Holy Shit That Was A Chapter!! Really Love The Way We Finally Got To Hear Readers Background And Understand

Holy shit that was a chapter!! Really love the way we finally got to hear reader’s background and understand why she feels the way she does. Truly sad to be shouldering so much grief and thinking it’s all her fault, bby everyone needs love omg 😭😭. Ah Yoongi, what will we do with Mr Hot and Cold. I’m kinda nervous if he did hear them. They’re obv not a thing and she don’t owe him shit but this back and forth tbh thing hearing them after what happened between them got me sweating and nervous!! But also AHHHH SKDJFJOSAK WE FONALLY GOT A NAMJOON FOCUS CHAPTER!!!! Thank you 🥹💗💗

Grey Area | Unorthodox 25

Rating/genre: M (18+); smut 💖, fluff, light angst; Idol!AU Pairings: Namjoon x Reader(f) (in the series: OT7 x Reader(f), Taehyung x Jimin, and more) Summary: Is Namjoon in or out? Warnings: Explicit smut, protected vaginal penetration, fingering, grinding, a bit of teasing, use of 'baby', 'baby girl', 'good girl', Joon has a really big dick, a bit of begging/neediness, ENM boundary discussions, vague discussion of past relationships and guilt, explicit consent, manhandling, cowgirl, reader wears some of Joon's clothes and they are big on her, size kink? sort of? Word Count: 6.1k Posted: April 24, 2023

A/N: Sorry about the wait on this, lovely readers. The writer's block seems to have eased significantly - yay! This chapter isn't super long but ummm I like it. I hope my Namjoon girlies are ready lol

Series Masterlist - chapters with smut are marked with a 💖 if that’s all you’re looking for!

As much as you knew it would be fine, something held you back from mentioning the kiss once you got back in the hot tub. You could tell yourself that it was just that you didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the conversation but– was that really all it was? Or was it just dizzyingly exciting having Yoongi’s touch on you? So much so that you wanted to keep it your giddy little secret for a bit longer. 

Plus, they already knew about New Years so it didn’t truly feel like hiding anything. No, it was more akin to how you didn’t make an announcement anytime one of the others kissed you. There was no need to do so for Yoongi.

Still, it took a good few minutes to stop thinking about it and actually focus on the other five as they continued chatting away through another round of drinks. 

Hobi got out first to head to bed. Then Jimin and Tae were calling it a night not too long after. Jungkook trailed after them. There was a pull with each of them but it almost made it too much to process, too many options for who to go with, especially after such an… interesting night. 

But when Namjoon didn’t move, instead letting his head rest back against the side of the tub as he looked over at you, you realized you wanted to stay out a little longer. Maybe it was an invitation in itself – you didn’t want to be presumptuous – but his eyes were smiling, looking at you in the low lighting, pulling you straight in as the door sealed shut behind Jungkook. 

“You’ve gotta be a raisin by now,” he said softly, finding one of your hands under the water and pulling it above just enough to be able to see his thumb run over the wrinkles on the pads of your fingers.

“I think I’m cooked all the way through, yeah,” you played back softly, making him chuckle. It felt so quiet out there now with just the two of you, all the ruckus having left with the three youngest. You scooted a little closer, sliding on the smooth seat until your knee was gently pressed against his thigh then resting your head similarly to his, nice and relaxed. 

He kept holding your hand, letting them fall together back into the warmth as he smirked. “Do you want to get out?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” you replied, purposely trying to be a little coy. It was hard with Joon. He was so unbelievably sexy but the line of what was too far was still clouded with him. Sure, you could flirt but you had to hold yourself back from insinuating anything too overtly. In the name of not rushing things.  

You let your leg float up and over his, finding a bit more physical contact. That wasn’t too far at least – a fact that was confirmed when his other hand came to rest firmly on it, pulling it tighter to him so it lay higher up on his lap. Immediately, that helped quell any hesitancy. 

He watched you for a moment as you watched him. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you said with a little nod. “What were you up to?”

“Had some plans with friends.”

“That’s very vague,” you told him through a smirk. 

He chuckled before squeezing your hand. “It’s nothing exciting. We literally got food and talked about a bunch of random stuff.”

“I’m just bugging,” you teased further, endeared by his earnest answer. 

“I know, I know,” he replied with a little eye roll but his smile was still a little bashful. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing much,” you said casually, trying not to think about what had gone on with any of the maknae line hard enough for it to show on your face. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, and it surprised you that it came off a little challenging, his brows jumping up slightly. All you could do was smile a little wider in return because trying to elaborate on your day would just sound worse. “You’re incredible,” he added dryly with a little chuckle and shake of his head.

“Why?”

“It’s almost infuriating how likeable you are.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you pushed back dismissively. 

“It’s not the same.”

“It is. You’re practically perfect so I don’t know what you’re going on about,” you continued, looking past him a bit so that you wouldn’t have to watch his face at the steep compliment. 

He scoffed cutely and you could see in your periphery that he too was now looking off, eyes probably catching onto whatever stars he could see behind you. 

When his thumb started to rub over your thigh, it drew your attention back to him.

“I don’t want to get confused.”

The words made you blink at him. Not that he was overly serious about it but you could sense the slight change in his tone, the way he was looking at you a little differently now when his eyes met yours. “I don’t want that either,” you agreed.

“Like, I really want to kiss you…” he began lightly, eyes darting away again for the few words as if too shy to say them right to you. “But, uh…” He settled back on you, hand gripping your thigh gently. “I think the separation of what this is and what a relationship is is kind of unclear to me.”

Mm. Very understandable.

“Like, we’re in this grey area,” he continued, his hand lifting to move in the water with his words. “Between friends and something else. Which is fine. But I… I think I need it to be outlined better. For me and… maybe for all of us.”

You nodded as he finished. “Yeah… No, you’re right. It is a grey area. So, defining it’s definitely a good idea…” For a brief moment, you paused, looking at nothing in particular as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I guess… for me, the distinction isn’t so much about behaviour. Because, it’s not really all that different when it comes to, like, physical affection and stuff.

“But it’s more so about feelings and intention and commitment. Like, in an actual relationship, there’s going to be romantic feelings involved. And with that comes expectations, even if that doesn’t become obvious right away… Because when you fall in love with someone and they fall in love with you, you do begin to expect to continue to receive that love, right? And most people begin to expect a certain amount of time and energy devoted to them. … Most people would also expect a certain level of commitment and plans for the future that involve a partnership, and a marriage and kids, etc...” You let go of his hand to be able to gesture, creating a sphere with your hands. “And that all falls under a romantic relationship to me. Like, a romantic love.”

He nodded a little, clearly listening closely though he didn’t make a move to speak. 

“That’s the stuff that I don’t feel like I can give or that I don’t think I want. But all the other stuff… the affection, the intimacy, the care, the sex… I’m very comfortable sharing that with people. It’s just a different kind of care or a different kind of love than one can expect from being in love with someone.” You watched him for a moment before adding: “Because obviously I do care about you guys at this point. Like, a lot,” you admitted with a smile. 

He let a little smile pass over his lips too as he processed, taking in everything. “So, it’s about expectation,” he said finally, not quite a statement but not quite a question. 

“Hmm… I guess so, yeah.” Damn, he really simplified that so easily. “I think people can enjoy a closeness, whether that be emotional or mental or physical or whatever, without needing to be in love, and expecting to become someone’s everything.”

“Mm,” he hummed, nodding once more as his hands started to trace absentmindedly by your knee. “The true friends-with-benefits.”

You let out a little chuckle, surprised at his little joke. “Yeah. Exactly, though. Like that’s really honestly how I see it. As a real friendship but with all the fun parts of a romantic relationship added in.”

“You don’t find the other stuff fun?”

It took you a second to find the right way to answer that one, Namjoon’s eyes watching you closely. “It’s not that really. It’s just… not sustainable for me,” you explained slowly, trying to pick the right words. 

“Why?” he asked, it coming out so gently even as it made your stomach tense a little. 

“I mean, like I told you guys a while ago: I’ve hurt people before and I hate it. It’s the worst feeling in the whole world. And if I let feelings into the mix then people end up geting hurt.” 

“You don’t want people to have expectations of you, so then you can’t let them down,” he articulated too well.

With a tiny sigh, you shot him a sad little smile and he mirrored it, studying your eyes closely. It was so obvious how right he was.

“I mean, I get it. I hate hurting people, hate disappointing people. But also, it doesn’t mean everything is your fault if something doesn’t work out.”

“It does if I’m always the one breaking someone else’s heart.” 

His brows pushed together slightly. 

“I… I don’t know. But, that’s why it just seems like the right call to keep things in a grey area. If I don’t fall in love then I can’t fall out of love, right?” you asked rhetorically, rounded eyes looking right into his. But part of you kind of hoped he’d have an answer to all of this, some solution to why the feelings always went away. 

Because all you could come up with is that everything is fleeting. Everything comes to an end. Nothing is forever.  

The in-love feeling would always go away. That’s what you were afraid of. Because that’s what had happened every time. And it always seemed to hit you before the other person, leaving you to try and carefully maneuver a break-up that you’d never imagined happening in the first place. 

You couldn’t do it again. 

“Damn,” he said simply, softly, resting his head back against the tub. “That just doesn’t sound like a way to live.”

It felt nice, how non-judgemental he seemed. Not that you’d expected him to be in the first place. But still, he’d been too on the nose when he’d jokingly called you a ‘heartbreaker’ on one of those first nights. You didn’t feel like a heartbreaker. You hated it. You would literally rather never be in love again than have to tell someone else you didn’t feel the same way for them anymore. 

“That’s just how it has to be, I think,” you said with a little shrug but you couldn’t hide the tinge of emptiness in your voice.

“Do you think you can be satisfied with that?” he asked, his expression as warm as it was curious. His hand, now back on your thigh, pulled you a little closer in the water.

“Yeah, I think I can,” you replied. You’d thought about it a lot. “Because I still get to have these close connections, you know? I still find so much enjoyment and comfort in being involved with people in this capacity. Even if I never imagined to do it quite like this,” you said, breathing out a little laugh. 

“You didn’t plan to get involved with a whole group of friends?” he played. “Celebrities especially,” he added, letting out his only little chuckle. 

“Not really something I could have foreseen,” you joked, letting your free hand trace along his forearm. Talking to Namjoon was so comforting that you just ended up feeling even more at ease whenever the two of you talked. This kind of stuff had so not been on your mind tonight but he was always so quick and understanding and calming that you didn’t even mind that this was the direction the conversation had taken. 

“Are you feeling good about it still?” he asked, leaning in a little closer as if to see your face a bit better. 

It was a little distracting though, having him, all sweet and handsome, right in front of you. You nodded to his question. “Are you?” you asked after another moment of trying not to kiss him. 

“I think so,” he said more quickly and confidently than you were expecting. 

“Does that mean I can kiss you now?” you whispered.

His cheeks rounded, showing off his dimples, and then he was leaning in the rest of the way, catching your mouth with his. It started off so slow, innocent even, just lips caressing while hands gripped a bit more firmly.

But before you knew it, he was pulling you so easily through the water onto his lap, a leg on either side until your pelvis was right over his and his arms were wrapping around you to keep you in place. 

You were turned on practically instantly, like a spark being lit inside of you. This whole day had just been too much for you to still not have received any relief. And now Namjoon was the one facing the consequences, your thighs squeezing on his hips, while your arms looped around his neck to do the same. 

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind, matching the way you were melting into the kiss, tongues pressing forward to languidly brush together. Your body wiggled, hips swirling just a little, desperate for something to rub against. It hit you right away, a strike of embarrassment at how pathetic you felt. And then you were pulling back, soft apologies falling out as you stilled your movements. 

He looked at you surprised, not loosening his hold even when you did. “What? What?” he whispered, gaze bouncing from your one eye to the other. 

“Sorry, I’m just–... I’m really…” You took in a breath trying to find a way to give him an explanation without embarrassing yourself further. Just saying you were fucking horny felt so… crass.

His head tilted when you looked away, trying to follow. It took you chuckling a little for him to let out a breathy one of his own. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah…” You looked into his eyes once more, tongue licking over your lips without even realizing. Another bashful smile. “I’m a little… keyed up.”

“Keyed up…?” he repeated. You couldn’t tell whether the quirk of his eyebrow was more genuine or teasing. But when his arms slid further, connecting behind you, pulling you down onto him more solidly and making you almost moan, you had a better idea. 

“Uh-huh,” you hummed with a little nod, trying desperately not to squirm against the bulge pressed between your legs. 

“Keyed up from what?” Yeah, he was definitely teasing you now, head tilting the other way cutely.

Your eyes fell shut, lips pressing into a flat smile. “Joon…” you whined, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder.

His hands wandered up your back, firm and comforting. “Mm? You don’t want to tell me?”

“I’m sure you can use that big brain of yours and imagine.”

That made him laugh, enough to feel it vibrate against you. He turned his head towards you, prompting you to lift up. “Come here,” he whispered before pressing your mouths together again. “Mm, can I help?” he asked between kisses, each one getting a little more heated, bodies unable to stay still once more. 

“I can’t take anymore teasing,” you complained, feeling him smile against you. 

“I’m not trying to tease.”

You moaned a little into his mouth, hips sliding forward to grind down on him. “Really?” God, you sounded so gone already, almost innocently so, praying he wasn’t going to slow things down once again. This was what hours of – what was effectively – foreplay did to you apparently. 

“You’re sober, right?” he asked, pulling back just enough.

“Yeah, only one drink,” you got out in a rushed breath before you were kissing again, his hands running over your body, squeezing wherever they could. “Joon, I’m serious,” you complained when you broke apart, the grip you had on his shoulders sliding down over his chest, appreciating the rounds of his muscles disappearing into the water as you went further down. “I need to feel you. Please. Before I go insane.”

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, blinking and looking off to the side as if trying to clear his mind enough to think. “That needy, huh?” It was so gentle, stunned a little as he looked back at you and the way you were rocking into him, bumping your core against his cock, now starting to strain in his swimsuit. 

“Yes, really. I feel like I’ve been wet for hours.” Your finger found his waistband, tugging at it lightly, testing, as you practically pouted at him.

“What did they do to you?” he breathed through a good-natured chuckle. 

“I can show you,” you replied, the idea sparking in your mind and instantly becoming the only thing you could think about. You reached to find one of the hands that had settled on your ass, pulling it around you until you could press it flat over your core, his fingers curving instantly to cup you over the underwear you had on. You were positive he’d be able to feel the slippery wetness seeping through the cotton fabric. 

“He was touching me. Under the water,” you said, a little meek, but your desperation was still running the show.

“Who?” he asked, surprising you and making you flush a little hotter than you already were. 

Your mouth opened and it took another second for you to mumble out Jungkook’s name as you watched Namjoon, his eyes somehow so soft, but also curious and dark with lust. It didn’t need to be said that it was in front of the others.

He moved his hand slightly, just so the tips of two fingers could prod gently at your entrance. You got to watch, biting your lip, on the verge of a moan as he felt your pussy clench, his eyes falling shut in response. Then he moved a bit more, sliding them forward to trace lightly over your clit. 

You shivered. “Joon.”

“Like this? Was he touching you here?”

Fuck, you thought he was going to drop the mention of JK as quickly as possible. But apparently not. “Not… not quite,” you whispered, reaching to slide your panties to the side so his fingers were brushing right against your hard clit, the movement made too easy by all your arousal. “L-like this…Ah, shit.” Your free hand gripped his shoulder tightly once more – for leverage. 

“So wet…” He was whispering now too, his other hand sliding up to rest on your neck before carefully guiding you back to his lips. He kissed you like he worked his fingers, slow but with steadily growing purpose until you were tilting your hips forward and back a bit frantically, essentially humping his hand. “Fuck, baby girl.”

“Shit, don’t say that,” you gasped, the words dropping from your mouth before you could think about them. 

“What, why?” he asked, pulling back enough to look into your eyes.

“I don’t know. It’ll make me come or something.”

His smile was one of relief and a stunned desire. “You don’t know?” he said, a second later, once he’d seemed to collect himself. Did his voice get even deeper? What the fuck. 

“I don’t know, it’s fucking hot when you say it.”

“Oh my god…” he groaned, letting his head fall back to rest against the side of the tub. “You’re going to make me go crazy.”

“You could…” you began, breathless and conjuring your courage to talk dirty a little more than you were used to. “You could go crazy with your dick inside me.”

“That– that sounds good,” he stuttered out, impossibly deep. “Can’t out here though.”

“Your room? Now? Please?” you said, quickly becoming demanding, in the most pathetic kind of way, as soon as it hit you that of course, you couldn’t out here. 

“Uh-huh,” he groaned, removing his hand and quickly standing up with you, keeping a hand on you the whole time the two of you climbed out and grabbed his towel. 

“Where’s your towel?”

Oh.

Yoongi’s room.

“Ugh, I left it inside, I guess.”

“Here.” He wrapped you up so quickly you couldn’t even protest, then ushered you through the door into the upstairs hallway. “Don’t slip,” he added in a whisper when you took a few steps ahead of him while he locked up. 

You couldn’t help the little giggle, twisting your head to smirk at him and his cuteness as you tip-toed wet splotches along the hardwood. Whoops. 

His room was close, no run-ins between anyone else and his boner thankfully. Inside, you shivered melodramatically as you tried to run the towel over your body as quickly as possible, missing about a hundred water droplets. Then the towel was tossed at Joon to do the same as you paused, looking between him and his cozy bed. 

“I… I don’t want to get your bed wet.”

He laughed, like you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen then threw the towel to the floor. “Let’s fix that then,” he teased as he came closer, hot lips catching yours as his fingers aptly maneuvered the clasp of your bra, letting it fall loose on your chest. Without even taking a second, his thumbs were tucked into the edges of your soaked underwear, wiggling them down until they could fall to your feet. 

Meanwhile, you worked on his bottoms, trying to deal with the fact that he was so hard. And so big. And just, completely making your head spin. 

Naked and shivering, you climbed onto the bed together, him switching on a bedside light to replace the overhead. 

You flipped onto your ass, meeting his eyes as you grabbed his arm a little roughly to pull him to you. “You tease me for one more minute and I swear to god…” You were obviously playing… But also, had you been edged twenty times during the day or was your blinded mind just exaggerating?

“I’m not meaning to tease you, really,” he said genuinely, climbing under the covers on top of you to attempt to create some warmth. “I just… want to feel you.” With that, his hand slid up your thigh again, slipping over your folds and bringing out that breathy ‘ah’ of pleasure once more. 

“Mm, ok,” you sighed, drawn to his mouth again. You let your hands cup his jaw before sliding back into his hair, tongue licking into his mouth, caressing his. You couldn’t stop twitching, each time his fingers rubbed over your clit. So fucking sensitive. “I’m not kidding, I’m gonna cry if I don’t come soon,” you whimpered against his lips, only half joking. 

“Then come,” he said so sumptuously just as he let two thick fingers plunge smoothly inside you. It caught you off guard, a loud gasp turning to a sob as your walls tightened hard around him. He was certainly not going to tease you. Not with the way he sunk in again a second later, all the way to the knuckle, making sure you felt all of him. 

“Fuck, oh my god–” you cried, gripping his hair tighter than you meant to. Your hips waved up instinctively, meeting the drives of his hand until you were putty, “ah, ah, ahhhhh’-ing into his mouth, practically shaking in his embrace from the force of your high.

You would’ve been a little embarrassed maybe, sobbing this much with someone you were having sex with for the first time. But Joon felt so safe – it was never even a thought in your mind, not when your body was now warm on every inch from the way his fingers were curving up inside of you, even still, even as you came down and you found yourself struggling to take in full breaths. 

“God, you are fucking gorgeous,” he rasped, propped up on one elbow over you as he continued to work his fingers, slower now, just watching the way the sensations melted across your face. “Wow,” he added, quieter, a little breathless himself. 

“Yeah…wow,” you told him with a little nod, your eyes finally fluttering open. When you looked into each other's eyes, you both couldn’t help but smile, almost on the brink of a little laugh. 

Instead, he tucked his face by your neck, pushing it into the pillow as he groaned. “Baby,” he said, the words totally muffled. 

“What?” you asked, hands running down his back, feeling how his skin was so smooth and hot now too. 

He turned his head just enough to be heard better. “Can I still fuck you?” Those words, in his gorgeous voice, mixed with a needy tone? It just made you want to come again immediately. 

“Please. Fuck, yes,” you replied after the shortest moment of processing. Your arms wrapped around him, about to pull him where you wanted him. But together, you realized, him crawling over you to the nightstand just as you loosened your grip. 

Protection acquired, he came back to you only to find you pressing on his shoulders, giving you the space to sit up. 

“Can you…?” you asked, gesturing to the headboard with a tilt of your head. 

He smirked at you just a bit, eyes narrowing, before swiftly doing so, pulling you into his lap until you were seated exactly as you wanted, just the same as the first night you’d spent in his room – but now with much less clothing between you.

With a tiny press of your hips forward, you were able to rub against his length, spreading your juices up and down the underside. 

A steady hold on your waist, a deep breath, he watched, pressing his lips together, clearly trying to stop the way his eyes wanted to roll into the back of his head. When he looked down, you followed his gaze, moaning with him at the sight of his thick cock slipping so slowly between your lips. 

Then you reached down to wrap your fingers around him, feeling how big he was in your hand. Was he the biggest out of the five? The thought made you want to laugh, stupidly entertained, but you held it back entirely, biting your lip instead through your little smile. 

“You’re teasing me now,” he said softly, not even a hint of the whining and pouting you had been doing. 

You smiled wider, trying your best to think clearly with the drag of your clit along him. “Baby girl gets what she wants, right?”

An air of an indignant laugh then his brows were pushing up a little, the look on his face suddenly a little cocky. “I hope you don’t think that’s how this is going to go.”

Those words, you had not been expecting; they sent an icy thrill through you. “No?” you asked sweetly, lifting your hips up until his tip was nudging at your entrance.

Another deep breath from him as he looked at you with amused eyes. “For tonight, sure. But, typically – no,” he explained further, the final ‘no’ coming out firm with a little shake of his head. 

You licked your lips. God, the idea of him putting you in your place was just making you wetter, your body sinking down on him just a bit until you started to feel the stretch, and a little breathy moan came out. Damn, he really was thick.

“Fuck…” he sighed, hands absentmindedly pushing down on your hips a little while you tried not to let him conduct you. Not yet. 

You squeezed around the tip, groaning together as you fell forward a little, catching yourself on his shoulders. “You like it better when I’m good?” you whispered teasingly, so quiet with how his cock expanding your walls was choking you up. 

He let out a guttural sound, almost out of frustration, but you could feel him pulsing inside you, now halfway in. He seemed to be fighting himself, wanting to slide you down all the way but also not letting himself be forceful with you. “Y/N-ah,” he grumbled.

It was almost cute, the way his eyebrows were pushing together, eyes falling closed until he was blinking them open to stare at you, refusing to plead. 

“Want me to be good for you?” you asked once more, sliding in a bit farther, your breath hitching at how deep he was already. 

“Baby, if you’re good for me, you can have whatever you want,” he rushed out, hands gripping harder at your hips, head pushing back into the headboard. Good answer.

You sunk down the last inch, ass fully flush against his pelvis, his cock reaching into your tummy. “Fuuuck, Joon…” you moaned, immediately beginning to swirl your hips a little. “Can feel you all the way up here,” you gasped out, pressing into your abdomen to show him. 

He just cursed again, sounding like he was being tortured. “Baby girl, you gotta move.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in compliance, the pet name making it easy to give in, before starting to lift, feeling the wet drag against your walls. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he rasped before pulling you into a deep kiss, one hand locked on the back on your neck while the other began to guide your hips in a slow bounce. 

There weren’t many thoughts in your head but the one you could discern was simple: you could certainly be good for Namjoon. Sure, you still naturally wanted to be a bit difficult but something about those praising words floating into your ears made you melt. You just wanted more and more. 

“You’re big – god–” you told him into his mouth, the words tapering off into a whimper as you tightened around him each time you lifted, like your body was trying to keep him inside. 

“I wanna– here,” he said, holding you still a moment while he shifted himself down the bed so he could lay against the pillow. The new position allowed him to fuck up into you, pulling sharp gasps and groans from you as you tried to stabilize yourself above him, a hand tangling in his hair, face lodged in the pillow.

His pace was steady, wiping your mind each time you tried to form a thought. You had tried to move to meet his thrusts but quickly gave up on that idea when he fucked you faster, ragged breaths and low praises hummed into your ear. 

“Holy shit–” you cried, a bit of drool no doubt coming out onto the linens. 

“Feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He slowed his movements a little bit, waving his hips instead as he caught his breath. “Want to come like this? Or are you going to ride me?”

He stilled and let go of his hold on you so you could sit up, lodging him deeper inside of you.

You ground your hips forward and back, only a few times before starting to fuck him, a hand on the front of each of his burly shoulders. 

Now able to take you in, he let his hands wander up, caressing your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples lightly then harder, pinching them a little as he squeezed each mound. “So fucking pretty, baby girl. Taking me so well.”

You nodded, pussy clenching down on him as you tried to fuck him harder. 

“God, you’re so sexy, fucking me like this. Does it feel good, baby?”

With a shaky sigh, you switched to grinding on him again, giving your achy thighs a little break. “It’s so good–” Sitting up more, you let a hand rest behind you on his thigh while the other came between your legs, rubbing your wetness into your clit, perfectly displayed for him to watch. “Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” you confessed, head falling back.

“Come, baby," he breathed. "Let me feel you come around my cock.”

“Oh, fuck–” You wanted him to keep talking. He was talking more than you could’ve expected and it was killing you. “Joon–”

“Yeah, baby?” he breathed, scratching his nails lightly down your sides, over your hips, down your thighs. 

“Want you to come too.”

“Can I flip you over?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned, not even opening your eyes or making a move to get off him. 

Suddenly, you were being whipped around, legs in the air as he pinned you down onto the mattress and started pounding into you. Right away, you were crying out, curses falling from you as his thick cock hit deep and hard. It took barely ten more thrusts before you were coming, legs closing around him as you moaned an embarrassing amount of unintelligible whimpers into his neck.

You were twitching underneath him, another jolt of pleasure flying through you with each drive of his hips as he sought out his own high. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby– shit,” he groaned, louder and more pained into your hair until he too was hitting the edge, his body freezing with him flush against you, hot and tensed as he spilled into the condom. 

Finally, you sucked in a breath and let it out in a soft and shaky ‘ahhh’ as you hugged him tight to you. He had fucked you… thoroughly, to the say the least. And after the day you’d had, it was exactly what you had needed. 

After a slow minute, he pushed himself up onto his hands with a little groan of effort, sitting back on his feet so that he could bring an arm up and wipe at the dampness that dotted his hairline. 

You just smiled up at him, still breathing heavy, letting your gaze dance down over his pretty pecs, the brown of his nipples to his stomach, faint abs popping out from under tan skin. Unable to help yourself, you reached up, tracing a finger down the centre of his torso then pressing your hand flat as you felt back up, all the way until he had to bend forward once again to let you continue, which, of course, he did. 

He dropped down a little more at your tug on his shoulder, craning his neck to kiss you when you lifted your chin slightly. It was soft this time, your tongue tracing along his bottom lip then meeting his, swiping over it slowly, sensuously. You really did love kissing him – even more so now with him inside you. 

Leaving your lips, he placed a kiss on your neck, then one lower at the start of your collarbone, before finishing with a warm wet kiss to one nipple, sucking it lightly and making you squeeze around him at the pinprick of stimulation. “You’re so tight,” he groaned out, lips still pressing to your chest. 

“Maybe you’re just huge,” you toyed, giving him a cheeky little smile when he peered up at you. 

“Ok, I’ll take it,” he acquiesced with a grin, then he was sitting up again, looking down at where you were still joined. “I almost don’t even want to move,” he said cutely, with a little shrug. 

You giggled, tilting your head at him as you propped yourself up onto your elbows. 

“But I gotta take care of this,” he continued, holding at the base of the condom as he started to pull out. 

“I’m gonna go pee.” Slipping off the bed, you realized that you didn’t have any clothes, nor were you interested in the slightest in putting your wet undergarments back on. “Hey, can I steal some clothes?” you asked, staring at the damp uninviting towel on the floor as he finished.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, so assuringly, quickly pulling out some cozy sweats for you and a t-shirt, which you promptly pulled on, chuckling with Namjoon when he saw the fit of them on you.

The closest bathroom was right beside Yoongi’s room and you were surprised to see a light on from underneath the door. Then again, Yoongi’s sleeping habits were weird, all the guys’ sleeping habits were weird, really. 

But like clockwork, his door opened just as you were coming out, flicking the light off behind you, leaving the two of you standing just a couple feet apart with you somewhat drowning in Namjoon’s clothes. He had his laptop in his hand, cords hanging, big headphones around his neck. He looked at you and tried to smile. The trying to smile part was obvious. Unfortunately. 

Then he walked off towards the stairs. 

Fuck… 

Had he heard you?

A/N: ok.... hehehe. welp, there's that. i haven't written much smut for Joon yet so this was fun! i hope you enjoyed :) as always, please do let me know if you did. it's incredibly motivating and makes me want to write this series so much when i hear people's thoughts! <3 and thank you! THANK YOU thank you!

Tag List: @jinsquishes @cookiechristie @yoongiigolden @jinkajous, @effielumiere  @bucketofhiros @fontainexpert @sp00kysluut @bangtan-emo @nabiolive @asyamonet22 @notbotheredtho @angelsuni @juju-227592 @the-boy-meets-evil @welcometomyworld13 @ah2002 @aris-ink @here4btsfics @bananamochidaisy @pb89nv​ @mushroom-main​ @hoseokhasmyheartxx​​ @mariegalea​ @bookingsunshine @catchmybreath94 @zandra-42

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Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Right in the feels, my baby he will be back soon 🥹!!

the one where hoseok comes home

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x gn!Reader Type: Drabble // Fluff // Established Relationship AU Rating: SFW — Minors DNI w/ my content, regardless! CW: None 💕 Summary: It’s October 2024 and your life finally — finally — resumes its orbit. WC: .5k A/N: Deviating from my WIPs (ope) because I needed a fix-it fic for, like, reality? Nobody requested this lil baby blurb, unless you count… me. Dedicated to (m)y jihope-biased emotional support moot, @here2bbtstrash

You’d learned more in eighteen months than you had in over eighteen years of formal education.

The first lesson came on your second morning alone: hotteok tastes better when it’s made for you. Even if the cook gets distracted by the background music they themselves are generating. Even if the edges are crispier than they should be, and the centers are a bit gooey, or there’s pre-packaged mix dusting over your previously clean countertops. Even if that hotteok is cold by the time you stop kissing and start eating, you know now that few things in life are sweeter.

He is, of course, but the point still stands.

Showers, you’d learned, are colder when you take them alone. This was a surprise you grappled with for weeks and a confounding reality you still struggle to square. A scientific mystery, then and now.

All of the hot water was yours — exclusively — to use as you pleased. You didn’t have to scramble, soap-covered and squealing, for the prime spot under the shower head. Cold air didn’t nip at your damp skin when you lost territory because you didn’t have to compete for any in the first place. Still, without whole-chested laughter to echo off the walls, not much existed to separate your body from cold porcelain.

The absence of personal space isn’t something you intend to ever take for granted again.

Of all the things you’d realized in your uncharacteristically quiet apartment, one thing hit a little harder:

Love looks different every day.

Sometimes, it comes at an odd angle. It’s spending all thirty minutes of a daily allowance with a phone propped against a faucet. It’s staring up at someone’s chin, watching fondly as they brush their teeth, and smiling when they remember — without being told — to put the cap back on the toothpaste.

Other times, it looks like an Excel spreadsheet of pop culture news, fastidiously collected and organized so that no groundbreaking celebrity gossip goes unreported. It’s incredulous eyes and a scandalized mouth hanging open, interjecting occasionally with, “Wa, jinjja?”

Every now and then, it looks like handwritten letters with thick, black redactions applied after the fact with a far heavier hand. Though you couldn’t tell where in the Republic they came from, you knew — without question — that government censorship does not apply to hastily doodled hearts.

Today, however, love doesn’t look like much of anything because its hands are covering your eyes.

It sounds like clean spoons clattering back into the dishwasher you’d been emptying, entirely unaware that the door down the hall had opened and shut out of earshot. It smells like army-issued shampoo and Thai milk tea from that little spot near the train station, where surprise journeys home occur two days ahead of schedule. And it feels like the ground shifting beneath your fluffy house slippers; the Earth now back on its axis and ready to resume spinning like it should.

Tonight, love will taste like hotteok for dinner — and you won’t have to make it yourself.

Please!! These are so funny 😭😭 I love that we don’t get the question answered either 😝, why does Tae need 100k??

POSITIVE VIBES ONLY! -

[ ot7 x reader ]

WHO’S IN PARIS?

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

tae: can someone wire me 100k?

jk: how do you wire something??

y/n: beats me

namjoon: 100k?

jimin: why?

jin: did you hear lucas left nct LAMSOO

yoongi: who?

hobi: i’m about to raise the roof

yoongi: oh

tae: can someone send me 100k or not omg

y/n: are you not a millionaire???

jk: word on the streets is that he’s a hardcore gambler

jin: ur living room does not count as “the streets”

jk: 😟

y/n: guys kai is enlisting i’m gonna throw up

yoongi: gws

hobi: pretty girl you like peaches 🩷

y/n: you’ll never be him

hobi: 😞

namjoon: why does tae need 100k??

y/n: yeah why does tae need 100k??

jk: let the audience know tae

tae: yes or no can you send it now?

jin: i could but i won’t

yoongi: no

jimin: asked for coffee the other day and you said no

now you want 100k how about you kys

hobi: i’ll send it

y/n: no you won’t

hobi: i won’t send it

jk: bold of you to assume i have 100k

namjoon: jungkook what?

you make more than 100k a day??

jk: okay??

bold of you to assume i have access to my card

namjoon: ??

jin: i don’t even wanna know tbh

y/n: he once ordered a 10k marching band the day after the hamster we had died because he needed to “clear his head”

jimin: you guys had a hamster??

jk: lived one day will miss tony forever ☝🏻

yoongi: this is why we shouldn’t of let the 2 youngest members live together

y/n: jungkook once brought a “picassco” painting of iron man for 50k

jk: is very pretty it’s in my room

hobi: picasso is dead

jk: what

jimin: tae and jennie let’s get into that

tae: let’s not

jin: REAL is that why you need 100k stuck in paris bf of the year?

y/n: RIGHT WHAGT IS GOING ON FR

tae: nothing

namjoon: ?

y/n: be fr tae

tae: are you jealous??

y/n: no

jk: yes

y/n: what

tae: what

jk: ur giving her 100k ofc im jealous

jin: omg?

y/n: FR??

namjoon: ur giving her 100k?

jimin: that’s insane

yoongi: does she not have money?

hobi: her and tae fr twins then

jimin: how is he giving away money he clearly doesn’t have?

tae: i have 100k

jimin: ur not acting like it

namjoon: wait so ur asking us to send you 100k that you already have to give to ur gf?

tae: what??

jk: guys i’m kinda confused rn

tae: i don’t have a gf?

yoongi: bro

jimin: i don’t even care anymore

y/n: tae was dropped as a baby

tae: OMG 😧????

jimin: constantly

tae: wtf namjoon say something this SICK the way they talk to me

namjoon: i give up

y/n: wasn’t talking TO you i try to keep that to a minimum

tae: when she hates you 😍

jk: jennie hates you?

hobi: she’s kinda real for that

tae: stfu about jennie

jk: omgee did you fight??

yoongi: you guys are not real

there’s no way

jimin: the next bitch to send a question mark being shot and killed immediately

y/n: mark lee

hobi: let’s play ball

tae: mid

y/n: MARK LEE MID ARE YOU OUT OF UR MIND???

jimin: …

y/n: if you shoot at kill me that would be considered a hate crime

jimin: it will be worth it

y/n: :c

jk: :3

hobi: :0

yoongi: freaks

namjoon: cute

tae: guys i feel like you don’t actually love and care for me

jk: whaaat ur really cool!

y/n: yikes

jin: jungkook sarcasm says it all tbh

jk: what

jin: nvm he just dumb as hell

jk: ??

jin: ur so cool jungkook!!!!!!

jk: ur coolest jin ^^

jimin: the oldest too

namjoon: don’t start

yoongi: yikes x2

hobi: eeek

jimin: i care for none of you

y/n: ur ugly

jimin: take it back

yoongi: i would put you all in a freezer

namjoon: what?

hobi: cold >.<

jk: does tae still need 100k?

tae: YES

jk: okay

tae: ???

jk: ???

tae: are you not giving it to me?

jk: no?

tae: wtf?

why did you ask then?

jk: cuz i wanted to know if you still needed it?

y/n: all these questions not enough answers

jimin: amen

hobi: queencard

namjoon: i think being in this gc is what taking acid would feel like

jin: druggie

jk: namjoon pls don’t do drugs

yoongi: save me

hobi: so tae is single?

tae: taken by the lord

jimin: i’ve been counting down the days for the lord to take you

tae: when i actually die ur gonna feel an unbearable amount of guilt

y/n: jimin when will you rest omg

jimin: i’m a born hater it’s hard to live like me

yoongi: if i were you i would kms

namjoon: i love having positive conversations with you all

hobi: me 2

jk: is it just me or am i the only one not seeing the positivity rn…

y/n: love you bffs 💓

jk: okay nvm !!!

me after lying saying i’m gonna release more stuff and then just running away 🤭🤭🤭. i’m just silly like that am i gonna regret posting this at 3 am and not proof reading it? possibly but it’s okay i’m back for how long? god knows but the jennie and tae stuff absolutely crazy i must say #gothemtho i have nothing else to add love u kissing you mwah mwah.

He makes my heart go 💥💗

Ohmygawwwwwwd the HEARTACHE!!!! This was such a lovely first chapter and it has me hooked. Please the way I was screaming for her when he attempted to gaslight her for HIS cheating!! Tuh, glad she called him out on his bs and didn’t let deter into a self doubting. With a coworker too?? I totally feel those weird mixed emotions where you’re “supposed” to cry, scream, etc but just feel so empty and I hope our dear reader knows that I’m itself is also an emotion in itself and she can take all the process time she needs 😭 Thank you Sohee for being an amazing friend!! Can’t wait to hear more about the Love Doctor!! ✨

isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable. 

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned. 

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied. 

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read. 

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology. 

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents. 

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door. 

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed. 

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction. 

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing. 

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften. 

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert. 

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing. 

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity. 

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom. 

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon, seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 07.05.2023]

Who knew lawyer talk could be so hot 🥵!! Lmao this was such a wholesome and romantic story !! Ngl I called at the criminal offense line cus all I could think of was “criminal offensive side EYE”

They’re both so coy and playing games like they’re literally already an old married couple 😭😭 took them long enough. Always love love LOVE reading wholesome with a dash of sexy smutty Seokjin stories, thank you for the blessing 🥹🤲🏾

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it. 

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it —  your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain. 

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student all was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance. 

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone. 

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however. 

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs. 

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind. 

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was,” he gestured vaguely, “To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night. 

That rush of warmth you felt then  — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job. 

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted, “Was that a windshield wiper?”  

“No, that was embarrassing.” 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink. 

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours, “And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?” 

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you snort, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —” 

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage. “— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point: 

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off, “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise. 

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning. 

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict? 

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.  

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex. 

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk. 

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer. 

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own. 

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness. 

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars. 

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more. 

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank. 

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now. 

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can. 

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement. 

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No. 

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going. 

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap. 

Once more with feeling: thank god. 

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance. 

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances. 

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it. 

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning. 

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all. 

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded. 

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances,  “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck. 

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you: 

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours. 

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours. 

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?” 

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms. 

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod. 

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh. 

Fuck. 

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you. 

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for. 

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap. 

Strike that. 

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive.  “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.” 

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes. 

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks. 

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs. 

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?” 

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear. 

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.” 

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist. 

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear. 

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow,  he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please. 

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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