Hobi Fics - Tumblr Posts

AUTUMN LEAVES MASTERLIST - Fall 2022 Collaboration

Main Banner: Justine • bangtansmauyeondan. Fic Banners: Dani • persphonesorchid

Contributors: @hamsterclaw @taestefully-in-luv @madbutgloriouspond @persphonesorchid @blog-name-idk @btsstan12 and myself! 🥰

We are ready to warm you up through this sweater weather, when the smell of roasted marshmallows and pumpkin spice waft through the air, with heartwarming stories to carry you through the season!

Warnings are more specified on each writer's blog posts.

•••••

CRIMSON by @btsstan12 - September 17, 2022

Pairing: non-idol! Namjoon X fem! reader Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, crack (a little?) Warnings: none Rating: pg-13 WC: 8k+ Summary: The time when the wind changes and you can feel poetry in the air is autumn. Autumn is also called fall. This time, maybe literally for Namjoon as he falls for the girl with her nose buried in a book. He navigates his small crush on her with crimson cheeks, crunch of leaves and the changing winds.

FALL LIKE MOONDROPS by @madbutgloriouspond - September 24, 2022

Pairing: Jimin x F!Reader Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut Warnings: 18+, smut, car sex, mentions of wonderwall, ​an insane amount of pining, additional tags to be added Summary: University's over and the rest of Jimin's life is about to start but there's one more thing he needs before he's ready to embrace whatever future awaits him.

BERLIN by @hamsterclaw - October 1, 2022

Pairing: Hoseok x F!Reader Genre: Espionage AU, smut, mild angst Warnings: 18+, sex, swearing, mentions of injury Summary: Hoseok and you tried to make it work but you can't... Yet you can't be without each other either.

PICK OF THE PATCH by @taestefully-in-luv - October 8, 2022

Pairing: Taehyung x female reader Genre: fluff, angst, smut, enemies to lovers Rating: M Warnings: swearing, some alcohol consumption, sad oc, feeling lost, feelings of regret, Taehyung is kinda an asshole (for reasons🥺), terminal illness, character death, crying. smut warnings: oral (fem and male rec), protected sex (more smut warnings on actual fic) Summary: You’re a struggling artist with a strong desire to escape so when your mother suddenly calls and asks you to return home to replace her in this years Harvest Festival dance, you never said yes faster. However, she informs you that you’ll be working with another dancer, Kim Taehyung and upon meeting, you decide you do not like him…but right when you think you could grow up and move past it, Taehyung makes it clear that he does not like you either.

AUBURN SKIES by @persphonesorchid - October 15, 2022

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Best friend's sister au, crack (sort of? I'm not funny lmao) Warnings: 18+, smut (exact smut warnings will be included in the post once it's up and ready to go!) Summary: "Autumn is a season that shows us that change can be beautiful" - Everyone knows that if your best friend has a little sister, she's off limits. Yoongi knows this. There's no way he could tell Namjoon that once upon a time you kissed him, drunk in his living room after a break up. So much time's passed since then, too much time to bring it up now, but Yoongi still thinks about it, he's still a little hopeful. Now you're here at the lake house because Namjoon brought you and you clearly have something you want to say to Yoongi. Namjoon's gonna kill him.

(RIGHT) HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER by @blog-name-idk - October 22, 2022

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader Genre: College!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut Word Count: 12,353 Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Vmin being menaces as always Summary: Haunted houses are the opposite of your idea of a good time. But then you punch out a hot zombie who falls for you the same instant his ass hits the ground, and well… maybe they aren't always so bad.

PROMISE by @bangtansmauyeondan - October 29, 2022

Pairing: Seokjin × Fem Reader Genre: established relationship au, angst, fluff Rating: 18+, M Warnings: swearing, smut, jealousy, insecurity, feeling of neglect, alcohol consumption Summary: When you and Seokjin no longer dream of the same dream, and no longer look at the world the same way, you start recalling the promise you made to each other three years ago in front of the altar. Is it a promise that holds true for eternity, or is it a promise that’s meant to be broken?

...𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨...

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ masterlist

━ about: fluff, angst, crack (tiny smut) - the holy trinity/quartet? ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: soulmates are my favourite trope cause of low self-esteem, I hope it is yours as well. The trope, not the issues.

NAMJOON: As it stands to reason, Namjoon knew it was an overcapitalized natural phenomenon with an actual success rate of only 52%. Having just a little over half meant that a whole 47% with a margin error of 1% of the entire world nor had, nor wanted any dealings with soulmates. But even so, he couldn't entirely stop the blush of whimsical fancy whenever thinking of them.

He was, for now at least, documented as an "awaiting registry" in the K-SSA (Korean Soulmate System Association) and all that was needed - time. Often, he daydreamed of his perfect partner with their perfect life much like numerous others, not really festering any bloom of hope and yet -!

Yet he couldn't feel like he was profoundly dunked on by the universe itself as 24 seconds ago writing appeared on his forearm when none had touched it. In a thin, illegible font it said one word and one word only.

𝒸𝑜𝒸𝓀.

He looked away, wiped at it absent-mindedly but as it was not ink, it did not stain. Right. Okay.

Deciding to squash all thoughts and sensations related to his soulmate he moved on with his life telling no one of this discovery. But the dam once unleashed did not cease and never, ever did it wield any sign of intelligence. On top of that, his soulmate seemed to be a perpetual cheat - math, language, history. In a terrible shorthand, Namjoon suddenly found himself abhorrently acquainted with someone's educational curriculum. However, the proverbial chariot finally broke when jet-lagged and sleep-deprived Namjoon could only helplessly watch as word by word, with painstaking accuracy, the dreaded sprawl appeared.

"𝒜𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝒶𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓋𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝓁𝓎. 𝐼𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒, 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝒻𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓎."

Having had quite enough of this strange dumbass, he grabbed a sharpie and crossed out the stupid words with one bold, black stroke. A profound moment of silence followed suit and inadvertently Namjoon wondered whether they were sitting still, in some corner of the world seized by an unseen fright of the truly terrifying reality that one is not truly alone anymore. But no such thing happened as a cool and collected reply soon followed.

"𝒪𝒽 𝒸𝑜𝑜𝓁! :𝒟"

Possessing no desire to waste any more time, Namjoon leapt straight to the point.

"You're annoying."

"𝒴𝑒𝓈, 𝓈𝑜 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 :)"

Floundering at what to say further, he sat frozen for a good while his soulmate seized the opportunity in which to continue.

"𝒴𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓇𝑜𝒶𝒸𝒽."

And even faster as if in a hurried panic, they added.

"𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼'𝓂 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔."

"Learning curse words?"

If he had a single atom of a gracious painter in his body, he'd draw a heavily disapproving grimace.

"𝒲𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓁𝑒𝒹𝑔𝑒?"

Alright. In what was almost deja vu, Namjoon turned off the light and went to sleep. This was a lot to endure.

The scribbling didn't stop and Namjoon ignored the odd question directed at him, though with a peculiarly heavy heart. Sometimes he had only half the presence of mind and attempted to write something back but always caught his own hand mid-stroke. Life with him would not be easy. And also you were still strangers. Despite the riveting romance stories of the airport stalls, it was not that easy to breach the gap. In fact, it was even more difficult. If two people met in ordinary ways in ordinary circumstances, they could head in any direction they wanted, without the knowledge of "what if". But the only thing Namjoon knew for certain was the "what if". What if he never meets you? What if he screws it up? That would fill him with bitter regret for the rest of his life. But it wasn't until a more sombre message to which he woke up, that he couldn't stay away anymore.

"𝐼'𝓂 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒯𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒟𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼'𝓂 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻."

Then after a while.

"𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒."

And despite Namjoon being in the middle of the interview, he dished out the pen from his pocket which he may or may have not been carrying this whole time and hastily traced back.

"I care. I'm proud of you as well."

Pause.

"Soulmate ;)"

YOONGI: His pulse was drumming against the skin of his neck, choking down the next breath. No matter how many times he skimmed through the small space no sudden stranger or even a ghost appeared. Nevertheless it didn't change the fact that he was hearing voices.

Yoongi slapped a hand over his own ear as though that was the problem. The conversation persisted.

"No, I don't know, Maeve," the disembodied voice continued in a sigh. "If they wanted to ask, they would have long ago, right?"

Licking his lips, Yoongi croaked a feeble -

"Hello?"

The mysterious stranger fell deathly mute and with eardrums straining to the point of pain, he could vaguely gather they were afraid as Yoongi himself was shocked into a similar stupor not a moment ago. They must think he was the ghost. And though Yoongi didn't know for certain, he supposes that he just might have found his soulmate.

He had spent his whole life counting himself into the 47%. Having neither proclivity for, nor signs of a formed bond, he simply ran with the statistics. 47% of the world was a great number of people and Yoongi was quite content with what or whom he had. So in a manner which thousands must have asked along with him today, he thought "shit, what now?"

Days later, clutching the twin "pending" forms of the K-SSA and I-SSA, he decided to speak. Maybe his soulmate won't like him anyway.

"Hello?" he utters into the empty space of his apartment feeling a tad foolish but bulldozing his way through it "Are you there?"

With a bated breath, he waits then at last -

"Yes, hello."

Yoongi coughs and with an orchestrated indifference states the obvious.

"We must be soulmates."

"Yeah," comes a similarly dispassionate reply. "Though I did think you were a demon."

He snorts in a muted amusement.

"What's your name?"

"______________. Yours?"

His brain errors. Even if a soulmate, he couldn't just freely divulge his persona willy-nilly, so to speak. Being a soulmate didn't prohibit anyone from inflicting harm. The morning news was plenty of affirmation.

"Oh...um...August."

In the five-second span in which no response followed, he could feel just how much you didn't believe him.

"August?" dryly, you echo.

"Yeah, my parents were hippies."

He goes to sit down on the sofa, sinking into it whilst awkwardly clapping his hands.

"Are you a seal?"

He glances down at his hands.

"You can hear that?"

"Yes. Weird isn't it."

Another pregnant pause followed suit.

"So soulmates," he drawled in deep thought. "You're uh...interested in that?"

If he focused enough he could hear a pen clacking against a thick notebook. You must be studying or in an office space. Or simply sitting and tapping away the pen to alleviate nerves.

"I...I'm not quite sure," you answer truthfully. "I haven't agonized over it and I've been busy and..."

You exhale shakily.

"And to be completely frank...I got into a relationship. Yesterday."

Well, that's just on brand, Yoongi thought sourly.

"I'm sorry, August."

He chuckled. You actually sounded sincere. And something in the apologetic lilt of your tone made his heart soften. At entirely the wrong time.

"Don't worry about it. Not your fault."

"Are...are you in a relationship?"

He licks his dry lips and pushes the forms further away and across the coffee table.

"Yeah," he lies. "So it's all fine."

He once again thinks you're a ghost, blinking blearily at your soft voice shaking the still air of the night. Years have passed and he realized that he sort of has missed the sound of your voice.

"August?" you asked timidly in the middle of the night. "Are you still there?"

He rubs his eyes.

"Yes. Hello."

"Hi."

An awkward tension wavers.

"What are you up to?"

"Can't sleep," he mumbles, rubbing now repeatedly his tired eyes. "Insomnia."

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"Do you always apologize for everything?" he crosses his arms, resting on the pillow like a normal person would whilst talking next to someone in the bed.

"A little bit," you laugh demurely. "You know, I submitted my form and the I-SSA replied back."

He sobered up at that, the faint migraine from the lack of rest pounding a little harder as his breath caught in his throat.

"Don't worry, they were very strict and revealed to me nothing."

"Sorry about that," he couldn't help but sigh however you didn't seem to mind.

"Do you always apologize for everything?" you laughed and he did too.

"Just about this," now slightly soothed he settled deeper into the covers. "What about your...partner?"

"Oh," immediately your voice became angry. "Dumped them. Cheated on me."

"What a fucking prick," Yoongi scoffed.

"Enough about them. Try to sleep, okay?"

You were nothing but a stranger. A stranger talking into his head which not so long ago would have guaranteed him four walls and complete isolation. Yet still, he listened. Found the request, not an order but a nagging sweet sentiment of taking better care. He didn't mind it, and neither did he mind you talking. In fact, the migraine was peculiarly retreating,

"What are you watching?" he asked curiously. Through the winded gaps in your voice and the rustle of the Seoul traffic outside, he could piece together some fragments of what resembled 90's tv show music. "Sounds like old porn."

Abruptly, you burst into a fit of loud laughter and then just as abruptly fell quiet.

"Sorry...no one has joked with me for a very long time," you quietly admitted and something in his chest began to sting.

"You have a nice laugh," with a faint blush, he praised shyly. "Don't you have friends to joke around with? Maeve?"

If you found it odd, he knew the name of your friend, still remembering it from that faint first bond years ago now, you didn't remark on it and he was better for it. Yoongi really didn't need to feel any more of a creep than he had, always chiding himself for being this obsessive over those few minutes of conversation. It seemed that he was not so indifferent about the soulmate thing after realizing they were real for him.

"Not anymore. Who do you think that garbage cheated on me with?"

Yoongi cringed.

"I'm sorry," he bid earnestly, a wrinkle of a frown etching on his forehead.

"Addition to the list?" you teased and he smiled to himself, persistently shy, despite knowing you could not see it.

"Suppose. Though you never answered."

"What exactly?" you hummed and he heard sheets rustling. You must be sleeping as well. Or perhaps simply sitting on the bed.

"What are you watching?"

"X-Files. Felt in the mood for something spooky."

He thought about it for a second before rushing into action.

"Which episode? What minute?"

You were almost taken aback by the brazen curiosity as it hadn't been previously ever heard.

"Season 1, episode 8. Minute 04:47."

As Yoongi grabbed his laptop, he heard the faint dialogue stop. You stopped it.

"Do you...want to watch with me?"

He frantically searched for the episode, fighting for his life to get the ads off the screen.

"Hey, I know that noise," you remarked. "That's the blacklist notice! Say, August, you wouldn't be streaming illegally, would you?"

"You're going to arrest me?" he smirked, winding to the fourth minute. "Kinky."

He couldn't naturally vouch for it but he thinks you reddened. And he found it cute.

"No. Just concerned that you'll find Anna, 32, much more appealing. She's only 1 kilometre away."

It was his time to laugh.

"Don't worry about her. Not my type. I'm hot for ghostly voices whispering in my ear."

You splutter and, laughing quietly to himself, he interrupts your indignance.

"I'm at the fourth minute. Are you continuing to watch or not?"

"Yeah," you replied huffily. "I'm continuing."

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep that night. Or the next. Or the next. And after a year, his doctor declared his insomnia successfully treated.

"You're not watching at all," you whined into his ear and Yoongi pulled the blanket over his body.

"No, I am," he lied. "I'm watching it through your mind, silly."

You scoffed.

"What a bunch of nonsense. We share glamorized auditory hallucinations, not a mind link."

After a pause, all you hear are the familiar sounds of him already quietly snoring away.

"Good night...August."

JIN: He exhaled once, twice, thrice. It took him about three seconds to fully grasp what he was seeing and then with all the might of his tired legs Jin threw himself into the shower curtain and promptly knocked himself out against the tiled bathroom wall.

"Sir, please, calm down!" the nurse urged him frantically as Jin twitched on the bed.

"No, you don't understand! It was a ghost. A ghost! A ghost is haunting my bathroom!"

"Sir, please, there's no ghost!"

He glimpsed to the left and in the metal railing of the bed, he saw a reflection not of himself but of an entirely different face looking right back at him with the same concern.

Jin politely and very masculine screeched at the top of his lungs and graciously passed out amidst the mass of frightened hospital staff.

So...in the end, as it turns out, he was not haunted. The affirmation came in the form of two stocky SSA workers, coming to stop by his room with a thick wad of papers.

Sign here. Sign here. Sign here.

It appears that three years ago someone had registered in the I-SSA and while there were many different systems out there, all with their variations and complications, it was just Jin's luck, his beam of sunshine amidst the raging storm, to be in a system with the smallest amount of sharers. The abnormal diff-diffusion? He doesn't quite recall as he'd sat there head pounding away and sounds distant, staring at his own name and next to it the person, who according to the science of it all, was his soulmate.

But knowing was different from believing. Or at least, not shitting himself every time they stared at him in his own reflection.

"You got to cool it, man," Namjoon drawled in that pure sarcastic deadpan, patting away the soup that Jin had spilt as he lunged himself away from the spoon reflection in which a different eye was reflected through.

"At least, you can see them," Taehyung muttered bitterly, wiping the table clean and all fell silent.

Jin kept the mirrors covered anyhow. It was simply too freaky to witness an entirely different face in the stead of his, soulmate or not. Life proceeded as normal and while Jin kept himself busy and unthinking of possibilities, the lack or rather denial of his soulmate meant little to him. Until the very eve of winter. The first fresh snow had fallen over Seoul and stayed that way. The air was chill and crisp and the world was ready to slumber. At least this part of it. And on this night, no matter how long Jin stared at the fallen snow, he couldn't sleep. His heart was beating out of his chest and his mind raced.

He...felt it. Or rather you felt it and he sensed the echoes of it. Growing agitated over this sensation, he stomped towards the mirror, ready to...well, he was not quite sure what he was going to do but after yanking the towel onto the floor he forgot all about it. For the first time, you were not googling back at him, either in wonder or aggrievance but you were crying, gripping the sink with crushing strength. Crying like your entire soul was just split apart.

"What's wrong?" Jin aske timidly but you did not react. Visual must not also mean auditory. With shaking fingers he tapped the glass and this time you jumped in a way that was eerily familiar to his own. Landing on your ass, you cursed. Or he thinks you did from the way your lips curled.

He thought about it for a second and rushed away to fetch a lip balm before writing on the surface of the mirror.

"Hi."

You leaned your head to the side before, shivering, rising to stand. He watched intently as you dipped your hand underneath the water current and wrote back.

"Hi."

Jin exhaled, battling the urge to not pass out.

"Why cry?"

You gestured all around yourself and he recognized the sterile, removed environment of the hospital bathroom.

"Sick?" he wrote, feeling a heavy thud in his gut, something akin to missing a step in the dark.

"Yes. Tomorrow is the surgery."

He swallowed.

"Dangerous?"

You swallowed shakily and immediately Jin felt bad for asking.

"Moderate. I can live, I can die. All up to the doctors."

He too reaches to grip the sink and though he can't hear it, he can see you chuckling tearily. He frowns and you write.

"We even look the same. In a way."

Jin can offer only a shaky smile and even more guilt for shoving you away.

He was a horrible soulmate to have.

All day and next night he waits by the mirror and then finally when it's dark again, the snow falls in droves underneath the streetlamps and wind rushes through the alleys down below and finally, just before midnight, you appear in the mirror, shuffling in. You looked tired and worn but at least you're alive. Jin springs up.

You're the first one to write, having brought with you a lip balm as well.

"I lived. Clearly."

"Thank Heavens," Jin writes back feeling a rush of emotions dampen his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Gracious, you throw a hand at his words.

"I didn't want a soulmate before this. Thought I was...above it. Stupid really."

He smiles abashed and nods.

"You okay? Will be?"

"Yes, I will be okay," for a second, you lower your hands, gathering strength and then reach out. "You...do you want to talk more after this?"

"Hey, Jin, we're waiting for you!" Namjoon calls out, sticking a head through the door and he turns around.

"I'll be with you in five minutes."

Namjoon glimpsed at the defaced mirror.

"Hangman, really?"

Jin shrugged.

"We both like it. Scram now."

As he turned round he wrote "y".

j__n_y, stood on the surface and Jin sat deep in thought, then he guessed.

"Journey."

You sighed in defeat and confirmed his answer. Jin read the word again, committing it to memory.

"Text me when your plane lifts off," he wrote and you mimicked his soft smile.

"I will. See you in 16 hours."

Jin kissed his palm and pressed it against the mirror where your forehead stood.

"16 hours," he muttered back.

HOSEOK: "What do you think?" Jimin asked. "This one or this one?"

Hoseok merely arched an eyebrow.

"How would I be able to tell?"

Jimin lowered the hangers, with a guilty frown.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think."

Instantaneously, the despondent eyes made him feel guilty.

"Nevermind. I like the...uh left one."

Jimin twiddled guilty with the coloured fabric. A colour which Hoseok couldn't see.

"You want me to help you pick the outfit?"

Not to make him feel any sadder, Hoseok obliged.

Contrary to popular belief, being in the monochrome system sucked ass. He had nearly two million matches in the K-SSA registry, 32 million in the I-SSA and counting the 1% of margin error that amounted roughly to a 340 000 that could be his soulmate but wouldn't act that way due to genetic mutation. The more he thought of those numbers, the more alone he felt. Yoongi at least could hear his soulmate, Jin had seen them and was by now already moved in with them. Being in the more rare section of the soulmate systems they could at least have their soulmates traced via reading brain waves and other gibberish Hoseok never much understood. But no data could come from the monochrome system as the numbers were simply too overwhelming. False positives and false negatives were too great for a sensible person to take that chance. Which left only one option - the good old-fashioned meet and greet.

But with a planet of 8 billion people that chance was small. Growing ever so smaller with each passing day despite the technological advances. Even so, the airport was of late the favourite place of Hoseok's to be at. No place such as an airport to find someones all over the globe, grumpily and quite often with a foul odour, converging their different ways together. He tried to stay optimistic. As Taehyung bumped into him, sleep-ridden and tired, he indeed felt that there was a need to be optimistic. As much as he bitched, it didn't amount to the pain his friend was in at all times.

"Hey, just a little bit," he brushed Tae's fringe back to reveal two swollen eyes. He must have been crying either just now, or the entire night. Either way, it was an upsetting idea to have. Subtly, Hoseok pushed Taehyung into Jimin's direction who eagerly took care of his friend. But they all trodded along no matter how they felt.

"How was that episode good?" Yoongi asked and Hoseok frowned.

"What episode?" he questioned and Yoongi waved a hand, almost like one would when talking over a phone and someone interrupted.

"Oh, you're talking to...never mind," Hoseok grumbled, pushing his head further down.

The sky above the Atlantic Ocean was grey and uninspiring whilst the flight itself was excruciating. Though everything to him was grey. 14 hours in a box in the sky was not what Hoseok particularly enjoyed. Bored, he prodded at the desert. It was of a lighter hue, meaning a brighter colour. Yellow perhaps. Mango.

He took a spoon to his mouth. Strawberry. After all this time, one would think he'd be better at differentiating things. At least, he could remember colours, he thought wistfully, once again thinking of the positives. Some people were born with their bonds permanently established meaning they never knew colour. But Hoseok could at least remember - the colour of the sky, the sun, the green grass around his school. But it was in a way worse. If he could never have it again, it would ruin him. Strange. Such a simple thing really but he missed it dearly. What a weird way to bond people, by depriving them of the basics of life. Was it even love in the end? Or desperation driving them into some form of sick co-dependence?

Trying to be positive, didn't necessarily mean he was one as Hoseok had found out.

New York was a whirlpool. They had to rush fast to their cars through the halls of the airport, barely breathing and at this very moment, in one singular turn, Hoseok saw the beige of Taehyung's jumper.

The red of Jimin's scarf and the brown of Jungkook's eyes as he stared at him in wonder.

They couldn't stop. The insistent push of the bodyguards affirmed it so but if Hoseok suddenly saw the one thing that only his soulmate could grant then that meant his soulmate was not just near. Their eyes had met.

And he held no recognition.

He whipped to look around, the twin sensations of the flashing camera lights and the sheer amount of colours, of their shades and hues, had his head swimming but he saw no one. No one was looking with the echo of the realization, no one seemed to be interested in him any more than the rest. Interested in him as j-hope, the star, not Hoseok, the soulmate.

"We need to keep going," his bodyguard whispered, trying to professionally haul him away.

"No, I...I just met my soulmate. I need to stay!"

But the man did not listen. The crowd swarmed closer and closer and without much more say in the situation, he found himself sitting numbly in the backseat of the car. The neon signs blinded his eyes and for the first time in his adult and teenage life, Hoseok saw the rainbow cascading off the singular snowflake clinging to the window of the black car.

JIMIN: He pushed back your hair from your sweaty forehead.

"Feels so good," he moaned onto your lips. "You feel so good."

When the familiar knot unwound it felt like a truck, or a high-speed train running him down and into a cliff. But somehow pleasantly. Jimin swears he could see the true meaning of the universe, the very makeup of what created the entire life in moments like these. But even so his favourite, to his heart, was the second after, for the crudeness of it all, bust a nut within you, when he laid, holding your body close and panting together in the warm room. He felt brave tonight for once and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It was all sweaty and damp but he did not mind. It was the only kind of closeness he could have with you.

Five blissful minutes passed and you roused, pushing him away. Gently but still you did. After rushing to the bathroom, you came back to get dressed. Jimin reached to trace a finger on your back as you dragged a shirt over your head.

"Can't you stay?" he hums. There was a scar right above the curve of your hip and he ghosted over it. You didn't like him focusing on your scars.

"I like my own place," you reply casually. "Paid a lot for it."

That was, of course, only an excuse. Jimin may or may have not met another ex-hookup of yours and you had stayed with them. They made you breakfast.

And Jimin wanted to make you breakfast more than anything else.

"Right," he sinks into himself, wanting to stop but not being capable to do so. "Can you...kiss me...before you go?"

Pathetic. To beg like this. But he wanted you to madness.

Perhaps, you looked slightly unsettled but indulged him nonetheless. The way you kissed was like feeling a new breath in his lungs. He didn't understand what about you was so intoxicating but he wanted you around all the time. Your presence was like a wet cloth on the fevered head, a gulp of fresh air after spending hours in a stuffed room.

It was no exaggeration that he was growing obsessed.

And you thought of him as a hookup.

"See you later," you said, stroking his cheek once and the next was the door falling shut. Jimin sighed, rapidly crashing from the height of happiness to the pit of misery. But if anything could distract him it was the horrible pain suddenly flaring through his shin.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he cursed, cradling the limb.

He honestly thought his soulmate should be nothing but a mangled piece of flesh by now. Ever since 14 years old, he felt nothing but pain from them. And despite it being the main takeaway from sharing the sensations type of bond, he should also be in technicality receiving happy emotions but no. There was none. Just anxiety and regular pain.

Though, in fairness, Jimin assumed he gave off much of the same. Remembering the long practices, and the muscle cramps, he could only recoil. When the ache finally ceased he lays on top of the sheets again brushing the empty space next to him. Soulmate perhaps, but all he wanted was you. If you'd be next to him, he'd look for no one else ever again. Which was stupid, who falls into love with their fuck..fuck-something.

"Literally every protagonist in a romance story," Jungkook muttered before making a loud gagging noise. Jimin almost had half the intention of lodging a spoon in his throat before he hurriedly explained.

"It's not to you! It's just that dumbass is eating sugar. Pure sugar!" he heaved, face getting read. "Oh, I hope their teeth have so many holes they need to eat nothing but carrots!"

"You want to taste nothing but carrots for the rest of your life?" Jimin snarked and Jungkook paused.

"Guess not."

Suddenly Jimin's elbow flared up.

"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, wincing and rubbing the spot. "How many times a day can this person be hurt?!"

"Hey, guys, why are there so many people outside?" Taehyung asked in confusion, hooking his headphones off. Sirens soon blared and as they looked on, through the crowd, they could see someone laying in the middle of the street. Unmoving.

"Oh shit, is that blood?" Jungkook gasped.

The police coordinated off the area pushing the mass away and to Jimin's surprise, you stepped out of one of the cars with a camera attached to your neck. To even more of a shock, you began to take pictures and Jimin questioned how was it that he didn't know you were a CSI or whatever they were called when suddenly you tripped and fell down, slamming your chin against the unforgiving ground.

"Oh, that must hurt," Taehyung and Jungkook drawled together but Jimin stayed quiet. His chin was killing him.

And what were the chances of that?

"Sensation-coded systems tend to be of more emotional intensity as they echo the same level of chemical fluctuation between persons on top of their own."

As Jimin had learned it at school, he still had it scrabbled somewhere in the high school notebook, touch equated to chemical changes in the body. Dopamine and serotonin increase and in a sensation-coded system, person A could not only feel their own increase but also person B's and vice versa. This is why perhaps he felt like he was breathing new breath when he kissed you. Because he just might.

He can't stop shaking as he texts you to come over, despite doing it hundred times before. But this was different wasn't it? If he was right, he could lose you, if he was wrong, he could also lose you. Either way, he lost. But he had to know. Otherwise, he would be bitter his entire life.

You hug him the second you step over the threshold but for the first time, Jimin steps away. Immediately you frown.

"Something wrong?" you ask and he swallows hard.

"I...I made dinner," actually he ordered it, not wanting it to be bad. "You want to eat?"

He knows you know it was phrased as a question out of politeness. During dinner which is not at all strained into near incapacitating silence, Jimin may or may not drink. A lot. To cope.

"Please, just tell me what it is," you finally break. "Or I'll combust spontaneously."

"I didn't know you were a CSI," he trailed off and you froze.

"Yeah, well, it's not a pretty job and also CSI," you gestured at yourself then at him. "An idol? Doesn't make much sense."

"Maybe it does," he says, shaking again and at last gathering all the courage left in his bones to pinch his arm, so hard it hurt. You flinch as well.

Another blanket of silence descends over the room.

"I think we need to talk."

TAEHYUNG: All he remembers clearly is the pause of uncertainty, the step taken between the childish innocence and the brutal adult reality. The reality of death which in this case was a red string cut short and fraying at the end of his pinky when it should have been stretching across the seas and dreams, across despair and misery. And it's on this hot summer afternoon, sunny and perfect, that Taehyung learns that love does not conquer all.

The office of the IBSSCI, the International Bureau of Soulmate System Crime Investigation respectively, is by far more shabby than he ever pictured. When Taehyung is brought into this two-story building it doesn't look like anything more than some chic obsessed, eco brutalism wannabe cafe he could honestly trip upon in certain streets of Seoul. The office in whose uncomfortable chairs he's been sat in is the size of the closet and looks like one as well. This person was grody. The half-eaten sandwich and cold cup of coffee were all the proof he needed.

____________ ______________, he reads on the glass plaque, you're a pig.

Someone walks in. A mountain of folders on two legs as far as he can see.

"Sorry about the wait, Mr Kim," they huffed. "The printer jammed and you see these papers," with a heavy thud, they dropped it on the desk, falling into the chair with an exhausted sigh. "Is no joke."

He nodded mutely along feeling like it was appropriate to do so.

"Do you want any coffee or tea?" you offered, pushing the mountain away and casting him a weirdly patronizing smile. Immediately, Taehyung bristled.

"Not if it's made like that," he pointed at the dirty cup.

"Depends on what you answer," the smile on your face didn't even flinch. "You do realize why you're here."

"Being scammed is not a crime," he scoffed.

"It is not," you agreed. "But if you gave nearly half a million to one shady group whose to say you won't do it again?"

He wrenched his eyes shut. He didn't mean to. But one by one the guys kept finding their soulmates, hell, even Hoseok, the actual fucking monochrome-based bond found his love. While Taehyung was happy for his friend he was also happy to have someone to be as miserable as him as selfish as it was.

And what would be the worst, he had thought, he would just lose his money and he had plenty of it. For the chance of finding a soulmate, he would give every single thing he owned. The clothes on his body, the sheets on his bed, all of it.

But the worst of it was actually murder. The scam group promised to find Taehyung a new person claiming the statistical basis of there being another in the case of death had in the end murdered one of the doctors who threatened to take this to the police and suddenly Taehyung found himself right in the heart of a criminal case. And while the scammers ran a high-level operation it didn't change the fact that Taehyung was now fundamentally a person involved in something as heinous as murder and it was his money that had guaranteed some of them to escape to international seas.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I understand," they spoke and for once they didn't sound mocking. "But Mr Kim, you have money and that is power. You must not give that power out of desperation."

As he opened his eyes, he saw them pushing a paper across the desk, their gloved hand tapping twice at it.

"This is, as you must know, a recovery form in the case of losing a soulmate. The program consists of 18 weeks of mandatory therapy, regular check-ins for a year as well as signing an oath of not partaking in any schemes or offers of finding or rebonding with a new soulmate that if breached can and will be held in court of law. Do you understand?"

He gazed blankly into their eyes, limbs growing stiff.

"Taehyung!" Jimin called out.

"No, you don't get to speak! You don't get to pretend you understand! You have your soulmate! You have a chance! I was robbed of one! You will never understand what that's like!"

As he blinked the memory faded away but still, he felt no one will ever understand what that was like.

"Do you have a soulmate?" he croaked, fiddling with the pen meant to sign the form.

The person blinked and their lips thinned.

"I suppose I did," they said with ease but also with a thin veil of clearly deep inner sadness. "They died when I was an infant."

Taehyung sat straighter.

"So you know what that feels like? To be robbed, cruelly robbed not choosing, not doing wrong but not having anything from the start?"

He grimaced in order not to cry.

"I do but inflicting hurt on others...trying these insane methods and schemes," you trailed off. "It will do no good. No good for you, for anyone. It is evil for the sake of evil and that's it."

You offered him a tissue and he took it gratefully. Perhaps you were not so bad. Despite being grody.

Taehyung signed the form and with weary, tired legs, trailed after you to the main exit.

"As the person assigned to this case, I will be overseeing your check-in period," you explained navigating the cement stairs seemingly spiralling in all logical and illogical directions.

"You're a social worker as well?" Taehyung ironized roughly and you offered him a crooked smile.

"Budget cuts."

As you scanned your ID the doors flashed red.

"Oh, come on," you wiped the chip on the card against your pants but no such luck. Again and again, it flashed red. Finally, with a loud growl of annoyance you yanked the black glove off your left hand to wipe the chip by hand and on it, Taehyung saw a string.

A red string.

Around your pinky.

Cut and frayed in the middle.

Exactly like his.

It unfurled on the ground and dazed Taehyung reached to grasp it. He held the thin yarn like a dying butterfly and pulled at last gently its end. Your hand moved along with it.

JUNGKOOK: He really wants to be happy. And he is. Somewhere underneath the surging wave of anger, he is really happy. And he'll show it to you one day. After he's done scolding you.

Because in the exact moment where he walks through the street, late in the evening, cold rain pouring on his umbrella, he glances through the window of a restaurant and sees a person shoving an entire sugar cube on their tongue.

He feels sugar explode in his mouth.

Pure, unrefined, choking sugar.

And the next thing he knows he's pointing a finger in your unsuspecting face.

"You piece of shit! You actual dumbass!" he yells and people around him are startled. Though none more than you. You, whose sitting in your stupid seat and whose stupid sugar-addicted mouth still chews on that sugar cube like a horse.

"Does dental hygiene means nothing to you? Diabetes?! Health overall?!" he keeps pointing at you at every single word to portray the full scope of what tasting constant sugar every day for consecutive 18 years does to a person.

"How many holes do you have in your teeth right now?! Tell me!"

You blink up at him owlishly and also part terrified. Even the music of the restaurant seems somewhat muted as the crowd looks on at this, the most bizarre of lover's quarrel.

And he shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he finds it cute.

"Three," you mutter demurely and a pout forms on your lips. Jungkook wonders if they're sweet as well. Should be considering the amount of sugar you consume.

"Just went to a dentist..."

"And you're still swallowing sugar cubes?! WHOLE ASS SUGAR CUBES?!"

"YOU EAT RAMEN AT 3 AM!" you yell back, a sudden fire gaining in your eyes. "OR DRINK SOME SHIT LIKE ICE CUBED VINE!! AND YOU'RE BLAMING ME FOR SUGAR WHEN YOU'RE OUT HERE COMMITTING GASTRONOMICAL WAR CRIMES?!"

And now this one Jungkook shouldn't, he really should not, but he finds you yelling at him hot.

And he wants to know what you taste like.

"YOU EVER WONDERED THAT THE REASON WHY I EAT SO MUCH SUGAR IS TO MASK THE HORRENDOUS ABOMINATIONS YOU PUSH DOWN YOUR THROAT?! AND DON'T EVEN THINK I HAVEN'T TASTED SOMEONE ELSE'S CU-"

In the end, they're kicked out. You stand in the rain, pouting and glaring at him in earnest and whilst doing the same he extends the umbrella over your head.

"I don't like you," you scoff and he does the same.

"Neither do I."

"You're a pig of an eater."

"You're a sugar addict."

A pause.

"I'm leaving," you huff, making no indication to leave.

"Then go," Jungkook snaps, actually taking a step closer.

He thinks he tastes anxiety on his tongue. Whether it's his own or yours he can't tell.

"You're overbearing," you mutter while slightly moving forth.

"You're insufferable," Jungkook is not far behind, neither in space nor insults. He wraps a hand around your waist and finds it perfect. The way you press against him is perfect.

"You make me nauseous," you whisper, gaze dropping to his pierced lip.

"I'm absolutely sick of you," he breathes the air you exhale and then closes the small space and learns what you taste like.

When the umbrella falls out of his hands and falls upon the rain-soaked pavement, he tastes rainwater in his mouth. And as expected that too tastes sweet.

© soraviii, 2022

tagging: @introlxv; @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @mwitsmejk; @belladaises; @mwitsmejk; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @personaarmy; @flitzerj;

For the drabblepallooza :D

Hoseok:

hannah, this song 😩🥹 i hope i did it justice!

oh, you kissed me just to kiss me / not to make me cry / it was simple, you are sweetness / let’s just sit a while

It was a test - albeit an unfair one - but it was necessary. You were becoming comfortable and if your life had taught you even one (1) thing, it was this: the other shoe will always drop; and when it inevitably does, it’ll hit you square in your unsuspecting face.

Constant vigilance, or whatever. Sleep with one eye open. Hell, maybe two.

You weren’t sure what you’d done in a past life - what cursed mirror you shattered, or which witch you pissed off - but you didn’t get to be happy. Happy was for other people. Fate took your pretty, golden string and dragged it through the mud. You were polluted; you were sure of it.

But then he sprung up so unexpectedly like a daisy blooming through a crack in a city sidewalk. It was shocking, made you do a double take to prove you weren’t seeing things. Even worse, it made you hope. You were concrete, busted and so stubborn, and he was sweet. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t know how to trust that.

It had to be a ruse. Some long con - right?

Life lesson number two (2) was that no 2:00 AM text goes unpunished. You’d only ever been on the receiving end - in more ways than one - and it always ended up the same way: with slumped on your couch with your best friend; you shoveling handfuls of dry cereal into your gaping maw; you ugly crying.

You couldn’t get a read on him, despite the month you’d been seeing each other. Was he the kind of person that would even be awake to receive your invitation? If he was, what would he make of it? And if he did show up on your doorstep, what then?

As usual, you got bored halfway thinking it through. There was only one way to find out.

[02:03 AM]: Come over? 👉🏻👈🏻

Once you’d rigged the bomb that would blow you sky-high, all you could do was wait. You sat on your couch and faced the television you still hadn’t turned on, but your restless eyes kept darting down to the phone in your lap.

No matter how many times you tapped its screen to wake it, you couldn’t make a notification appear. All you accomplished with this course of action was repeated, glaring, minute-by-minute reminders that this whole thing was stupid.

At 2:39 AM, you accepted defeat. Hoseok was a hard-worker and an early-riser; it only made sense that he went to bed when respectable adults did. You should’ve been glad that you hadn’t ruined his good night’s sleep.

You were halfway back to your bedroom when a quiet knock stopped you dead in your tracks. Body still frozen, you tilted your head to stare incredulously at the door.

It worked? Fuck! Now what?

It took several seconds to convince your feet to move. When they finally did, the sound echoing through your apartment wasn’t that of bare soles on hardwood. Instead of muffled footsteps, you heard your brain repeating one word rhythmically, over and over, with each step: idiot, idiot, idiot.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you opened the door. Perhaps it was Hoseok, standing there like a fuck-boy with a condom wrapper clenched between his teeth. Maybe instead of a condom, it’d be a rewards card that he could redeem for a free coffee once your hole was punched. Or maybe he’d be naked, concealing his naughty bits with a sign that said I’m going to ruin your life!

Whatever horrible thing you could’ve imagined, it wasn’t what you got: Hoseok and his cold-bitten cheeks, wearing a big, flannel scarf and the sleepiest fucking smile you’d ever seen. He quirked an eyebrow at your shocked expression, but he didn’t ask after it.

He simply raised a white, styrofoam to-go box, and said, “Sorry it took so long. I stopped at that late-night pizza joint by my place. You wouldn’t believe that line.”

Dumbstruck, you accepted the box from him and stepped aside to allow him in. He kicked off his shoes, then tossed his coat and scarf onto the nearby coat rack. But then he kept moving, talking all the while, without noticing the sparks flying off your broken brain.

“Seriously, it wrapped around the entire block. As bad as it sounds, I’m kind of glad you weren’t with me this time,” he snickered as he dumped himself onto your couch. He threw you a wink you weren’t prepared to catch, “I don’t know if I could’ve stood there for twenty minutes while wearing you like a back-pack.”

Your face scrunched up. For the first time, actual words clambered out of your slack-jawed mouth, “Hey! I’m perfectly capable of waiting in a line!”

His brows furrowed above twinkling eyes. There was no point in arguing; you both knew you were full of shit. Right on cue, a montage started playing in your mind. It chronicled every single time you whined for a piggyback ride -

Spoiler alert: The total was somewhere between 12 and 20.

- because your legs were tired, or your shoes were giving you blisters, or because you were a dumb baby who needed to be held, or because maybe you were starting to lo- Nope, stop right there.

“Okay, fine, I’m not,” you conceded with a sigh as you joined him. Looking down at the pizza box - which was miraculously still warm despite his cold walk here - you bit down on your bottom lip.

He saw your shy silence and raised you a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

“You were sleeping,” you eventually whispered. Declaratory, not inquisitive because you woke him up, you menace.

Hoseok was so visibly confused by your uncharacteristic quietness, “Yes? And now I’m not.”

You were already melting into a puddle under that sunshine in his eyes, but he nevertheless persisted:

“You always get hungry this late. Was I supposed to let you starve?”

Your knees were wobbling even though your ass was firmly planted on that cushion, “That’s why you’re here?”

“I mean, I also missed you,” his bemused laughter carried you off like a breeze, “But keeping you fed is priority number one - for national security purposes, obviously. You get so cranky when you’re hungry.”

You were not going to cry, you adamantly refused, but your eyes got a little blurry when that giggle flew out of you. You kept giggling, too, until his cold hand cupped your cheek.

Then he kissed you and it was cotton candy, so sugary sweet in the way it melted in your mouth. You waited for him to pull you into his lap, to deepen the kiss, for that other shoe to collide with the top of your stupid skull.

But he stopped.

He tucked you under his arm.

He smiled as he held a piece of pizza up to your buzzing lips, and he chuckled when you finally took the bite he offered.

can you please write about hobi helping his gf!reader with depression? thank you so much. I love your writing style.

Did I narc on my own depressive-episode habits? Yes. Yes, I did. 🫣 Shout-out to “the chair” - you keep me together, bb.

It’d been hours since you checked your phone. Maybe days, but it didn’t matter much to you. You lost the plot of linear time a while ago.

When you finally mustered the willpower to search for your phone, it took longer than you’d ever admit to find it among the battalion of cups assembled on your nightstand. For the past few days, their numbers grew; and so did your frustration with yourself. Most of the time, you laid with your back turned to your mess so you could forget that it existed. Who needed object permanence, anyway?

It shouldn’t have been so difficult to force your body out of bed, but it was. Eating, showering, staying adequately hydrated - it all cost more than you could currently afford, and you hated feeling this broke. But you had cement in every cell, and dealing with the fog in your brain was already exhausting enough. How could you practice “self-care” if you simply couldn’t give a shit?

The only force stronger than your desire to stay in bed was the guilt you felt in wasting another second there. It was supposed to be a tool - a respite - not a tomb. So why did you keep yourself buried there?

With a groan, you pulled yourself up into a sitting position and checked the stockpile of notifications on your phone. It was a cyclone of texts you hadn’t read, missed calls, and voicemails likely asking why you’d ignored the previous two attempts at contact. Even when faced with the consequences of falling off the radar, you didn’t care to put yourself back on it. Admitting that to yourself only made you feel even worse.

Still, there was one person who was entitled to proof of life. One person whose presence recharged your battery rather than depleted it. He didn’t deserve radio silence, even if you hadn’t gone dark of your own volition. The least you could do was verify your continued presence on this mortal coil.

Hoseok was pure magic - beautiful, baffling, and effervescent. No one you’d ever met was as intuitive as he was; and nobody had the capacity to care about anything as completely and genuinely as he did. He gave you space when you wanted it and closeness when you needed it. And he could tell which of those to provide without you having to say a word - even if you couldn’t make that determination yourself.

He knew you, and that’s precisely why you felt you didn’t deserve him.

Swallowing that thought before it could tug you deeper down the rabbit hole, you dialed his number. And when you heard it ringing outside your bedroom door, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

Oh god.

Your apartment had turned into a depression pit over the past two weeks. Incrementally, too, like a rot had taken over in slow motion. A scourge you couldn’t bring yourself to tidy up. Even the thought of someone seeing your uncharacteristic mess made you nauseous.

This was a side of you Hoseok was permitted to know about, but not one you ever wanted him to see. It’s why you dodged the question any time he asked about moving in together. There was a difference between discussing your insecurities and having him witness the root of them firsthand. If you didn’t love yourself like this, how could he be expected to?

You kicked the blankets off your legs as quickly as you could and scrambled up to unsteady feet. Your joints weren’t prepared for any movement, let alone this frantic of a pace, but you couldn’t hide forever. Your deep, dark secret was now out on display, and you needed to get this awful confrontation over - and him out - before your shame could kill you.

He froze when you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the living room. Standing several meters away in the adjoining kitchen, he held a duster in one hand and his ringing phone in the other - eyes wide and mouth frozen into the shape of an ‘o.’ Like he’d been caught red-handed with the gun still smoking.

“I figured you were sleeping,” He stammered as he turned around to tuck the duster back into the cabinet below your kitchen sink. The look on his face screamed please don’t hate me. “I thought I had more time.”

Your brain was so shell-shocked, you couldn’t form words - you couldn’t even blink. You had no idea how long he’d been in your apartment without you noticing, but in that amount of time, he’d made it unrecognizable.

Your sink, once full of the dishes you hadn’t tended to, was both empty and spotless. The rest of your kitchen was immaculately organized as if it wasn’t just littered with recycling you kept forgetting to take to the curb, and haphazard piles of items you needed to do something with. Even more confusingly, the long to-do list on your countertop now had every line crossed out.

Your wide-eyed gaze trailed over to the living room. The last time you stepped foot in there, it looked like ground zero of some major disaster. Now, thanks to Hoseok, it looked like home again.

The armchair that previously held the majority of your belongings - the island of misfit toys - was vacant. Everything you’d abandoned there over the past two weeks had been returned to its proper place. The mountain of throw blankets had been bulldozed as well. Its disembodied remnants were either neatly folded in the designated basket, or artfully draped over the back of your couch.

He’d even untangled the knot of yarn clinging to your abandoned crochet project.

Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken him to sort this all out - and how quietly he’d had to maneuver to avoid ruining his surprise - led to an explosion of tears. It was monsoon season, and you braced yourself before the flood could carry you off, out the door.

He exclaimed in horror when he saw the way your shoulders shook, struggling to carry the weight of your sobs. You couldn’t bear to see the look on his face, so you hid behind your hands and wished yourself invisible. Accordingly, you didn’t see him race over to you. It was the suddenness of his arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into his chest, that alerted you to his presence.

“I’m sorry!” His rapid, repeated apologies spewed out like machine-gun fire, “I just - I know your brain isn’t cooperating with you right now, so I wanted to - and I know you’d never ask, but you- “

You dropped your hands and buried your face into his sweatshirt; praying to any god that your running nose wouldn’t ruin it. It came out as an exhale, weightless and automatic: “Thank you.”

“For cleaning? Baby, you don’t need to thank me.”

With a sniffle, you pulled away from him just enough to meet his eyes. “For loving me despite all this… mess.”

His face dropped like a brick. You could feel the slight shift in his posture, and you wanted to disappear entirely. Maybe this was one final courtesy before he washed his hands of you. After all, why wouldn’t he? Were you worth any of this?

“I don’t love you despite,” his incredulous tone corrected you, but his subsequent, petal-soft words cradled you, “I love you including.”

ho ho horrible | jhs

(or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)

❆ pairing: hoseok x f. reader ❆ genre(s): neighbor au, holiday au, one-sided e2l | humor, fluff, smut ❆ rating: explicit. minors dni. ❆ warnings: vague non-korean setting. christmas. reader has a one-sided beef with hoseok's caroling and is extremely awkward. taehyung is here and he's weird, idk. there is smut in this but it is not super explicit and mostly flowery, so if ur only reading for that part i wouldn't bother. however, smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), hobi touches himself. this was mostly an excuse to write both a hobi & a holiday fic. ❆ word count: 5.2k ❆ thank you: bee / @hot-soop, for beta'ing this for me and saying "oh shit this got real fast" and making me wheeze. thank u love u. ❆ a/n: idk. like i said, this was just an excuse to write a christmas fic before christmas. riding fakie kicked my ass and took me 500 years and i banged this out in, like, two sittings. the universe can be so cruel. that said, i probably won't be around much between now & new years day, so if you celebrate christmas i hope you all have a wonderful one. happy holidays, happy new year, cheers to 2023. ♡

Christmas has threatened to break you before.

That one Christmas where your parents had sworn up and down was just going to be the three of you, only to tell you at the last minute your entire extended family was coming for dinner and gifts, and then your horrible little gremlin of a cousin flung mashed potatoes into your hair and pushed you down the stairs and broke your arm? Your parents never invited them again, but yeah, you’d come dangerously close to an aneurysm that year.

Not to mention the first Christmas in your first apartment. You’d been running late, scotch tape and ribbon stuck in places they had no business being stuck in, and your phone was vibrating relentlessly in your purse as you waddled to the elevator, gift pile threatening to tumble over, and it was fine. You were going to make it to your car in one piece. Make it to your parents’ on time. Eat enough food to have you popping the button on your pants, and then compound the issue with dessert, and your cousins were going to be celebrating in their corner of hell rather than with you. Everything was going to be merry and festive and bright.

And then the elevator broke down and you were stuck in there for over two hours.

All that to say—you and Christmas have a sordid history, so you’re no stranger to yuletide stress. You’re stronger than this, forged in the flames of failed holidays past, and you’ve put that biological adaptability to use and soldiered on. This Christmas will not break you, but it’s certainly trying its fucking best.

“You look tired.”

Your gaze snaps up and to the left, where noted office menace Kim Taehyung is staring down at you over the ledge of your cubicle wall. He’s dyed his hair an offensive shade of red in an effort to win the department-wide holiday cheer contest. For the third year in a row. No one else even bothers to participate anymore. “I’m fine,” you answer, jaw clenched. You like Taehyung, but you haven’t had a proper night’s rest in almost a week. Not since—

“Why not?” he asks, genuinely curious and concerned and unaware of social norms. “Were you up late watching Home Alone? That’s relatable, honestly. I’ve seen it a hundred times and still can’t help but watch it every time it’s on. The sequel, too. I can’t decide which one I like better. The original’s a classic, but I love Tim Curry, so it’s hard to choose…”

You suck in a breath. Exhale and count to five, because you like Taehyung and don’t want to hurt his feelings, but—“No, I wasn’t watching Home Alone.”

“Oh. Why, then?”

A quick glance at your computer tells you it’s almost one o’clock. “Tell you over lunch?”

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck.

Because the universe is fair and just, the torture of Christmas is cancelled out by the ease of homeownership. As soon as you’d announced your intent to buy a house, everyone came crawling out of the woodwork with tips and this one weird trick! and horror stories about realtors, mortgage and insurance companies, god-awful sellers. You’d been spooked. Almost called the whole thing off to spend another year renting until you felt confident enough to go up against those stressors, but it… hadn’t gone like that.

It’d really been as simple as: get approved for mortgage, see house online, tour house, put in offer, sign a ton of paperwork, move in. Easy peasy; you couldn’t figure out why everyone had been complaining. You’d gotten your dream house in your dream location, quiet side street in a desirable part of the city, for under your max budget. The neighbor on your right baked you cookies to welcome you to the neighborhood. The house on the left had been home to a nice couple with a young kid until they decided to relocate to the suburbs, and it’d been empty for a while until—

“Your neighbor is a caroler?”

You nod, shoulders sagging as you spear your salad far too violently, and all Taehyung can do is grimace. No shit, you think, taking in his pained expression, try living next door to him. “A caroler,” you confirm.

Taehyung whistles low as he sinks into the booth, vinyl creaking under his weight. “Does he wear the little hat and everything?”

You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “No, just normal clothes, I think.”

“Bummer.” He pouts. “I like the little hats. Wait, what do you mean I think?”

“I mean I think,” you reiterate. “As in I don’t actually know, because I shut off all the lights and pretend I’m not home every time they knock on my door.”

Taehyung gasps, really selling that you’ve mortally wounded him with this piece of information, and you think it might be a little overdramatic. So what if you don’t answer the door? You’re a young, single woman who lives alone and has listened to true crime podcasts—of course you don’t answer the door. You don’t answer it for anyone!

“How could you?” Taehyung accuses, which prompts an eye roll from you.

“I’m a young, single woman who lives alone and has listened to true crime podcasts—”

“Which are exploitative and capitalize on suffering and paranoia, not to mention are usually nothing more than free PR for cops—”

“Well, I don’t listen to them anymore!” Taehyung seems appeased by this, so you continue. “My point is: I don’t answer the door for anyone. Not delivery people, not the Mormons, definitely not the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and not Christmas carolers. It’s nothing personal.”

Your coworker quirks an eyebrow. “Except it is.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Taehyung hums. He’d ordered a sandwich the size of his head and has barely put a dent in it, so you’re going to be here awhile. “Have you tried asking them to not carol in front of your house?”

“I don’t think it matters,” you concede, frown deep and unattractive. Are you being dramatic? It feels like you’re being dramatic, but you’ve already committed to the bit. “They stay on the sidewalk and that’s public property. Didn’t stop those shitty campaign people from sticking the signs in that little strip of grass last month.”

“Ugh, I forgot about that guy. At least he lost.”

“Amen, brother.”

Taehyung scrunches his nose. “Yeah, maybe don’t say that ever again.” Fair. You nod. “Hm. You think one of those ‘no solicitation’ signs would work?”

“Is Christmas caroling considered solicitation?”

Half of the turkey slides off Taehyung’s sandwich when he picks it up, bread gone soggy under the weight of mayonnaise and time, and you reckon now’s as good a time as any to find out.

What you lack in competent cousins and considerate neighbors you make up for in friends.

Friends in high places, specifically. Friends you can call in emergencies, which is why you’re locked in your bathroom, phone trembling against your ear, as the muted sounds of caroling trickle in from the street. You’re nearly in its grasp, which is why you’ve had to act quick: lights off, military crawl along the floor, pick a room with no street-side exterior windows.

Seokjin sighs. “Taehyung said you were being overdramatic about this. I should’ve listened.”

“Listened to what?” You roll your eyes. “I’m not asking you to break me out of my house. I simply called to ask you, an actual lawyer, a person who knows the law, if Christmas caroling is illegal.”

“You do need a permit in some places, yes—”

“A-ha!”

“—but this is not one of them. Your annoying neighbor is free to Christmas carol to his heart’s content.”

A groan escapes you, and you pull your phone away from your face to check the date. December 11th. Just two more weeks, and then you’re free for an entire year. Surely you can make it two weeks, right? A fortnight. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Once you’re past the holiday and things cool off, maybe you’ll borrow a play from your normal neighbor’s book and drop off please stop harassing me with your Christmas carols cookies.

You’re halfway to deciding which flavor (M&M, because they can kind of look like miniature carolers if you squint, or oatmeal raisin because they’re disgusting and you want him to suffer a little) when the troupe starts on a new song. A louder one. Enough of a volume change that even Seokjin can hear it, and he starts doing that honking windshield wiper laugh at your expense.

Fuck cookies. You should really burn his house down instead.

Big cities aren’t actually all that big.

Your mother says she’s finally sick of cooking, so you’ve been tasked with bringing side dishes to Christmas dinner this year. Which is fine. Learning how to cook for yourself had been relatively easy, to the point you’d run a Learn to Cook 101 weekly lesson at your on-campus apartment for all your hopeless friends. And hopeless friends of friends. In return, they taught you how to roll joints and do keg stands, so it’d been a worthy trade-off.

Still.

Your parents are woefully behind on current food trends, so your comment about bringing a sushi bake as an appetizer had been met with incredulous silence. Sushi isn’t high on your parents’ takeout list, and after you’d taken them to the nice hibachi restaurant in town and your father ate his California roll with a fork, you’d been too embarrassed to try again.

Anyway—the point is: big cities aren’t that big, because you’re standing in the seafood section of the largest supermarket within fifteen square miles, and everything promptly goes to shit.

“Hey, do you know if they ha—oh, shit, hey! You’re my neighbor!”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Do a really good impression of that meme gif of the guy blinking. Because this can’t be happening. You specifically go to this supermarket because it’s not the one around the corner from your house and also isn’t the one closest to your office. No one was supposed to be able to find you here, yet here’s your caroling neighbor, bundled up tight with a beanie shoved over his head, tips of his ears folded over so he looks like a little elf. It’s sick.

But you’re a professional, if nothing else (you’d argue mature, but can concede that hiding in your own home with the lights turned off to avoid the man grinning at you is not very girl-boss of you), so you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “Hi. I am your neighbor, yes. Hello.”

“Wow, what a coincidence, huh?” He laughs, and it sounds like Christmas bells. Who in the fuck is this guy? No, really, who is he? You can’t remember his name for the life of you. “You… have no idea who I am, do you?”

It’s the way his face falls further with each word. Makes you feel guilty and awful, and it’s a terrible feeling. Has you wanting to say things like no, of course I know who you are and drop his name, his parents’ names, ask him about that work thing, that person he’d mentioned he was seeing in passing. But you know none of these things, so you just suck in a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind, which is: “Of course I know who you are.” You feel your eyes narrow. “You’re my annoying caroler neighbor.”

That was… not what you were going for. You should apologize, try to find some way to salvage this, because you’re only here for salmon and imitation crab and now you’ve dug yourself a hole that’ll ensure your great-great-grandchildren are still feuding.

But he just laughs. Snaps his fingers and points at you in a way that’s jokingly serious as he says, “I knew it! I knew you’ve been home this whole time!”

Suddenly you aren’t feeling so apologetic anymore. “And you’ve persisted? Did you ever stop to think I didn’t want to be bothered?”

The answer to your question is no, judging by the look on his face. All-knowing you are not, so you’re not going to waste time decoding it when all you came here for was salmon and imitation crab. You really should’ve gone to the Asian supermarket instead, because a place like this is highly unlikely to have furikake, anyway, and you could’ve avoided this entire mess. Now you’re engaged in an awkward stare-off with your neighbor, and the two of you are going to part ways and still have to live next to one another.

“Oh, I—”

The butcher calls your number. You should’ve bought the prepackaged stuff in the freezer, but no, you had to be bougie and difficult. “It’s fine,” you say, holding your hand up. Just the imitation crab left now, you can do this. “Happy holidays. Please leave me alone.”

You are never making sushi bake again.

On a normal evening, the caroling would start just after seven.

This explains why you’re currently lying in bed, the only light from the television (Taehyung be damned, you are watching Home Alone), full of nervous jitters as the clock on your phone tells you it’s just turned 6:59.

Is your neighbor the vengeful type? Will you finally be granted reprieve now that you’ve had an embarrassing supermarket encounter, or will he tell his caroling troupe to sing as loud as possible to provoke you further? You shake your head. Sure, you’d only talked to him for three minutes, but his ears were folded over, for fuck’s sake—maybe you’re naive, but someone with folded-over ears doesn’t strike you as particularly malicious.

No, no, it’s going to be fine; you’re certain of it. You’ll deal with the embarrassment later.

Except ten minutes pass with… nothing. No muted singing, no perfectly-pitched renditions of Oh Holy Night (which you’ll admit was actually enjoyable), no hushed giggles when someone inevitably sang the wrong word. There’s just silence, and it’s exactly what you’d asked for, but it still feels off-putting after suffering through the opposite for so long. Instead, your doorbell rings at half-past, and this is it, you think, my neighbor’s going to be out there with a bomb.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not a bomb. There’s nothing on your front steps except a little gift basket—homemade, judging from the wrap job. A peek through the clear cellophane tells you there’s a bottle of wine and some cookies in there, and there’s a note card stapled to the front that tells you it’s from your neighbor.

Sorry about the noise. Didn’t mean to bother you. Hope this makes up for it. — Hoseok

You grumble all the way back to your bedroom, only a brief pit stop in the kitchen for a wine glass. Homemade or not, Hoseok had spared no expense on the cookies: double chocolate chip, salted caramel, snickerdoodle, little spritz trees topped with nonpareils. You grumble again as you pluck out a gingerbread man. To your dismay, it’s delicious.

You overpour the wine—red, which’ll give you a headache, but you’re past the point of caring. There’d been a little bow tied around the stem. It’s horribly endearing and gives you a stomach cramp. On the screen, Marv takes an iron to the face. This feels a little like that.

“You should return the favor,” Taehyung suggests. The two of you are back at the same deli. He’s working on some kind of vegetable sandwich this time, having abandoned turkey after his last one had been such a mess. “It’s the polite thing to do. Squash the beef.”

You wait a second. One, two, thr—“Ha, squash!” He picks something yellow off his bread. “Get it?”

“Yep.”

He sighs, underwhelmed by your reaction. “You catch Home Alone last night?”

“I did, actually.”

“Cool.” He heaves another sigh, slumps further back in the booth. “God, this time of year is so boring. Work is dead, your neighbor ended your one-sided caroling turf war, and Tim Allen is a shitty conservative, so I can’t even enjoy The Santa Clause anymore.”

You can’t help yourself: “Didn’t you just say the other day that you loved that guy?”

“Tim Allen?” Taehyung looks confused. Also looks a little concerned, like there’d be something severely wrong with him if he had said that, but then he comes to. Glares. “I said Tim Curry! Tim Curry. You know, Dr. Frank-N-Furter? The guy from Clue? Ew, don’t you dare confuse them ever again!”

It should be a crime, how easy it is to provoke him. He’s off on a tirade before you have a chance to tell him you were fucking around, and by the time you’re back at your desk you’re absolutely certain you could write a biography on the guy.

Taehyung had been right about one thing, though: there’s absolutely nothing going on. Everyone has collectively abandoned the illusion of working and aren’t likely to pick it back up until after the new year, so you’ve got nothing to do but scroll endlessly on the internet and spin in your chair until you feel sick.

Maybe you’ll resume the turf war just for something to do.

“Your father says not to bother with the sushi bake,” your mother says. “He thinks it’s too weird.”

Your jaw drops, eyes glancing at the pile of ingredients on your counter. What are you gonna do with all this stuff? How long does imitation crab stay good for? “Are you serious?” A distracted hum comes through the phone. “What am I supposed to do with all these ingredients, then? Can’t he just suck it up?”

She tuts. Years of putting up with and accommodating your father’s pathetic palate tells you she’s probably on your side, but she’s not going to admit it. “I don’t know, honey. It’s the holidays. Can’t you bring it into work?”

“Mom.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do you know what happens to people who bring fish into the office?”

“Well, I don’t know! Give some to your friends! Have leftovers!”

None of your friends want a sushi bake. You don’t even have to ask. They’d accept it out of politeness only, but you can almost guarantee it’ll either get tossed or brought along to their own holiday parties. Oh, no, I didn’t make this, they’ll say. It’s from a friend, but I wasn’t going to finish it all on my own, so here it is! That’s mortifying and you won’t allow it.

“Didn’t you say your neighbor brought you some cookies? Maybe you can return the favor.”

You’re lucky your mother can’t see you roll your eyes, because what a traitor. Taehyung suggesting the same thing had made sense. He’s never had a sense of loyalty. Wouldn’t know it if it came up and bit him in the ass, but your mother? The same mother that heard your complaints about this same neighbor and commiserated with you? She has one thing, and it’s the audacity.

But you aren’t going to argue with her. “Ah, yeah,” you say, voice laced with faux impression, “great idea. Thanks.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What are moms for?”

Not loyalty, clearly.

Everything has truly come full circle.

Here you are, standing on Hoseok’s front step, fist raised to knock and embarrass yourself by dropping off a fucking sushi bake. Not cookies or chocolates or anything else that could pass as Christmas fare—sushi bake. May God please strike you down.

You wonder if Hoseok will turn all his lights off and pretend to not be home. It’d be justified, and if it weren’t for the shadows of movement through the curtains, you’d just drop it off and go back home. Surely it’s cold enough outside to keep it fresh until he returned from caroling. But no, here you are, waiting for him to answer the door because sushi bake requires an explanation.

“Oh! Hello, neighbor!”

(God is fair, because you were not struck down to spare potential embarrassment, but you have been spared from the little elf ears again. A blessing. There’s no way you’d survive those again.)

“Hi,” you respond, thrusting the casserole dish in his direction, perfectly playing the role of a person who has never once met another human. “It’s sushi bake.”

Hoseok computes for a moment. “Sushi bake,” he repeats, like he’s learning an entirely new concept. What is it with men and sushi bakes? “Wow, cool, thank you.” He takes it from you with a smile, radiating pure sunshine. “That’s dinner sorted, then! Is this what you were at the grocery store for?”

“Uh, yeah.” You fidget, feeling awkward without anything to hold. What are you supposed to do with your hands now? You shove them in your coat pockets. “I was gonna make it to bring to my parents’ for Christmas dinner, and then my mom called today to tell me not to because my dad thinks it’s too weird, so, well. Here I am. Paying you back for the cookies with the worst food gift of all time.”

“I think it’s pretty great,” he answers, another dazzling smile lighting up his face. “You didn’t have to repay me for the cookies, though. I still feel really bad about the noise.”

“I—it’s fine,” you say. “Um, well. Enjoy… that.” You turn to leave, nearly slipping on a patch of ice and braining yourself on the brick step. “Have a great night.”

You think Hoseok asks if you’re alright, maybe mumbles something about needing to re-salt the steps and he’s sorry about that, too, but you’re down the sidewalk and back in your house before he can finish. Embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you wonder when you became incapable of talking to men. You roast Taehyung on a near-daily basis. Something must be terribly wrong.

(“Ooh, this is getting spicy,” Taehyung says, foregoing your cubicle wall to park his ass on your desk entirely. “Picture this: Two star-crossed lovers, unable to be together because of the Holy Caroling War. There’s a feud, they become enemies, and then—”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“No, and don’t interrupt me. Now, where was I?”

“Don’t remember,” you lie, and you resume your task of writing down things Taehyung’s hair reminds you of on sticky notes and adhering them to his body.

Elmo. The uniform jackets of those British guards with the silly hats. The Chicago Bulls mascot. Clifford the Big Red Dog. Cartoon cows. Cinnabar. A crayfish. General Thaddeus Ross aka Red Hulk—

“You’re jealous, I get it,” Taehyung quips, exasperated, as he peels a neon yellow note from his thigh. “Anyway, as I was saying. Are you gonna tell your neighbor you’ve got a big, fat crush on him?”

You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you jot down a giant gaping asshole on another note and stick it to his forehead.)

It becomes a… thing, after the sushi bake.

Hoseok feels guilty accepting your kindness, so he drops off a container of homemade radish kimchi. You feel guilty he’d done that, so you drop off some soup. This is unacceptable, but on and on it goes until you catch him leaving a vibrant poinsettia on your steps.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and you startle him so badly he topples backwards off your stoop, taking the poinsettia with him. Dirt shoots into the air like a cartoon, and it’s a struggle but you contain your laughter just enough to dart over to where he’s lying in a sad little heap on the concrete. “Jesus, are you alright?”

You extend your hand and he’s a little dazed, but he takes it after a second. “Ow. Yeah, I think I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It sounded like you hit your head kind of hard.”

He groans. “Think I hit the trashcan on my way down.”

Gross. “Oh. Okay, I’m going to help you up now.” Once he’s upright, you give him a once-over and deem him physically unharmed. You can’t speak for his ego, but you can imagine it’s bruised. “Do you want some hot chocolate or coffee or anything?”

Hoseok shakes his head, which prompts another pained groan. “No, no, I think I’ve been enough of a bother.”

“I insist,” you insist, because you’ve truly lost all common sense. “It’s the least I can do.”

He looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Besides, we can call it even after, right? Your drink of choice for the poinsettia.”

You learn a lot about Hoseok in the span of an hour.

You learn he’s got a contagious laugh and a smile to match. You learn he’s genuinely kind, which makes you feel like pond scum. You learn that he loved your sushi bake and had even taken a picture of it to send to his mom, who said it looked “very cute,” whatever that means. You learn he’s relatively new to the city and that he works from home, so he’d joined the caroling troupe because he was lonely and wanted to make friends, which makes you feel like whatever’s lower than pond scum.

“Earth scum,” you mutter to yourself, and you say it so quietly Hoseok cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy. “Oh my god.”

You learn his friends call him Hobi and that his family lives in Gwangju, which is why he hasn’t traveled home for the holidays. Couldn’t get the time off, he explains, and says it’s okay because he’s going for his birthday in February. Your girlfriends (of which Taehyung is one) would warn you off an Aquarius man, but you take one look at Hoseok’s golden retriever personality and figure he can’t possibly fit the stereotypes.

Whatever. Who are the stars to tell you who is and isn’t the love of your life?

You learn that he knows all the words to Frozen, that he sings all the songs loudly and without shame and that you don’t mind this kind of singing. Not when it’s in your house. Not really when it’s him. And that kind of unabashed joy—Hoseok so unapologetic about who he is—it… does something to you.

Hoseok is kind and endearing and really fucking hot.

So you also learn what it tastes like when you kiss hot chocolate from the corners of his mouth. How it feels to thread your hands in his hair, the noises he makes when you tug. You learn what it feels like when he digs his fingertips into your hips, hauling you into his lap. How serious he becomes, a flipped switch, how that heart-shaped mouth straightens out and his eyes lose that glimmer, all business.

You learn the husk his voice takes on when he urges you closer. How he’s enthusiastic about consent but doesn’t ask for anything, just directs you how he wants you, says, you like it like this, don’t you, baby. You do.

Some horrible Christmas song plays on the television in the background. There’s no condom, not within arm’s reach, so Hoseok gets you off with his mouth. Throws your leg over his shoulder, tells you how good you taste, and you learn how quickly you can come undone in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing. Then you look down and learn Hoseok’s touching himself, couldn’t wait, he says, and you surprise even yourself when you swat him away and tell him to come in your mouth.

“Oh shit—fuck,” he says, but he’s upright fast, hand still gliding along his slick cock. Salt blooms on your tongue from the precum, but you learn how perfectly he fits in your mouth. You learn he sounds fucking divine when he spills over the edge.

You learn he’s a cuddler, and that you already like him way too much.

It’s Christmas Eve, and everything’s going to go right this time.

You can smell the success in the air, so winter-crisp it stings the inside of your nose. All of your gifts are wrapped to perfection. The roads are clear. No elevators to get stuck in this year, and last you’d seen your cousin was spending the holidays on the opposite side of the country, far away from you, so you’re feeling good. Got a pep in your step.

And then you lock the door behind you and there’s Hoseok, taking out his trash in a plush robe and reindeer slippers. He’s got light-up antlers on his head, and the butterflies in your stomach turn into more of a swarm. The two of you have kept in touch, sure. Made plans to go on a real date after the holiday chaos died down, but it’d been easy to tamper down those feelings when you didn’t have to see him.

“Hello, neighbor,” he says, and it’s Christmas Eve and he’s clearly got nowhere to be, can’t make it to see his family, and he’s still smiling. It makes your chest ache.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

The smile doesn’t falter at all. “Taking out the trash?”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.”

He laughs. The Christmas bells are back. God, you are so fucked. “Ah, yeah, I suppose it is, huh?”

“You don’t have plans?”

He shrugs. “Nope. Well, nothing besides some spiked eggnog and the Christmas Story marathon.”

That sounds nice, you think. “Oh, that sounds nice,” you say, and then the next words out of your mouth come unbidden: “Do you want to come with me? I’m going to my parents’ for dinner, which probably sounds… uh, rushed. And super weird. But it’s really low-key and they’re really nice, and I feel bad leaving you here by yourself and not inviting you. Don’t feel obligated, though! I just thought—”

“Do I have time to change?”

Dumbstruck, you just nod. Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and disappears inside his house, reemerging five minutes later dressed impeccably. Your mother’s going to swoon, and even though she’s not going to see it because she never checks her phone, you send her and your father a warning text. Bringing my neighbor, don’t ask, set up another spot at the table.

Just like you’d thought, your mother is overjoyed. You’ve only ever brought one person home for Christmas and that was back in college. A fling, called off before Valentine’s Day, so she’s been deprived of oohing and ahhing and talking a stranger’s ear off.

Hoseok is polite, a near-perfect guest, and your mother fusses over him while your dad talks about stocks and sports and whatever else. Something about mothers, they’ve always got a pile of emergency gifts stashed somewhere, and while you do the dishes, she dashes off to wrap some just so Hoseok has something to open. A cashmere sweater, a bag of gourmet coffee, some wool socks. This is too much, he insists, but it just makes your mother fuss over him more.

“Wait,” your father says, nearly melted into the couch after eating far too much, “weren’t you gonna bring some sushi thing?” Your jaw drops. Hoseok laughs so hard he’s in tears on the floor. Your mother looks away quickly, guilt clear on her face. A traitor. You’ve always known it.

Christmas has threatened to break you before, but this might be the year it makes you whole.

as always, thank you for reading! my inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. i’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

For the drabblepallooza :D

Hoseok:

hannah, this song 😩🥹 i hope i did it justice!

oh, you kissed me just to kiss me / not to make me cry / it was simple, you are sweetness / let’s just sit a while

It was a test - albeit an unfair one - but it was necessary. You were becoming comfortable and if your life had taught you even one (1) thing, it was this: the other shoe will always drop; and when it inevitably does, it’ll hit you square in your unsuspecting face.

Constant vigilance, or whatever. Sleep with one eye open. Hell, maybe two.

You weren’t sure what you’d done in a past life - what cursed mirror you shattered, or which witch you pissed off - but you didn’t get to be happy. Happy was for other people. Fate took your pretty, golden string and dragged it through the mud. You were polluted; you were sure of it.

But then Hoseok sprung up so unexpectedly like a daisy blooming through a crack in a city sidewalk. It was shocking, made you do a double take to prove you weren’t seeing things. Even worse, it made you hope. You were concrete, busted and so stubborn, and he was sweet. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t know how to trust that.

It had to be a ruse. Some long con - right?

Life lesson number two (2) was that no 2:00 AM text goes unpunished. You’d only ever been on the receiving end - in more ways than one - and it always ended up the same way: with you slumped on your couch with your best friend; you shoveling handfuls of dry cereal into your gaping maw; you ugly crying.

You couldn’t get a read on him, despite the month you’d been seeing each other. Was he the kind of person that would even be awake to receive your invitation? If he was, what would he make of it? And if he did show up on your doorstep, what then?

As usual, you got bored halfway into thinking it through. There was only one way to find out.

[02:03 AM]: Come over? 👉🏻👈🏻

Once you’d rigged the bomb that would blow you sky-high, all you could do was wait. You sat on your couch and faced the television you still hadn’t turned on, but your restless eyes kept darting down to the phone in your lap.

No matter how many times you tapped its screen to wake it, you couldn’t make a notification appear. All you accomplished with this course of action was repeated, glaring, minute-by-minute reminders that this whole thing was stupid.

At 2:39 AM, you accepted defeat. Hoseok was a hard-worker and an early-riser; it only made sense that he went to bed when respectable adults did. You should’ve been glad that you hadn’t ruined his good night’s sleep.

You were halfway back to your bedroom when a quiet knock stopped you dead in your tracks. Body still frozen, you tilted your head to stare incredulously at the door.

It worked? Fuck! Now what?

It took several seconds to convince your feet to move. When they finally did, the sound echoing through your apartment wasn’t that of bare soles on hardwood. Instead of muffled footsteps, you heard your brain repeating one word rhythmically, over and over, with each step: idiot, idiot, idiot.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you opened the door. Perhaps it was Hoseok, standing there like a fuck-boy with a condom wrapper clenched between his teeth. Maybe instead of a condom, it’d be a rewards card that he could redeem for a free coffee once your hole was punched. Or maybe he’d be naked, concealing his naughty bits with a sign that said I’m going to ruin your life!

Whatever horrible thing you could’ve imagined, it wasn’t what you got: Hoseok and his cold-bitten cheeks, wearing a big, flannel scarf and the sleepiest fucking smile you’d ever seen. He quirked an eyebrow at your shocked expression, but he didn’t ask after it.

He simply raised a white, styrofoam to-go box, and said, “Sorry it took so long. I stopped at that late-night pizza joint by my place. You wouldn’t believe that line.”

Dumbstruck, you accepted the box from him and stepped aside to allow him in. He kicked off his shoes, then tossed his coat and scarf onto the nearby coat rack. But then he kept moving, talking all the while, without noticing the sparks flying off your broken brain.

“Seriously, it wrapped around the entire block. As bad as it sounds, I’m kind of glad you weren’t with me this time,” he snickered as he dumped himself onto your couch. He threw you a wink you weren’t prepared to catch, “I don’t know if I could’ve stood there for twenty minutes while wearing you like a back-pack.”

Your face scrunched up. For the first time, actual words clambered out of your slack-jawed mouth, “Hey! I’m perfectly capable of waiting in a line!”

His brows furrowed above twinkling eyes. There was no point in arguing; you both knew you were full of shit. Right on cue, a montage started playing in your mind. It chronicled every single time you whined for a piggyback ride -

Spoiler alert: The total was somewhere between 12 and 20.

- because your legs were tired, or your shoes were giving you blisters, or because you were a dumb baby who needed to be held, or because maybe you were starting to lo- Nope, stop right there.

“Okay, fine, I’m not,” you conceded with a sigh as you joined him. Looking down at the pizza box - which was miraculously still warm despite his cold walk here - you bit down on your bottom lip.

He saw your shy silence and raised you a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

“You were sleeping,” you eventually whispered. Declaratory, not inquisitive because you woke him up, you menace.

Hoseok was so visibly confused by your uncharacteristic quietness, “Yes? And now I’m not.”

You were already melting into a puddle under that sunshine in his eyes, but he nevertheless persisted:

“You always get hungry this late. Was I supposed to let you starve?”

Your knees were wobbling even though your ass was firmly planted on that cushion, “That’s why you’re here?”

“I mean, I also missed you,” his bemused laughter carried you off like a breeze, “But keeping you fed is priority number one - for national security purposes, obviously. You get so cranky when you’re hungry.”

You were not going to cry, you adamantly refused, but your eyes got a little blurry when that giggle flew out of you. You kept giggling, too, until his cold hand cupped your cheek.

Then he kissed you and it was cotton candy, so sugary sweet in the way it melted in your mouth. You waited for him to pull you into his lap, to deepen the kiss, for that other shoe to collide with the top of your thick skull.

But he stopped.

He tucked you under his arm.

He smiled as he held a piece of pizza up to your buzzing lips, and he chuckled when you finally took the bite he offered.