until he'd draped himself draped across your hospital bed after making an 8-hour car ride in 6 hours. Beret off, spilled and fallen onto the floor, face crumpling the second Yoongi rose from your opposite bedside.

"Namjoon will be here in an hour, she tried to stay up for you but the medication they had to give her made her drowsy."

Hoseok hadn't been able to speak, to respond to him. The sight of you in the bed. Small looking. The cannula. Supplying your body with oxygen because it's not getting enough. Everything screaming at Hoseok's instincts wrong wrong wrong. Fight protect keep safe.

Hoseok was terrified.

They'd given him a tranquilizer to stop him from pacing outside your door. Apparently its a normal occurrence in the relatively empty but well maintained omega's only wing of the hospital. Guards watch him with nervous expressions as they patrol the halls.

After that, he'd been a little more susceptible to Yoongi's gentle request that Hoseok should come sit by your bedside table. And what started as sitting turned into nuzzling into your hand turned into closing his eyes for just a moment.

You'd been rubbing your hands over his shaved head by the time he'd woken. He'd been so sure he'd been dreaming it, but Your honey voice is so soothing after hearing nothing but shouting to work harder and run faster you're so weak private Jung, can you even hit the target for weeks and weeks that it felt a bit like a lullaby to hear his own name spoken so gently, with such tenderness.

"Hobi, Oh Hobi. You didn't have to come all this way for me."

~-~

This is thankfully not that. Thankfully you're sick with just a cold and not the virus. But Hoseok doesn't take any sickness lightly. Not when it comes to you.

Modern medicine has come a long way, but still not far enough. Omegas are so rare a good portion of the population even abandons the idea of having an omega entirely. They’re not exactly a necessity for beta’s but for alphas- it’s a different story.

Hoseok can feel the hum of scent deprivation under his skin. The itch unlike any other. Hoseok cannot smell you on him, not his clothes or his skin. Nothing beyond the smell of sweat and alpha annoyance. Through any other performance, he’d at least have the scent of his pack on him. But not tonight, not until June when everyone will finally finally be together.

You’d been sleeping through the morning when he left, and he’d been reluctant to wake you on account of how you’d fallen asleep last night- or hadn’t. You’d been sniffling and coughing the whole night away. Hoseok had kept watch over you through it all.

What had started as a brief tickle in your throat around lunch yesterday (an easy meal- vegetables for Hobi and a tad bit of meat for you, fed from his own chopsticks, every brief shake of your head met with a disapproving look that you have long stopped disagreeing with. Hobi knows how much you are to eat, there's no reason why you need to worry your pretty little head about anything). Had developed into a fever and a few minutes of terror while they waited for the test to develop.

You've never gotten the sickness before but Hoseok knows how it would start; a feverishness like heat, then tiredness. And then all of a sudden you'd go to nest and wouldn't get up again without medical intervention. Might not get up at all. Might stop breathing- might-

He repeats it to himself again. That you're not sick with it. That this is just an ordinary cold. He has no reason to be so on edge.

The fans tonight could tell there was something wrong. Could spot it. Hoseok knows they're wondering if it's you. You aren’t a secret, but you are a private matter. A person that only the pack and the staff know by name. There have been pictures and speculation. They don't hide you but your last name is not public knowledge. You keep your face hidden almost constantly when you know you’re going to be spotted with them.

You are not someone to be jealous of but to be jealous for. You are not someone to be stalked or photographed. What they ordinarily tolerate out of necessity, they never do with you.

But alpha's are not always good at controlling their instincts. There have been incidents, not always because of them or their lack of control either. Jungkook had almost come to blows with an alpha who dared to sniff in your direction just before Jungkook's enlistment, a month or so after Hobi's.

~-~

The flash of the cameras are dizzying. There's a hush that falls over the room as you and Jungkook enter, before the roar redoubles- twice as loud as before.

You're mostly used to it by now, but still some things- like Jungkook close behind you, his big hand on the small of your back make it easier to tolerate. The press of people on either side of you is stifling, press and fans, guards and security. There's only a few moments of claustrophobia from the car to the showcase.

You hold your breath, and Jungkook stays close. It would be easier if your other alphas were here, but you're getting used to having them far away, to having them only on your phone or during evening phone calls. It's been enough months that Hoseok has stopped apologizing for leaving you and Namjoon has started making promises of all the things you'll do once you're home.

But still, sometimes you wake in the nest in the morning, big and empty of bodies, and feel so lonely it aches.

It will be worse when Jungkook goes. You know it will. Which is why you're tagging along today, why you've tagged along to schedules you'd normally avoid.

Sometimes you don't believe what hoseok says, the way that the world talks about omegas, they say you're more delicate, you're more breakable. Most of the time, you don't believe it.

Other times, like this, your anxiety rushes at you, and their touch becomes the only teather you have outside of the fear, the nervousness, the pounding tumble of your heart that ached for confined soft spaces, warmth and enclosed safety. A nest.

But you do away with your instincts today, in favor of staying close. A few more weeks, you only have a few more weeks until Jungkook goes and you don't want to waste a single minute.

One moment you're in front of Jungkook, walking almost instep with him as he leads you through rows and rows of security. You know what you'll look like in magazines later, wide eyes perched over a mask, hat with bunny ears flopping. Swallowed whole by a jacket, small next to your alpha. That there will be articles and breakdowns of your every movement.

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Being an omega can get a little frustrating. You're not the only one scrutinized this way, most omega's that mate with public figures are the topic of the tabloids. You'd flopped against hoseok's chest the first time it happened, "they only saw my forehead! how are they talking about skincare routine when they don't even know?" he'd just pressed his forhead against yours, nuzzling your nose playfully.

"I hate to tell you that you should get used to it but- the press are just kind of like that."

Most of them keep their distance. tipping their head as you pass. it doesn't make you weirded out or nervous, it just is this way. You take off your hat and mask the second you're clear of the doors and fans, about to turn and say something to Jungkook. You don't see the dark figure at the end of the hall leaning forward ever so slightly.

But Jungkook does.

it happens so quick you can't even blink, one moment you're stumbling, turning to say something to him, a security gaurd reaching out to steady you- The next moment you're holding Jungkook back around his waist, blood on his knuckles and a growl on the air.

More than one security guard and staff gets between you and the other alpha. He spits blood on the floor. Some of it hits your legs.

Your ears ring, and you can't hear anything as Jungkook shoves you behind him. Two other security guards have to hold him back. Hands shaking out of their hold.

They'd still been shaking, as he used a wet wipe to clean the blood off of your legs after.

You just don't sniff at an omega without permission, let alone reach to touch them. Let alone an omega with a pack.

"Jeon Jungkook! No! Bad!"

You don't like using their full names, never have, it's always pet names with you. Hoseok can already hear the gentle velvet of your voice crooning softly, "Hobi, are you okay? Do you want to come lay down in my nest for a bit? Can you come here alpha? I want to scent you."

You are the only person for whom his instincts bend. You are the only person he ever willingly takes orders from. The fight worn out of his body at your simplest request.

Hoseok takes Emergency pack alpha leave precious and dwindling by the month, just to handle the situation again. But disciplining his pack takes precedent.

A tidy settlement had kept the situation from leaking to the press, although Hoseok could hardly blame Jungkook for acting aggressively. His head had hung the entire time Hoseok been home. Jungkook doesn't like disappointing the pack alpha. Especially not now, when they don't have days and weeks of proximity and routine to get back on even ground. Not when Hoseok only has 24 hours, and has to leave in the morning.

It only takes one touch for Hoseok to bring him to his knees. A hand on the back of his neck the second they're clear of the outside. The pack house, dusty and mostly empty. Jungkook's mouth has been running wild since Hoseok first walked into the company building. Apologizing to anyone who would listen.

But Hoseok hadn't accepted the apology until they'd been in private.

"Do you know why you're sorry Jungkook?"

You're sat across Hoseok's lap for it, sniffling slightly. Soothed by the rhythmic brush of his hand down his back, your cold nose pressed against his throat. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform before this. Jungkook is on his knees between Hoseok's parted thighs. Inches from you and kept at a distance by sheer obedience. Hoseok admires Jungkook's restraint. Not every alpha could resist nuzzling into an omega's thighs, especially one so close.

Hoseok knows his weaknesses. Jungkook is also a good alpha. Hoseok's most obedient one. But even then he's not even looking at Hobi when as he kneels.

Jungkook looks at you and blinks back tears. Hoseok wants to lick at the alpha's pretty canines, wants to press your faces together and make you kiss. Make it messy just for him. He redoubles his hold on you. holding you tighter. You lap at his scent gland, trying to soothe yourself, nearly suckling at the skin of his throat.

"For offending our omega and...for putting her in danger?" Jungkook's hands slid down Hoseok's calf muscles, but Hoseok just tipped his feet wider. Giving Jungkook more room.

The ball of your foot pressed against Jungkook's shoulder, undeterred, the younger alpha only tries to nose up your leg. Hoseok nudges between his legs with his boot and Jungkook makes a noise- somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"Look at me. not at her." Hoseok keeps him still, and yet- there's only seconds before Jungkook's attention is diverted from the pack alpha's face to yours.

"And how did you do that? How did you put her in danger? Tell alpha."

"For Fighting? For hitting him?"

Hoseok is quick to reassure him with a hand on his chin, rubbing across Jungkook's cheek. "No no no, you did that perfectly. Alpha is so proud of you for defending our omega like that, try again."

"Because" Jungkook is having a hard time stringing his words together with Hoseok's boot pressed to certain places. But that's the point. Hoseok owns all of him like this, the sole of his rubber boot pressed against his knot, gently pressing it snug between Jungkook's body and the unyielding weight of his dominance. The other alpha pants openly. Hoseok can tell that it hurts. Can tell that Jungkook likes it to by the way his mouth opens in a soundless groan.

"Because I did it infront of her?"

"Yes. And why was that bad?"

"Because stress isn't good for omega's? They're too fragile for it." That Jungkook does not say shakily. He, like Hoseok, knows it in his bones that he speaks the truth.

hoseok is perilously weak not to reward him.

"That's right. Good boy. My smart boy. Pull your pants down for alpha and show me your knot." Jungkook pushes into Hoseok's hand like a puppy, letting out a shaky relieved breath at the words. You squirm a little, stilling when you feel Hoseok's hands go firm on your waist. A wordless command to keep still and stay where alpha wants you.

Jungkook rushes to comply, eager to be good. cock popping free, hitting his toned stomach with a light plop. Resting his chin on Hoseok's knee once he's finished.

He waits. You squirm. Looking at him over your shoulder and then at Hoseok. blushing furiously. unnerved by jungkook's complete obedience. Like you're struggling not to give it to.

You rub your nose up and down the column of his throat like you're trying to soothe yourself. "M' not fragile." Hoseok pulls back to peck your nose, humming and willing to play along. His hands on you are gentle, almost too gentle.

"Of course you're not. My sweet little pup. You’re so so brave, you didn’t even cry for that long and alpha is so so proud."

He adjusts his gaze to Jungkook, who has resorted to clinging to Hoseok's legs again for comfort. Pretending he's not rutting his hips in tentative circles and making a mess of Hoseok's pant leg. Eyes teary and worked up. Teeth half bared in aggression like he wants to submit completely but can't quite will himself too. his alpha bubbling up.

"It was just...Scary." You say, quiet and soft. And when you reached down to touch Jungkook's hair, Hoseok lets you.

Jungkook sags into the touch. He chases your scent gland taking deep grateful lungfuls of the scent there. lips parted against your skin. The ache between his thighs forgotten. Teeth almost pressed and bared. But he wouldn't dare nip at you, not when you're sat in Hoseok lap.

This time when apologies dribble from his lips, Hoseok feels like he means it. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry. I won't do that again in front of her- I didn't mean too-"

Hoseok presses his shoe against Jungkook's cock again, This time there's no fabric guarding the harsh dig of the leather and tred from dimpling Jungkook's skin. The alpha yelps. Thighs shaking with the effort it takes him to stay still. Body going rigid.

When Hoseok takes his shoe off, there's a bit of white wet liquid, staining the dark leather. Hoseok's smile is near feral.

"All will be forgiven, Don't you want to show hyung how good you can be? I think you owe our pup a little stress relief Kookie." Hoseok simply shifts you in his lap. Draping one leg over either knee. Fingers dipping between your legs, low. Fingers parting warmth and sweet. Jungkook's blubbering cuts off.

"All you have to do it open your mouth and apologize."

~-~

Jungkook had been sorry, for almost inadvertently pushing your capabilities. The whole world treats omega's like this- like they are inherently fragile.

You are someone that the fans would never shove or push at. It's generally considered a taboo to be rough with omegas at all and more than one idol has had to issue a public apology after tugging their omega's hand a little too roughly at the airport or through crowds of fans.

At least outside of private matters. Behind closed doors, it's more up to what the individual omega wants. At least that's what Hoseok's learning with you.

It's also considered the bare minimum to provide for your omega an extravagant life. That at least- Hoseok does not struggle with. It's easy to spoil you, instinctual almost. To protect and provide and please.

All in all Hoseok is more straightforward that you might expect, he'll give his pack everything so long as they hold nothing back in return.

Being on tour with him means you can try things you wouldn’t ordinarily eat and go places you wouldn’t normally go. To art museums and shopping districts for pretty little diamond studded collars and comfortable designer nesting supplies. Café's for famous desserts shaped like flowers and figs, and even the exclusive omega section at Fao Schwartz.

The packages for that have already been sent back to Seoul where they no doubt fill the entryway of the pack house. Probably carefully unwrapped and organized by yoongi, still in their silk bags on the border of your personal nest at home. A custom-made monstrosity that Hoseok had made for you and Yoongi designed that cost a small fortune.

But Hoseok had no qualms with him spending the pack's money on that. Not even back at the beginning of your courtship and relationship. Nothing but the best for you.

But delicate requests for room service and delivery from a restaurant you’d wanted to try with a promise for more at the next tour stop are now forgotten. Everything is forgotten now that you're sick.

He’s aware he’s been followed, his manager, a bodyguard, a makeup Noona trail behind him as he stalks in the direction of the dressing room. Where his clothes are, where he can get his things and leave. He can feel the rage polishing his canines already.

It makes his grin wider, teeth sharper in the privacy of darkness. Hoseok is snarling at the shadows, the toothy grin crazed as he finally makes it back to the dressing room. Tearing off his jacket popping the buttons and ripping the hem of it in the process.

It can be fixed before the next performance. Hoseok would rip 100 jackets to get home to you even a second quicker.

Unlike usual, no one offers him congratulations and he doesn’t offer any thanks or encouragement. His hands shake as he bends down to undo his shoes, all but yanking them off of him. His necklaces get tangled around his fingers, 7 of them- one for each packmate, and the second he starts to tear at them. Someone reaches for him- to stop him.

Hoseok turns and nearly lunges at Mr. Lee.

Hoseok imagines it perfectly, teeth sinking in, popping through skin and blood. The image is so visceral that Hoseok almost confuses it with reality. The familiar iron tang on the back of his throat what his instincts demand.

He stops himself just narrowly before he can get to his throat. He loses a growl. A sound so bone chilling that no one dare moves a muscle.

Only pure familiarity keeps him from actually biting the other man. the fact that Hoseok's alpha has sort of identified him as someone safe. But the scent of alpha aggression in the air makes everyone, even the lowliest stagehand, pause where they’re gathered. Hoseok bares his teeth and breathes. Struggling to contain himself.

Mr. Lee doesn't flinch, doesn't even raise his eyebrows at Hobi, looking at him with that same impassive expression. Not intimidated in the slightest by Hoseok snapping his teeth.

His hand smooth over the necklaces. He lets go of Hoseok gently.

Honestly, he should be more careful, they were gifts from the pack. The pack like matching their clothes, their shoes, their jewelry, and matching pack items are fairly common, especially in larger packs.

Hoseok in particular likes to have one thing from each of them on his person at most times, especially when he's traveling. Especially since he hasn't given any of them mating bites yet (none of them could stomach the idea of doing it before service). A little memento to keep them close. The biggest necklaces are from Yoongi and Namjoon and the smallest one is from you. Each of them cost no small sum, they're monetarily valuable as well as sentimental to Hoseok.

Hoseok doesn't thank Mr.Lee as he holds his breath, counts to seven, and goes back to taking them off, this time more gently without yanking at the clasps hard enough to bend the metal. even though he's breathing heavy. even though his hands are shaking. Hoseok struggles but there’s already someone behind him undoing the clasps and finally, it feels like he can breathe.

“Sorry. I’m fine I’m fine just-” Hoseok scrubs his hand across his face. Holding the necklaces in one hand. The diamonds sway. long strands handing towards the floor.

“Can I change in the car?” Hoseok is not asking, even if it’s phrased as a question.

With the way Seejin is looking at him, Hoseok knows the answer, and that he doesn’t want to say it. “Fine just- hurry.” Everyone knows why he's on edge, why he’s off.

Everyone here is well acquainted with the pack's omega.

The first few shows you'd ever attended, you'd been quite the distraction. Falling asleep in Namjoon's lap during his makeup. tugging on Jungkook's shirt while he was getting dressed, playfully feeling Jimin's hair while he was warming up and cutting off his notes. Unwilling to let any of them go on stage without being scented. a reminder as you lingered in the wings of the stage, in their peripheral vision that made even Hoseok stumble.

Occasionally you still attend their concerts to remind them of the power you hold, that as much as you give in to their impulses, they're also beholdent to yours. The leash goes both ways.

You're a little bit of a legend among the makeup noonas, managers, and bodygaurds. Because before enlistment and before any of this, before you’d been theirs, you’d been here working alongside them- a member of the support staff.

~-~

Omegas aren’t officially banned from working, not in any legal or governmental capacity.

Every few years some asshole petitions the current government to put some ban on them working and demand they remain registered to one alpha and one alpha only as is natural. But in all reality, the world could not survive without omegas at least taking some modicum of independence for themselves.

A good number of them appreciate their freedom. Just not you.

Hoseok doesn't like to consider the world where there are no working Omega's, a world where they aren't allowed to help. Now that he's seen the military, and seen what it's like when alphas are taken outside of their normal routine and pack structure and put all together. The idea is even more unsettling.

Without omega's, alphas would break out into all-out war.

Hoseok imagines The rage. The quiet of devastation of murder out of necessity. Alphas already have a hard time restraining their instincts even with an omega. Every few weeks there are stories of some alpha going feral on the news. Can you imagine going 8 weeks without being scented? That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd last 4.

Omega’s are too gentle to do most jobs that aren't specifically designed for them. Omegas are sensitive, in need of protection from just about everything. No fear is too small, not fear of thunder or fear of darkness. Anything that can lurk can be killed, and alphas will kill for omegas. It’s a culturally accepted fact.

No alpha can maintain their instincts for long and keep them under control without an omega scenting them docile at least once a week, it's biological, a necessity as much as drinking water or eating. For beta's its slightly less- they get more snapish than feral. they need it maybe once a month.

Hoseok has still seen seokjin's hands shake, has still suffered through more than one sleepless night with jimin. His body and his brain fighting his instinct to stay awake.

There are modern solutions for age old problems of course. Before you the pack subsided the same way the rest of the population did. There are upscale scenting parlors on just about every street corner in the city, private institutions designed with open air booths or similar to cafes that pay out omega's handsomely for a little acess to their wrists or if they're feeling particularly brave- their throats.

Most priced too expensive for the average person to afford, let alone a couple of broke trainees drunk on foolish dreams. There are alternatives for most of the population. Synthetic omega scent (that always smelled too chemical to Hoseok) available for purchase at every convenience store. Fortified drinks with omega pheromones that sort of work that keep you awake when you need to make deadlines. Yoongi used to overindulge in them.

If you're willing to pay extra, you can even buy something that's actually been scented by an omega. They have boutiques for it.

Although very very few packs can have an omega- most idol companies at least employ one designated omega scenter. They’re becoming more and more popular. A perk, similar to a 401k or unlimited PTO. See you don't need to worry about who will scent you next. See, if you're having a bad day or need help pushing through, we have what many don't.

And still- despite their necessity. Not all societies worship omegas. In certain pockets of the world, omegas are thought of as spoiled and lazy. Some are even kept secret to keep their freedoms, their omegan instincts suppressed until later by medications.

Either consensually or non-consensually in your case. You hadn’t known, not until you were well into your teenage years and nearly a legal adult, that you were an omega. Your instincts remained mostly dormant (and what didn't stay dormant you neglected). sometimes you still struggle to understand what your omega wants.

The others just think you're a little more spirited than a regular omega. But Hoseok knows. Hoseok's alpha has always been able to sniff it out.

Hoseok's blood still boils when he thinks about what your parents did to you. They did it in the name of protecting you but still. He'll still rant if given the opportunity (as long as it doesn't set you on edge). Hoseok's ranting is usually met with understanding from the other alphas and chagrined comfort from the betas in his pack.

The alphas understand that the anger never really goes away. But Seokjin and Jimin are different. They get a little spooked when Hoseok shows how truly angry he is.

Jimin usually exits the room when the others decide to indulge hoseok when he wants to hash it out again. He and Taehyung and Yoongi and Namjoon will find themselves in Yoongi's studio with a twelve-pack or they'll hit golf balls off the roof of the company building when the restlessness of unmet anger really tares at them. Hashing it out yet again until the rage has quieted to a dulcet murmur and Hoseok feels like writing songs about it again.

But not now. Hoseok can't calm himself down right now- Not right now when you’re back in the hotel room running a fever. A fucking fever.

You can’t blame Hoseok. He’s protective of you for a reason. It’s not only the omega plague that has him concerned but…your general health.

It's been harder to resist the temptation to worry since after his military service. Without all of them here to temper his anger and calm him down, Hoseok's alpha has been running a little wild. Bubbling up under the surface. Constantly close and whispering in his ear.

You even thing you see it come out on stage sometimes. Sometimes when he commands the crowd or asks them to roar for him it feels almost like he's using alpha voice with them.

You’d noticed the shift in Hoseok the second he’d come back. The second he took off his uniform for the last time after 18 months. His instincts were closer to the surface than ever before. He was so quiet. So silent. None of his usual electric energy, none of his quiet sureness that you were so used to.

Hoseok hates to admit it and hates it when anyone brings it up, but military service had changed him (and not in a good way).

It’s a good thing he has you- if it wasn’t for you- Hoseok doesn’t know if he’d have been able to find his way back to himself.

~-~

Coming home went something like this:

His eyes were wide through the live, open and unsure, a dazed look, almost shell shocked. Trembling with the new weight of old feelings. The position is familiar but the anxiety at his every move being watched- is unmatched. Like Jamais vu. How did being in front of the camera get so scary?

Hoseok used to be so good at this- at being an idol. They used to do this all the time almost without thought before enlistment. Are his movements too jerky? Can the fans tell that he's about to burst into tears? Can they tell? do they notice?

Is Hoseok not good at this anymore?

Leaving his station had felt like walking away from a nightmare only to find himself still asleep, somewhere between a night terror and a sweet dream. Because you were there in the van. You were there. A small body that nearly collided with his with how fast you pushed yourself to grab him the second he'd opened the door, A hand on your back and Hobi's neck, Yoongi close behind.

The cameras had only gotten one picture. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a blurry profile of a face pressed into his stomach.

Now, he listens to the sound of Yoongi prattling to Jin in the kitchen. sitting on the edge of your bed in the packhouse trying to decompress. there's an invitation to shower off the scent of the barracks before dinner that remains unfulfilled. The air smells like garlic and gochujang. the tang of ssamjang too. Smoke and fire. hoseok still hasn't undressed.

But Hoseok just sits on the bed. Hoseok can't move, lead weights attached to his extremities. Frozen there. Listening to the three of you and scenting the air.

the whole house smells like you, Jin, and Yoongi. just the three of you. none of the other alpha's, not Jimin. Hoseok never thought it would smell strange to him. Never thought that it would smell even a little unfamiliar.

Yoongi is all tangerine goodness. Bright and fragrant just on the edge of ripeness. Jin is soft as a peach, sweet and gentle. But You- oh you-

You smell like warm berry jam and nighttime summer air. Something drippy sweet and dark. Like the hint of sunshine and warmth and like syrup moving slow. Those early summer evenings where you can still smell the sun on the air even though it's already set.

Hoseok breathes it in through his teeth, Gritted. On edge. Alpha close under his skin.

Jin's teasing and Yoongi's low murmur fill the air around your bird chirps and squeaks, even when he falls silent. Absorbing it all, adjusting. It's only been a few hours. Only a few. Hoseok should cut himself some slack for not immediately being chipper and lighthearted.

Yoongi sounds relieved and excited even from here. There’s expensive champagne to celebrate (Hoseok hardly tasted his glass when he downed it, trying to calm his nerves) and a home-cooked meal that Hoseok has been looking forward to for months.

He hears the murmurs too, Yoongi breathing heavy, tense. Words he thinks Hoseok can't hear. "He's so skinny hyung, I saw him take off his jacket and I could see every tendon."

"I know, I know, but he's back now, he's safe, that's all we can change now. At least it's over for him."

"But the others."

"Baby I know." A quiet whine, a chirp. "don't you worry your little head about it darling, you just sit there, would you like to try the first piece? it's almost done. You don't need to save it for alpha, he'd want you to have it." It takes everything in Hoseok not to storm into the other room and feed it to you himself.

Hoseok knows what he looks like, knows that he's skinnier than normal, that he looks underfed and somehow more muscular than before. starved for something that isn't food maybe. the military keeps alphas well fed but not satiated. feeds them enough protein and wolfsbane to make them stronger and yet more susceptible.

But in the meantime worry and anxiety have eaten away at him. His cheeks are hollow and his thin birdlike bones look like they've been wrapped with corded muscle. You'd squeezed them appreciatively earlier, the same as you had with Jin. And Yoongi's eye roll had been hassling. But even the other alpha smelled pleased.

"Yah what am I going to do, if they all come back like this it's going to be me and you against the world pup." You'd giggled, and Hobi had delighted you by letting you hang from his arm.

hoseok couldn't explain why when he looks at you he feels like crying. you're wrapped in your most comforting clothing, an old sweatshirt of his that he hasn't worn in two years and has a new hole at the hem like you've worn it every day in his absence. Giggling softly as you try and hang. Yoongi's hand twitches like he's sort of ready to catch you incase you teeter.

"You're so strong now! Bet you're stronger than Jungkookie even! you can lift me all the time not just when you wanna show off!"

"He could always lift you pup," Jin had crooned looking down at you, a head taller, stooping to drop a kiss on your forehead. His knowing smirk light and teasing. "Hobi just feels like lifting you is more for him than for you so he resists, kind of like how I feel about hugging- like this."

Jin has the longest arms but for what he can't reach Yoongi makes up for. The second he reaches around you and Hobi- Yoongi mirrors him. Both of them are in sync and Hoseok mistimed. off beat. Missing a step. Yoongi and Jin squeeze both of them pushing their chests together and trapping both you and Hobi in a Yoonjin sandwich.

Hoseok can feel how gently they do it. going slow so as to not aggravate his instincts. His alpha cocks his head, unused to the careful affection. They keep squeezing until both of you devolve into giggles and until Hoseok is laughing for real. Unbidden, face crumpling towards the end.

The pack house is part of a gated community. Insulated from the public eye by high walls and a guarded gate. It’s a mixture of modern Western architecture on the outside and traditional Korean wood tones and airy skylights on the interior.

Everyone has a bedroom although they more often than not find themselves scattered in pairs or trios. When the pack doesn't have a schedule to attend to the following day and your health allows for it- they pile into your bedroom heaped all over each other. Unworried about sleeping in uncomfortable positions or needing to wake up everyone to pee.

It's adjacent to your nest room and the kitchen on the ground floor- because you were as equally as prone to bumping into things and tripping as Namjoon. The pack couldn’t bear the idea of you having to go up and down the stairs every night.

You could call them overprotective and you would be right. Your comment about Hoseok carrying you wasn't just teasing. You're lucky your alpha's keep you on such a long (and thankfully metaphorical) leash.

Many many omegas find themselves in more controlling situations than you do. Monitored, and kept safe by personal bodyguards or packmates (often times beta's or lower ranking alphas whose sole job in the pack structure is to protect and guard the pack's omega).

The closest thing you have to that is Jungkook and Taehyung. You don't think it's that over the top. In some parts of the world omega's occasionally disappear. Snatched from street corners or stolen from nests in the dead of night. Usually just after the presentation when they haven't found a pack yet to keep them safe.

You're lucky that the pack only sometimes ask to carry you up and down the stairs. You're lucky they don't have the habit of 'omega wearing' as some more traditional all-alpha packs do. No one's kept omega's like that- as little more than pets- in generations. You don't live in a country that requires omegas to wear a collar when they're out in public.

But still, sometimes it's hard not to be protective. You're used to most of it, every time that you so much as pick up a butter knife someone's shushing you and taking it from you. When you bend down to tie your shoes someone is already on their knees before you. Your jacket is always zipped for you, mittens always on, scarf tucked. Whenever you try and put a shirt over your head someone is aiding you. You've lost track of the times that you've heard them say "let alpha do it."

Jimin doesn't even ask, he just glares and puts his hands on his hips if you struggle too much. Surprisingly stern when you feel like you want to squirm or struggle. He's one of the very few packmates whose not uncomfortable landing a swat over your behind or making you write lines.

Jimin is very very particular about the rules. there are others that apply to the rest of them like 'no staying at the studio over night' and 'pt once a week, no butts' and 'no skipping meals for practice' but there are other ones specifically for you that go a little over the top.

Rules like I will tell my packmates when I'm feeling overstimulated and I will not go places in public alone without someone there to protect me. I will not behave in a way that puts my physical wellbeing in danger even inadvertently. If I go into omegaspace I will go and get someone no matter what they're doing because I cannot be left alone unsupervised.

Other things too like- when i feel needy i will not touch myself like a greedy little pup when I have 7 healthy packmates to fuck me. When I want a knot I will not demand it but ask for it nicely and say please and thank you. I will not take out my plug after breeding until Jiminie or Hoseokie or Namjoonie has told me I can. When I want bruises during a spanking or a settling I will clear it with every alpha first starting with Hoseokie and then Yoongi and Namjoon, then Jinnie, and Jungkookie and Taehyungie, only then will Minnie take you over his lap.

And you'll say please and thank you.

You're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Jimin is a very very particular beta. You miss him so much it aches. You miss all of them so much it hurts you, manifests as a physical ache in your temples or under your ribs. A breathless furious need to burrow away where no one could see you. unsafe without your familiar cadre of packmates.

Most of the ways that they take care of you are completely innocent. A tangle in your hair is hardly there before someone asks you to come sit between their thighs, brush in hand. You rarely ever have to sit on your own, a rotating schedule of who gets to have you in their lap during meal times. You haven't picked out your own clothes in years- someone's always there to do it for you.

At least not before enlistment.

After enlistment, you'd learned to do alot for yourself again. With Yoongi home in the evenings, it wasn't quite as lonely as it could have been but still-

It's the little things, that you'd struggled to accept at first that you ended up missing the most. It's insane to you now how you used to live before. That you were used to being independent and uncared for.

Maybe the truth is you don't hate all of it. It was so much nicer than being hissed at and shunned. You don't hate it when you fall asleep in the car or the couch and Namjoon or Hoseok carries you to your bed. You don't hate it when you're in public and someone is always gripping your arm or hold your wrist and guiding over every uneven doorway or step down. holding the back of your head when they guide you to bite. You don't mind the "hold my hand pup" or "Someone's too small for that, let alpha do it."

It's strange sure, but it's a little true. even when you don't want to admit it.

It's strange when Seokjin blows on your spoon of soup before letting you take a bite. When the alphas growl at you if you linger too close to someone who's not them- But it makes you feel comfortable and cared for in a way that you weren't always used to.

Treasured. That's the word for it. You're their treasure. You don't cringe about it when you remember anymore. (The truth is that the pack has made you a bit spoiled now. You don't resist their babying nearly as much as you used too).

It had felt like something of a game at the beginning. You asked for things to see if you could and they fulfilled it, only to shrink before what they actually wanted to give. But eventually you got so used to them handling everything that even when you'd squirmed and struggled and called too much you'd trusted them enough to let them push- and you'd eventually given in.

Maybe you'd be more used to it if you were born an omega (you were born an omega, you try to remind yourself. It just feels like you weren't sometimes).

Now their bedrooms are spaces that you haunt when you miss them. when they're home there are still moments when they each need their own space to either sleep without temptation or decompress after their busy schedules. It serves no one if they always wake each other up by leaving early for filming, or practice, or meetings.

The only bedroom that’s fit with a bed big enough for all of them is your bedroom, more out of necessity than anything else since your bed is the defacto favorite. You’d tried for a normal bed when you’d first moved in but found it quickly overrun and too crowded by packmates. Giving you the largest bedroom was something Hoseok insisted upon.

His own bedroom is now across the courtyard next to Yoongi’s, hardly used. Last time Hoseok checked, Yoongi had taken to storing some of his recording equipment in there, had propped the old bed up against the wall to make room for a pseudo recording studio. Before enlistment Hoseok rarely spent a night away from you, only if you were sick again and if he had an early schedule and didn’t want to wake you- and even then- he'd just rather steal away to someone else's room rather than sleep on his own.

The packhouse is arranged in a big rectangle with an open-air courtyard at the center. The soil there is crammed close with as many plants as Namjoon can stuff there. Tended to by staff twice a week now that the alpha isn’t home regularly to look after his precious camellia and cloud-pruned spruces. The cherry tree sits stubby, blooms just tempting to burst but not here yet. by spring time a small patch of grass will sit studded with clovers and small flowers, a spot for you to lounge in the middle of the day and curl up like a cat in a puddle of sunshine.

Hoseok and Yoongi are on the other side of the courtyard adjacent to the entrance. close to it just incase anyone tried to enter. The rest of the pack is upstairs. In their various bedrooms scattered between the workout room and entertainment center a larger studio space and a tiny art room where taehyung stores his canvases.

Now, Hoseok sits in your empty bedroom. Trying to decompress. Emphasis on trying.

It's hard when every time he shuts his eyes a new memory assaults him. It's hard to stay present. Hoseok knows his breathing is getting more and more ragged the longer he spends alone. It's so quiet here in the pack house. Hoseok's alpha doesn't like it.

Hoseok closes his eyes and a gun goes off. The feeling of a gun in his hand is heavy and impersonal. Hot and sweaty beneath his fingertips.

He opens them and sees your striped red and pink robe hanging by the door, side by side with Taehyung's green and yellow one. Yours warn and his brand new but both of them purchased on the same day. Taehyung just hasn't been here to use it.

He closes them and a sergeant is yelling in his face. Prodding his shoulder with their finger until his body moves. Hoseok can feel the growl in his throat threatening to burst.

Hoseok opens his eyes and notes that you've dropped one of your heated stuffed animals on the ground, that it's rolled half under the bed, he retrieves it and sets it on the bedside table.

Hoseok blinks again and Hoseok must not be composed enough. He must lift his lip because they're yelling at him to drop and give 50. But it's better than being on night watch for a week. Better than sleepless nights spent staring into the darkness and snow, not better than your bed here, plush and soft, smelling like good summer evenings.

Hoseok undresses in the barrack bathroom shoving the second someone comes too close, body-calling threats before he's even turned to see who it is. Hot water is better than the cold that digs into Hoseok's body like it's something with teeth and claws.

On night watch near the northern border. His fear plays tricks on him, you can only look into the darkness for so long before your mind plays tricks on you. You can only hunt monsters and play at being a killer before you start to feel too real.

Hoseok takes a deep breath and counts to seven.

Tonight is supposed to be full of his favorite things. Marinated crispy beef and seafood that smells rich and buttery on the air, music playing low. Things that Hoseok hasn’t been able to indulge in in months.

Like Yoongi’s cooking and your head in his lap after. Winding down and going slow. Easy slowness warming up to it so that Hoseok can start to get used to living again. He'll go back to work tomorrow with Jinnie because he doesn't have time to waste but with this and everything else. He'll adjust.

Hoseok doesn't have to be asleep tonight by the zero hour and doesn't have to be up tomorrow morning for early drills. He can sleep as long as he wants and He's not going to be able to enjoy it at all. Not while he's so keyed up.

He tries and does his best. Breathing in and out to calm his heart rate, decompressing in the half-darkness of the bedroom. It feels a bit too much like a shrine. There in the corner is Taehyung's record player collecting dust, and there on the shelf is Jimin's cologne.

Jimin doesn't always like to hide his scent, lightly floral, something delicate like roses or lychee, fruity and divine for a beta. You like to press your face into his throat hard enough to make Jiminie giggle. Hard enough to tip him over. He's prone to exaggeration. But when it comes to others outside of the pack Jimin prefers to hide his scent with a light layer of cologne, pushing it just a little more subdued, a little more masculine.

Scents are up to everyone's preference, and a fair amount of betas wear scent blockers and Jimin prefers to keep his scent for only the pack to indulge in and enjoy.

Namjoon's bonsai tree sits in the nook by the window, clipping shears and a pair of reinforced gloves (because the pack can't even let you handle scissors without worrying a little). A piece of Jungkook's artwork hangs above the bed. something that was sort of a courting present for you, it's mostly artful splatters but when you look at it in just the right light- it almost looks like a pair of eyes. Pieces are everywhere but no pack.

All of it, all of those months of discipline and control are gone now. Done and over. Everything is in frightening detail. His civilian clothes sit folded, his jacket off in just his undershirt now.

You scented them. Hoseok can smell it even without bringing it to his nose. Everything feels a little too sensory, a little too close. Like Hoseok is too aware of his body and how different his surroundings are. He closes his eyes because he can't bear how strange his life all looks.

Hoseok knew he had to be the first alpha out, he knew that this would be difficult. That it would be hard for the others to adjust and that it would be beneficial for them all if the pack alpha came home and got settled first. Hoseok can't imagine any of his alpha pups feeling this way, can't imagine Taehyung or Namjoon or Jungkook feeling like this. So tremulous, so fragile, and yet so volatile.

There are no barked orders, there is no rigorous schedule here. Just the scrape of a wooden spoon across a pan and the quiet comfort of home (but hoseok still feels homesick). Jin's creaky laugh, and the burst of champagne. The shuffle of slippered feet across the floor too.

You’re talking to them in the kitchen, can hear Yoongi ask if you need help carrying Hoseok's champagne glass to him- a silly thing to say. but instincts are a little silly sometimes. Hoseok swallows back a lump in his throat at it.

It's not like you’re strangers again, he's had nightly phone calls and daily texts and a night or two of leave a month. It’s only been weeks since he last saw you. But keeping it together for a day before he goes back to the day-in-day-out rigor of the military is different than coming home for good.

This means more, this is different. Hoseok isn't going back. He's never going back.

He holds his breath and counts to seven, then 14, then 21, 35, 49, until he's half gasping.

Hoseok feels the need to catalog everything, the curtains pulled against the window. when did you stop sleeping with the sunlight?Your slippers by the door, new. The plates in the kitchen green instead of white. What happened to your old ones? When did you stop wearing bunny slippers and start wearing matching kitty ones with Yoongi? What more has Hoseok missed by not being here?

The scent of omega anxiety is on the air, scared and nervous. You’d been feeling all those things this morning when you’d woken. Hoseok can smell it on the bed. A nightmare? Have you been having nightmares? Is that what it is?

That’s not all Hoseok can smell, the dewy sweet scent of omega slick lingers too. Slightly stale. The spicey tang of another alpha’s arousal also tingles at Hoseok's nose. Yoongi’s and Jin’s if Hoseok breathes deep, tracing the fresh scent of tangerines and peaches, a pure scent that deepens. Soothing, a balm to his nerves and likely yours.

Whatever solution the others found for your anxiety was the intimate sort. Hoseok can tell.

Just like he can tell that someone had stripped the sheets, had taken your clothes- drenched with the scent of omega arousal, out of the basket in the corner and taken it out, probably to keep Hoseok from scenting it, probably to keep Hoseok from being on edge.

but instead of making him comforted, it just makes him feel like a failure.

Failure, failure of a pack alpha. what kind of alpha is he that he can't even handle a hint of a nightmare? He’s angry, and not at you or at Jin or Yoongi, but at the situation. At things he can't change.

Hoseok can't hear your light footsteps. Can hear them get closer and closer and closer until you're a silhouette in the doorway, lingering, unsure. Catching him like this, sat on the edge of the pack bed, legs parted, head in his hands.

Hoseok opens his eyes; a shadow cuts across the light that streams in, and he flinches before he can stop himself.

“Hobi? Are you alright?” You take a step closer to him and he tenses. You notice, stopping in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Hobi-" you make to take another step closer and he lets out a sound, neither a hiss nor a whimper, neither a warning growl nor an invitation to come closer. Threat and protector blur.

For a second Hoseok's unsure if it's safe for you to be alone in the room with him.

“Stay back for a second pup, I’m sorry I’m just-” He takes off his beret, running his hands over his spiky hair. You probably thought that Hoseok went to shower minutes ago, not that he'd just be sitting here. “This is a little overwhelming.”

"What is? Us? Should we-" Hoseok nips it before your emotions have the chance to spiral.

“No. Not you- never you. Just-" he exhales shakily, trying to tame his racing heart rate. No matter how many times he tells himself there's no reason to be so on edge, Hoseok just can't will himself to relax.

"Is it being home? Being out?” Being free. It goes unspoken but Hoseok hears it and feels it regardless. He never imagined freedom to feel so stifling. To feel so unsure about his next move that he can't even make himself get up off this bed without worrying that he's going to lose control.

“No, it’s my instincts. I feel…” he trails off, resting a hand over his heart and hissing through it. You take a step back; his closed eyes shoot open and he lets out a growl. A real one. You freeze.

The tension is so thick in the air Hoseok could cut it with a dull knife. Do not let the omega escape, sweet omega, pretty omega, omega under your thumb. Protect devour provide devour, please. His instincts are practically howling out in his ear. Loud, drowning out your words, the concern.

There is a furrow between your eyebrows, Hoseok wants to smooth it out and then bite your cheeks, round and flushed. Why are you blushing?

It takes him a second to answer. He registers you've asked him another question but he can't even hear it over the roar of his heartbeat.

“Sorry. Feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Oh you- oh Hobi. You’re alright. It’s over. We’re gonna be okay.” He hums skeptically when you say it. Blinking rapidly. He hopes its so dark you don't see the glassiness to his eyes. He doesn't respond right away. Can't.

It’s a reminder he’ll need again. He's going to need to hear you say it about a dozen times over the next week. You'll repeat it to him whenever his instincts get like this; whenever they go a little feral. A little haywire. He's not sure if he wants to burst into tears or stalk across the room and pin you to the wall.

It takes a second for Hoseok to work up the courage to be honest. A few seconds where you wait, swaying slightly in the doorway. You're wearing a matching pj set, the top has little iridescent buttons that catch the light like the eyes of a sea creature. The object of his every frustration and all his desires. The confession lurches from his chest, feels like a knife, and feels near violent.

“I’m worried I don’t know how to be gentle with you anymore. They made me so- I’m worried I’ve forgotten. I don’t- I can’t-”

“What do you want to do right now? Tell me what you need.” your tone leaves no room for his anxiety and Hoseok realizes that his breathing has gone jagged. Hoseok is barely contained, teeth bared, alpha going wild at your scent. This time when you step closer, his alpha lets out a growl purr. A pleased sound, a soothing one. Tempting you closer. His legs are splayed, and a few more steps and you'd be standing in between them.

Hoseok’s hands are fisted in the sheets. He doesn't know if he can hold himself back. “Pup- I don’t, I can’t- i'm going to attack you-”

“Alpha.” Your voice cuts through the bullshit. You step closer and this time he doesn’t flinch away. You set your hand on his knee. Gentle. Barely touching. “What do you need alpha? What are your instincts telling you to do right now?”

He surges forward, stopping himself at the last moment. Your back against the door, swathed in shadow, a column of light flat across his face. Nose to nose with you. He grips your cheeks instead of your throat. You don't flinch and you don't sigh. Your reaction is immediate. Pushing into his touch. Hoseok's whole body is trembling with the effort it takes to stay gentle.

Hoseok hisses through his teeth. “My instincts are telling me you don’t smell like me anymore. That I need to bend you over this bed and make you mine from the inside out. Then take you out there and do the same to Yoongi and Jin until everyone's mine again. I want to devour you until there's no question who you belong to- until the whole world knows you're mine.”

He breaks off with a contemplative hum, and you realize how much his muscles are trembling, the dark tilt of his eyes as he stares at you, the dilation to his pupils. It’s faint, but it’s there. The physical strength it takes to hold himself back- you can't imagine.

he rests his forehead against yours. and his hand tightens to a fist on the wall. He lets your face go to skim his hand down your throat, feeling your pulse. Beating out a 120 tempo against his fingers. Then to your waist. Only a fool would mistake his touch for anything but claiming.

If you ran, Hoseok would catch you. You kind of want to do that, to run and have him hunt you down. You wouldn’t get far probably not even to the doorway. You imagine him taking you right there right where Yoongi and Jin could see.

They'd probably just tease you both and keep cooking.

Hoseok's hands smooth up and down your sides, from your spine to your ass. You let him touch. You're his in every way that matters anyway. You don't react or at least you try not too. You jump a little, when he squeezes, hissing appreciatively. His fingers continue to touch, to devour, slipping lower, palming, between your legs from behind.

He brushes something sensitive and you jerk. He growls. "Stay still omega."

"Trying alpha it's just-"

He undoes the buttons one by one on your top, hands surprisingly steady until it falls away from your shoulders. Hoseok nuzzles. Dark hair tucked beneath your chin as he mouths at your scent gland, hot breath dusting your skin. You're not worried or shy, Hoseok has seen all of you. You stay still until you feel the press of his teeth, jerking.

He squeezes your hip, reassuring you. The tension dissipates just a little.

"I’m so tired,” he laughs, and it sounds sad even to your own ears. He pulls back away from your skin, lips glossy and he rubs his hands over his face and then his hair. Your body burns when his hands leave your skin. It looks like it takes him real effort.

He leaves you there, standing half undressed by the doorway, shucking off his own shirt as he goes, setting it on the bed. Back to you.

There are bruises on his spine, up and down his back from a heavy pack or the strap of a gun you're not sure. You stumble forward, still half winded to touche them. Hoseok's body stills when he feels you come close.

You trace over them softly. Hoseok's breathing is so measured you know each breath must take herculean effort.

There have been so many weeks of teasing that have led up to this. Picture after picture, you pouting asking for your favorite alpha home. Pictures that Hoseok dared only open in the privacy of the bathroom that left little to the imagination. A shot of Yoongi's head between your thighs, a shot of you nesting in next to nothing. Virtual bait and blood in the water to Hoseok's hungry alpha more than willing to take a bite. All to give him something else to think about during that home stretch.

You wrap your arms around him and press your bare front to his warm back.

“I'm so tired that I don’t think I can be gentle, and I want to be gentle with you. I can’t not be gentle with you. I don't think I could do it without loosing control.” His fingers are mostly gentle as they pinch your cheeks, making your lips pout out. It's a little goofy.

Your eyes already look shiny, and he almost jerks when he registers the scent of slick on the air.

“Then don’t be gentle.”

“Pup.” There's a warning in his voice and he looks visible startled when he turns around. He pulls back until you let go of him, turn around. but you're not dissuaded easily, arms loose until he grabs your wrists. no matter how hard you pull you can't get them out of his grasp. but that's sort of the point.

You let Hoseok hold you, let him keep you still, a teasing smile on the edge of your lips. He huffs after a second, palms sliding up to your elbows. "You're gonna make me get more grey hairs."

"but you love me anyway?"

Hoseok nods. "but i love you anyway."

“if you can't be- then don't. Don’t be gentle, I don't care.” You’d tilted your head to the side. “Please alpha.”

Hoseok is a weak weak man. Hoseok cannot hold himself back from you. Not today. Hoseok proceeds to do exactly that, hunting and running and all. you smile and bolt, and hoseok bends to his instincts just this once.

You don't make it farther than the doorway.

Sprawled and giggling. Somewhere along the next few minutes, the sound of Seokjin and Yoongi cooking quiets, they listen but they don't interrupt. You try to push, try to fight but it's futile. it's all a game. Giggling all the while and it's like candy and conquest.

Hoseok's mouth runs wild like this- instinctual and driven.

"Is it too big for you little pup? Poor little omega stuck on a big knot, making you feel all full. Don't worry, alpha will fuck you until you're used to it again, until you feel empty without it. Keeping me warm and snug, is it too much? Don't cry, alpha will make it better. Alpha will keep you safe."

By the end of it. You'd been dazed and boneless, little more than a puddle of whimpers and whines. He had carried you tender and knotted to him in the direction of his pack. Instincts driving him to show (Hoseok is little better than a pup bringing his packmates a stick. See? See how good I bred omega, see how good I knotted her. She smells good and I made her this way for you. If he had a tail it would be wagging behind him.)

Dinner and celebration traded for a different sort of meal. Hoseok sits with you in his lap at the kitchen island. Yoongi dries his hands slowly from the sink and curses low when Hoseok holds you under your thighs, back to his chest. Spreading you for him.

"Fuck- I forgot how it looks like when you knot her it's so-"

It will take a good hour for Hoseok's knot to go down. Until then, the pack will play with you as they see fit, completely at their mercy, just the way that Hoseok likes you.

You always get a little bit more suggestible when you're knotted. Hoseok likes to think that you don't let them do everything they want to you when you are knotted but…you sort of do. While you're more than comfortable telling them off and showing off any wandering hands normally (and there are alot of wandering hands) you're almost docile when you're knotted to Hoseok.

Being knotted to the pack alpha is a bit of an invitation. Hoseok has watched the others jerk off over your chest like this, has watched them go between your legs and lap and suck to their heart's content, seen them kiss and suck until your eyes have rolled back. He doesn't mind. It doesn't make his instincts feel threatened. It feels good.

But only if Hoseok lets them. Maybe that's why you let them do it because in these moments, your bodies are locked together- you belong solely to Hoseok.

Hoseok's nose traces over your spine, over the nape of your neck. His alpha likes it very very much. The other alpha's like it too.

Now Yoongi eyes the spot where you stretch around him, the place you go pink and dewy, licking his lip and adjusting himself in his pants. Hoseok knows there's not a thing in the world he wouldn't give up for this.

Hoseok reaches between your legs. You whine when you feel him touch you, eyes fluttering against his throat, but Hoseok tips his fingers into your dewy folds, parts your lips and shows them. "opened right up, cute little cunt. Your whole body is lax, head full of mango colored cotton. the haze of pleasure just a little too much, a little too much to sort out your desire to please from everything else.

distantly you can hear yoongi's deep chuckle. "Your knot is the same size as mine. It looks like this when you do it too."

Yoongi's dark eyes are unreadable. The room smells like smoke, the burners are turned off, but no one is plating any food. Hoseok didn't even bother to undress just pulled down his pants enough to get his knot free. But you're nude clutched against his chest. Clothes torn up in the other room. Bite marks up and down your body.

Jin coos and looks you over. Hoseok feels…satisfied when the beta purrs in approval. The sight of it going straight to his head judging from the way his peach scent ripens on the air.

"It's different, it's different when it's yours."

You jerk once Jin comes close, his long fingers skimming places Hoseok can't see, buried against the back of your neck, mouthing at your nape hungry still. "Sensitive" you shutter but your pleas remain mostly ignored. a whine escapes your pressed lips and a furious blush lights down your midline. Jin keeps touching you. Hoseok wraps his arms around your middle to stop your squirming. Keeping you still so that the beta can do what he wants with you.

"Alpha bit me there too." You mumble against Hobi's throat, shifting restlessly from whatever Jin is doing. Shifting more. "Jinnie- I'm sensitive,"

You nearly flinch, but Jin's thumb presses. "Oh here? Right here?" Hoseok's teeth dip into the nape of your neck and you go boneless. Hobi laps at the pink skin when he pulls back. you pant openly, incapable of letting out more than whines.

"Let Jinnie see what alpha did to you pup." Jin drops to his knees to look closer and hobi holds you wider.

When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Hobi before you. His smile goes a little teasing.

"This little spot right? It's a very cute little spot, I understand why Hobi bit it."

Hoseok's nose traces your ear. "Don't act like it didn't make you cum." you sniffle but nod. Hoseok's knot throbs at your simple obedience. the way that you agree. It makes Hoseok want to bite you more if it's even possible. He laps at your throat some more to ignore the temptation.

"Oh? Alpha was mean? Let Jinnie kiss it better."

~-~

You end up ordering takeout. Yoongi burnt the meat too bad to be edible.

Later there is this; you cuddled up on his chest, nearly nude, wearing someone's boxers as shorts as you often do post-breeding. You claim it helps you feel closer to your alphas and although stealing clothes is pretty typical of an omega. Jin still teases, "you're not even wearing ours; those are Jungkook's."

Yoongi had stood up, pawing for his phone. "I'm gonna send him a picture- he's gonna love-" Yoongi's fingers pause on your hem. a shocked laugh bursting from his throat. "Hobi you literally left teeth marks on her ass."

Hobi's arms go firmer around you and he's about to apologize when you beat him to the punch. "I like it. If anyone gets angry tell them not to because I liked it. Makes me feel-" You shimmy and hiss at the ache in your body. "Makes me feel like I'm yours again."

There is a lump in Hoseok's throat, and his instincts go just a little more quiet. He's so fixated on that that he hardly hears your next reply, the teasing tone of your voice.

"And besides Jungkook's boxers are so much softer than yours."

"Yah-"

"You little brat." You shake against Hoseok's chest with the force of his laughter. And jump when yoongi reaches out to pinch the bruises. yoongi hadn't cum more than once earlier, and hoseok knows that although the other alpha is the least deprived out of all of them- he's still needy, still a little wound up by seeing it earlier.

They make eye contact over your head and Hoseok feels a little satisfied when yoongi looks away first.

"Fine, be like that, I'm gonna wash all my sweatshirts then and you won't have any left for your nest."

Your expression had gone suddenly panicked, "but- but-"

Now your bellies are full from takeout because Yoongi had actually ruined dinner- granted he had good reason to be distracted. Hoseok feels properly worn down, properly settled, there's still a tiny bit of anxiety in him, and his alpha still looms awfully close. But he knows that won't really go away for a good long while. Not until the whole pack is back here and safe. The doors locked and the windows shuttered.

Yoongi gets up when you ask for water, and Jin gets up when you realize you've neglected to put on your eye cream. Both strange things. In any other world Namjoon and Jimin would have done both of those things for you.

He might just confine them all to your bedroom for their first week back. His alpha likes the idea of that. You purr softly against his chest, and Hoseok holds around you with that same gentleness that he'd been craving earlier, finally capable of it with you smelling like him and the others too. They had only done the bare minimum of cleaning themselves up with lazy swipes of a damp cloth.

With three packmates wrapped around you, Hoseok under you, cheek resting over his heartbeat to listen, Yoongi against your back, and Seokjin at your front Hoseok finally feels like it's enough. You're safe like this. Nothing could ever hurt you.

Not even himself.

A concerning number of bruises trace up your thighs that Hoseok will apologize and worry over tomorrow. Even though you've told him you don't mind them- that you even like them. Everything can wait until tomorrow, healing included. Hoseok finally gets the courage to ask.

"When I came into this room, it set me off. I can tell you were anxious this morning when you woke up. What was it? Was it me?" He has to crane his neck to catch your expression and how your face goes from stricken to polished in a second.

"It was nothing, we handled it." Seokjin tries to smooth over it. But Hoseok’s warning growl cuts him off.

You trace mindless patterns over his heart, and your purr peters off. "I had this weird dream; it was a nightmare and just weird." You pause, looking up at him. Your expression is so calm that Hoseok doesn't believe it for a second. "In the dream you hated me, or at least really didn't like me." Hoseok's hold on you goes just a little tighter like his alpha is offended by the very idea of it. "There was glass everywhere and Tae was wearing pink."

Yoongi speaks, and Hoseok knows he's taking it seriously just trying to make you feel better by being a little silly."That's not that weird, Tae wears pink all the time."

"Only when he steals Jin's clothes."

"Did you know he got ketchup on the last one? I swear these kids-"

You peak up at Hobi tentatively. And he can tell that you're still a little upset by the dream. "Don't worry- I think by the end of the dream we loved each other and anyways-" You kiss his jaw, pecking at it and a lazy growl builds in his chest, spent cock twitching below you. His appetite is insatiable even after three rounds. Once on the floor, and again on the kitchen table. And again here.

"It didn't make any sense; Yoongi was a beta in it and Jinnie was an omega like me." you trace circles over his heart. "It was a bit ridiculous."

Jin ducks low pressing a kiss to your forehead, “yeah, as much as I love you being an omega I don’t know how you handle all of us pawing at you like this. I’d get like so overstimulated. And you’ve told me how sleepy you get.”

“Yeah, it is a little annoying, needing more sleep than you guys do to like. Function.”

"And like I could ever be anything but an alpha." Yoongi looks a little fragile, a little threatened by the dream. Hoseok wonders what else was in it if the other alpha is so on edge. Because there must have been more. “I can’t imagine not having instincts at all.” Jin pinches him and Yoongi jumps.

You don't have to look to know Jin's rolling his eyes. “Yeah like not growling and not nosing after anything that smells even a little bit sweet is such a curse.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it when I was nosing at you yester-“ Yoongi is interrupted by a pillow to the face, feathers fluttering down as you giggle against Hobi's chest.

Hoseok ignores the bickering, still watching you. "What was I in your dream? Was I an alpha?"

"Yes, but you weren't mine." You scoot closer to him, wiggling like just the weight of your body isn't enough to get close enough. Hoseok has a feeling that in a few minutes, you're going to start tugging at the hem of his boxers and ask to cock warm him to sleep. Some nights your omega just doesn't like any distance between you and your pack alpha and now that you have him back you don't want to let him go even a little bit. You could use a plug- but your omega wouldn't like it now that you have the real thing.

(omega plugs are fairly standard, alot of packs make omega's wear them to sleep or when they go out. A physical reminder to the omega soft minded and a way to ensure they're docile. There are even fancy ones that log body temperature, dampness and location. Sending notifications to the alpha's phone and information like rem sleep and lengh of orgasam. The pack has never needed one of those with you.)

Now though hoseok wishes he had some sort of insight into what you're thinking as you rest your cheek on his chest and look up at him. frowning and thinking hard. hoseok's thumb rubs over the nobs of your spine, up and down.

“You kind of hated me and you were so sad. I couldn’t do anything about it. That's what made me anxious- the idea of you being sad and not being able to fix it.”

You turn to nuzzle into his shoulder. The movement is so routine, so normal it almost looks like breathing. Hoseok's heart hurts from it. Your scent smells a little disconcerted, a little worried. Like just the memory of the dream is enough to set you on edge. “Like I said it was a nightmare."

Hoseok just holds you tighter, dragging his cheek along the top of your head. His scenting is a little overkill given the circumstances. any alpha in a 3 mile radius would be able to tell it's him that's claimed you.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough and quiet. "Sounds like a nightmare to me too."

~-~ Stay tuned for the next part ~-~

Notes:

sometimes i feel like i frame certain scenes like i'm not like- writing a story so much as vissually looking at a tv and describing what i'm seeing. this is one of those fics that very much felt like that.

i feel like this story is more of a true story vs a plot. i've made no secret of the fact that what i really like about fanfiction is making a world that you can sink your teeth into- and i feel like this one- this universe with pack alpha hoseok is like- ugh so drippy. like i truly hope you leave reading it and feel frustrated that you're not there- even though not all of the things described in it are good. for that reason i think there's less plot in this. like i just want it to be something that envelops you- not necessarily something that progresses although there definitely is plot to it.

i toyed alot with the idea of having there be shifting wolves in the one. i put that little tidbit in with taehyung just incase i fell like touching on it here. but honestly i may not have enough time.

i think one of the scent fortified drinks that yoongi drank too much of in their trainee days was probably "omegabull" or "omegaster" idk i didn't put it in because it felt too goofy. my favorite redbull is cranberry flavor :) maybe i'd smell like cranberries if i was an omega?

okay so- the pack's scents in this- i know it's not mentioned all that much in the first chapter- but!!! their scents for hoseok and the m/c are what their scents would have been had they not been abused in bily- this universe is sort of a foil of the other one. but yeah- hoseok would have smelled like mangos :( i know not everyone will read bily who reads this so! i tried to make the allusions to it less on the nose than in the first draft.

tbh that little bit with the plates being new, this is a. a bily refrence because remember how yoongi breaks them when she leaves? yeah this version of yoongi also broke dishes when the pack left. BUT ALSO- i do think i wanna touch a bit more on yoongi and her's time alone togeather. i like the idea that in every universe, they have their moment where it's just the two of them.

the scene at the end is just hoseok: ready to pounce on the m/c scared of himself and the idea that he could hurt her meanwhile the m/c: thats hot.

the moment where he says "the object of his frustration and all his desires' is a nod to bridgerton because i was re-watching it and loving it.

if we're being honest i think that beta's might be intersex in this universe, do i really really wanna write jimin and her rubbing their pussies together? yeahhhhhhhh, am i actually gonna write it??? probably not.

566 notes · View notes

just-null · 4 months ago

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pet..... pet au....? you have.... a pet au for the clones....?

PLEASEEEE SHARE SOME THOUGHTS AB IT😭😭😭😭❤️ I was reading a pet au Hantengu fic way back when and the person never got past chapter 3 and it's been rotting my mind. I love love love pet aus when the dynamics are just right and not weirdly predatory with the pet characters and I love your little ideas for stuff🤗🤗 Share if you feel like it, I'll be eagerly awaiting.

(Also please don't exclude Zoha in this endeavor I love that little man)

The Hantengus!! A lot of cat boys..

Context behind a lot of the language in my pet au!

[Cw! Angst(?), referenced sedation, obsessed catboys.. yandere behavior]

Upon meeting them, they're veryyy excited and sweet on you, to the point where they seem TOO familiar. As if meeting a long distant lover.. With their overly friendly greetings, all the warnings and caution from staff seem like an exaggeration, if not a complete lie.

Records show that they're not even related despite sharing eerily similar features, and having only met not too long ago. You'd never guess by how they're so perfectly coordinated. Using said coordination, they simultaneously surround you.

Constant brushes, crowding, wanting your hands on them so bad, they take whatever you're holding. It's not uncommon that they begin purring just because you're around. They quickly flip from being sweet to eager entitled of your time if allowed.

To say they're overwhelming is an understatement, but the staff practically beg you to help with the bunch.

The boys aren't complaining! They're extremely pushy and insist on staying at your place instead of the hybrid shelter, maybe a few times a week? Please!? Regardless, if you say no, you might find them in your home—and a patched up broken window—when you've been gone a while.

Ah— if you hear knocking at your door, just don't tell anyone that they're here, yeah..? Y'know what? How about you just forget about answering it at all!

Sekido is tolerant when you're around. All the fire left his body, leaving small smoldering embers. His flare ups are only a real issue if there's someone unfamiliar around or giving you a hard time. Otherwise, he's pretty content with lazing about or helping with any work you have. He likes being of use to you. He gets irritated, stressed, when you lift a finger, a habit you can tell he's used to, and swats at you for any bad habits you have. Though that goes out the window if your hand's on him. It's a wonder if he's more of a dog than a cat until he starts scratching. He's just really tired.. Karaku is mischievous but doesn't cause trouble. At least, not like he used to, not as long as he has his daily dose of you. It's like he did a complete switch, the staff say, smiling randomly and rambling in an airy tone about how this is heaven on earth! How could anyone feel down around you? It must be those charms of yours. Staying indoors is okay, but he constantly nudges you to go out with him, or entirely dragging you out. Show him around places you like to frequent so you two can experience it together, maybe have some souvenirs? Wouldn't that be fun? On the days you decline, you can find him staring at the little trinkets from past dates with fondness. Urogi always has so much he wants to tell you. He can honestly talk and pace for days without stopping if it'll keep your attention. If it doesn't, he WILL cry. His mind is faster than his mouth, and stories end up garbled and hard to follow.. Sometimes, they aren't about this life, and when referring to you, it's like he's remembering a version of you.. It always ends the same. His expression gets bleak then snaps back to blissful. A content smile replacing the strained one he wore prior as he embraces you, taking a moment to feel your weight against his. Aizetsu sits in corners and watches you through cracks in the door. You can find him somewhere in your room or general area.. looking at you.. his pupils so dilated that you barely see the blue ring at the edge. He can stand still for hours until you get up or reach for something. He's already got it for you. He's combative with Sekido for that service role. Unlike his "brother," Aizetsu's movements are measured, rushed. Like something will be taken away if he doesn't act fast, so he one ups everyone and reads you before you even ask for something. Zohakuten is annoying but doesn't try to give you a hard time. He's the most demanding, always extending his arms for you to come over and hug him. At first, you can feel the tension he holds all over his body, digging his claws into your side, then like goo, he melts. It's a double edged sword since letting go makes him twice as irritated as before. He'll brat occasionally, pushing something off a counter or banging on the windows, yelling at the stranger on the other side to get lost. No one is the victim of this more than the other four. Whereas Zohakuten would start a fight with anyone else, he just annoys the other four.

The weariness hangs heavier in their eyes than the usual hybrids, but they dont like talking about it in detail. As you could guess, prior to this overwhelming clinginess, there were rivers of agonizing desperation.

———

In this life, the boys didn't have the liberty to grow up together like usual. They were born of different parents scattered throughout the region. This wasn't the first time it happened, but they hated when it did, especially Hantengu.

Each second Hantengu's away from his boys is agony. He spent so long waiting for them to be reborn just so that they're so far away!? All he can think of are the possible ways he might die and restart the damn cycle without even having the chance to see you. He's been alive for a while now, but he's too terrified to go far on his own, so he's barely made any progress!

What if something happens and he doesn't even get to meet you? now THAT would be a fate worse than the cycle.. His caretakers are stumped on what to do with him. Any attempt at calming him down were met with opposition.

The boys are as you expect. They kept acting out in hostility and showed no sign of calming down the longer they're apart. Being moved from shelter to shelter didn't help, neither did getting handled like feral animals even if, in a way, they were.

Only the thought of you kept them going, so did the knowledge that if they found you, there's a high chance they'd find each other. You always seemed to fix everything just by being there, didn't you? So they kept hopping from shelter to shelter, some familiar, some new.

Hantengu was the first to end up in the hybrid shelter near you, then the others trickled in. It would've been decades since they've last seen each other, and based on how they're fairing, no one had it easy.

Sekido was a stray trying to stay out of shelters altogether. He did his best to keep his features hidden, both gathering info about you and the others. He made good progress, pretending to be a potential housing candidate, but he'd always get hostile with people eventually, exposing himself and having the authorities called to force him into a shelter. Each time, it felt like prison because of all the restrictions and drugs.. Like hell if this was gonna stop him. Once his limbs stop feeling like jelly, he's going to find a way out of this damn place!! Again!! In his wait, at least he can pass the time by thinking about his favorite memories of you. Karaku was mostly alright, but transferred often because his very presence made the behaviors of those around him worse. He always used the "I didn't throw the first punch" excuse, but never mentioned his constant goading and spreading seeds of doubt about forgiveness that led to agitation amongst his peers. Not only towards other hybrids but staff as well. Call it sadism or nihilism, but Karaku's favorite pass time was making everyone believe that these rehabilitation shelters were nothing but a waste. The dull, empty eyes staring back at them proved it. In reality, Karaku took pleasure in the fragility of other hybrids. It took the edge off of his own anguish. Urogi always talked about you no matter where he ended up, usually causing a wave of eye rolls. But there's always that one hybrid who doesn't know how to keep their thoughts to themselves. Thus starting Urogi's rampage, watching the red streaks of other hybrids drip down their wounds, spitting at them for daring to talk bad about you. Then came the forced transfers. He loved it, honestly. His mind floated, feeling like he was a bird again, flying to you.. then the plummet when the drugs wore off that he didn't enjoy as much. With a renewed sense of determination and a strong longing for his wings, he began yapping again. Aizetsu, like Sekido, hid his features, calm enough to stay hidden. He kept to himself, mindlessly walking anywhere and everywhere with the tiniest grain of hope that he might find you there. No terrain, weather, or event would stop him from trudging through miles of land, following his intuition to where he thinks you could be. He'd be so focused on you that he'd go days without water or food, feet covered in blisters from the endless dragging across the ground before everything went dark. Waking up in a shelter always reminded him how disappointing his body was for collapsing on him. Hm.. he'll stay and recover for now, once he feels ready, he'll take some food and go again. Zohakuten raised hell, frequently ending up in confined spaces. Because he was young, he had more restrictions to ensure his safety. That only made escaping a huge hassle.. He hated being treated like a foolish boy when he's been through horrors worse than adult scissors! The confinement and restrictions ended up being for everyone else's safety after staff realized how common Zohakuten destroyed and mangled anyone in his vicinity. A familiar prick on his skin came after his small bruised hands demolished the common area, then the heaviness of his limbs settled in. Loud thumps came from the deepest part of the shelter as he banged on the walls to be released once the drugs wore off.

Their status as "lost souls" is no secret when they began tormenting anyone who tried to house them and the employees. It seems they've met the other lost and guiding souls in the shelter before with how they interact. For better and worse, at least the guiding souls temper their mischief.

They try forming a plan on how to find you next if this shelter doesn't show any results. It'd be faster to get transferred now that they're grouped up. And like the heavens opened up, they quickly realized that won't be necessary anymore once they catch a glimpse of the light they yearned for these three recent lifetimes, you. It's you.. You!

Any and all complaints are cut short when they make a habit out of gathering near the front glass of the shelter, waiting for you to walk in or pass by. Their demeanor shift is so sudden the caretakers worry they might've accidentally dropped some pills into their food. It's not like that, unless your presence counts as a drug!

#null rot #null gospel #cloaked cult member #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #hantengu x reader #yandere hantengu #hantengu #hantengu clones #sekido #karaku #urogi #aizetsu #Zohakuten #null kny pet au #NODDDSSS #ARE WE THE SAME PERSON CAUSE I MIGHT KNOW WHAT FIC YOURE TALKING ABOUT #Ive seen a popular pet au from another creator and PERSONALLY i LOVE IT. SHES SO POWERFUL I'm not strong enough to go that far w angst yET #but brooooo i INJECT THAT SHIT INTO MY VEINS!!!! WHEN SHE WROTE ABOUT THE CLONES!!!!!! AAAAA TYSM MY GODDESS!!!!!!!!!!#If I'd known the au would evolve like this. I'd put more thought into what they'd be...#my boys.. baby baby.... honestly i can see this au being the one where sekido smiles....... THATS how happy they all are to see you #THEYRE JUST LITTLE GUYS. YOUR HONOR..... LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!! OUGHGHGHGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#BEHIND EVERY BRAT IS JUST A LITTLE GUY!!!!!!!#that second drawing btw is what they look like when you kick them out of your room. they wait outside like that if not beggin to be let in

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glossdebut · 8 days ago

Text

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 06

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ 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.

✧ 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

✧ 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)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 14k words

✧ 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!

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

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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notlongtolove · 8 months ago

Text

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for.

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+.

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.”

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.”

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.”

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside.

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking.

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide.

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that… that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side.

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you.

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences.

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.”

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable.

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty.

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that."

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature.

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again.

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much.

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’.

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course.

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out.

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.”

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh.

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.”

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much.

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers.

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A.

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you.

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him.

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

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