To Reread: Comfort - Tumblr Posts

i’m CRYING THIS IS SO FUNNY AND ABSOLUTELY PERFECT

I’m sorry if someone has already asked you this but I just discovered your blog and I have to know what your headcannons are of BTS while high

anon… NO ONE has asked me this yet!!!! and you have my whole entire heart for taking one for the team and doing god’s work. i have treated this ask with the utmost importance and i only hope that i don’t disappoint you. also i'm sorry this took me literally all day LMFAO let me just open this with a blanket statement: the sheer number of bangtan giggles that there would be. i think i would die. anyway. onwards and upwards

namjoon

tbh my boy namjoon already speaks like he is stoned. he is ALWAYS waxing poetic and having an existential crisis, and that would increase tenfold if found holding a blunt. he’s making connections, he’s drawing conclusions. the empty chip bag that he has just devoured is definitely a metaphor for fame and how people take everything they love from you and then there’s nothing left for yourself. he’d sit on that for about five minutes before feeling guilty for thinking such thoughts about HIS army, who always refills his metaphorical chip bag.

seokjin

think of the windshield wiper laughs. OH he would be making the stupidest jokes (yes more than he already does). he gets great pleasure from jokes that make people groan. in seeming direct contrast, our gamer guy would be absolutely COUCHLOCKED. but he’d find that for some reason he just isn’t as angry at failures/deaths as he would be sober. and he thinks, “is THIS peace? have i never known it before this moment?” he didn't think he could get any more go with the flow than he already was. but if you think he’s not paying attention to the room around him, think again. he's making fun of everyone else losing their minds, all with eyes glued to the screen.

yoongi

oh bro. yoongi? he’s already an encyclopedia of useless knowledge, sprinkled with existential dread and hatred of the system. my man is ranting and RAVING about the capitalist machine. he doesn't understand why people have to work themselves to death to survive with no opportunity to enjoy life. he's pissed about the fact that he now benefits so greatly from a system he initially set out to be publicly against. and then he'll go on for 15 minutes about stucco, no transition. he's also hearing the most mundane sounds and recording them on his phone because they'll be perfect samples for a track. and then when he listens back to them the next day, he'll be like "what the absolute fuck was this?"

hobi

hobi for the first 20 minutes of the high is a silent observer. it's a little overwhelming right at the beginning, so he's probably a little in his head. he's just taking everything in. but after he crests the peak, he is loosey goosey. music has never made him want to dance more, and he didn't know that was possible. our boy's taste in music is made for getting stoned to. he's wiggling over to the snacks, wiggling with the snacks in his hand. falling to the floor, shouting with laughter when he sees how absolutely ZOOTED his members are. after he wipes the tears from his eyes, he sees yoongi sampling the sound of the ice maker and immediately goes over to be his ultimate hype man.

jimin

park jimin. my sweet baby. he knows that mama didn’t raise no bitch, so he’s taken extra hits after everyone’s tapped out. his eyes are basically permanently shut. for the life of him he cannot stop giggling. he’s in that every single thing that happens is funny mode. can’t hold himself upright. we’re talking hands on shoulders, we’re talking heads in laps, we’re talking falling to the floor. kim taehyung is the funniest person to exist in his eyes (yes more than normal). usually he cringes at himself speaking affectionately about his members, but all inhibitions are gone. he loves them SO MUCH, and he’s absolutely not going to shut up about it. he’s making grandiose plans for them to never get around to doing together because they’re not actually reasonable.

taehyung

taehyung is also thinking thoughts, putting things together. we're talking about the brain that brought us borahae. of course, for one good realization, you have to have about one hundred terrible ones. think of the highest thought you've ever had, or have ever heard someone else have, and you might have stepped inside the anomaly that is kim taehyung's head. some shit like, "what if birds aren't singing and they're actually screaming because they're afraid of heights?" and of course, jimin is fully ready to take this thought that he accidentally vocalized, turn it into a bit, and beat it into the ground. legend has it they're still figuring this out.

jungkook

on his most productive day, our maknae is operating as head empty, no thoughts. so there's no doubt in my mind that he's staring at the wall. not a damn thing is happening up there, i promise you. he's just realized AGAIN that he has hands, but he has no idea what to do with them. because he's completely unaware of what's going on in the room around him, he's interrupted taehyung and jimin's bit to ask them what he should do about his hand predicament. but while he was trying to get their attention, his hand brushed over one of the blankets on the couch and goddamn is it not the softest thing he's ever felt. so his focus has shifted entirely to feeling this blanket. rinse and repeat.

---

ROW MY HEART I've been trying to figure out what I would classify your writing specialty as (you're so good at so many things idk if I could pick just one??) but THIS FIC

you are a master at developing complex relationships accompanied by the most beautiful imagery. your world building is absolutely magnetic and I get hooked SO FAST no matter the genre or focus of the fic. from your angst to your fluff, mxm to reader x m, and everywhere in between, I know I'm going to find your entire heart in every single line. I'm so grateful to get to read your work!!

OK LET'S GET TO IT HOPE FOR THE HOLIDAYS MADE ME CRY MULTIPLE TIMES:

the immediate comparison of ash to hobi started this fic off PERFECTLY -- the drastic ick of ash to the glorious happy romance personified of hobi was fantastic, plus the slow burn development of the hobi x reader relationship gave me everythinggggg

"he has already taken up more space in your life than anyone else has in months." MY HEART I love when folks get to receive honest and open love and realize that they deserve the world (whether a friendship or romantic relationship or whatever, it’s the “you’re worth this love” that makes my heart soar-- and you captured it SO WELL in this fic 🥹)

"You are no stranger to your subconscious thrusting arousal upon you at unsuspecting times over people you adore" I CACKLED AN ICONIC LINE HARROW IM DYING

"There's a spot kind of nearby that makes it close to how my mom does...well, as close as I will hope to get away from home."" this made my heart SOAR idk something about sharing what makes your heart happy with a person MMM

"Once again, your future feels woven with his, and you nod and say, "I will do my best."" I swear this fic will be the death of me I cannot believe how much my heart is singing. also the 'your future feels woven with his' TEARS I love this thought and just the idea of being tied to someone forever IMMEDIATE CRY 😭

"but there is something special about receiving it from someone else."" 😭😭😭

"with a belly full of soju and food and a head full of him." elegant lovely my heart is so warm iiiiiiiiiiiiii

"then immediately blink heavily and instead try to conjure images of kittens laying in a basket that has a pretty bow tied on the handle—anything to clear your mind." THE COMEDY IIIIIIIIIII row this had me in stitches we love a frantic I'M NOT HORNY WHAT moment 😂😂😂

"But I was really starting to have feelings for you, and this news is kind of hard to take."" This made me SO NERVOUS ahhh but so many points for honest communication and the processing that happened over the next scenesssss

"Well, I am the romantic one, after all" YES YOU AREEEEE

"Can I hug you?" tears tears tears there's nothing more soothing than a firm hug and squeeze from someone who cares about you 😭

"then finally utter what has been blooming behind your chest for a week." ROW YOU KILL ME WITH THE FLOWER IMAGERY FROM DOLLHOUSE TO HERE I DIE EVERY TIME I can feel it so strongly and love it to bits 🥹

ALSO SIDE NOTE I WAS LISTENING TO MY SOFT MORNING COMFORT PLAYLIST WHILE READING THIS AND ALL THROUGHOUT THE NEXT CONVERSATION THE DULCET TONES OF EUPHORIA BEGAN AND I'VE NEVER HAD A MORE PERFECTLY TIMED MOMENT IN MY LIFE 😭😭😭🥹🥹🥹

"while he plays with the hairs at the nape of your neck." damn I think I need some physical touch this made my heart squeeze I love them

"And your relationship is over, but I intend to sink my claws in soon." once again I DIED with laughter this fic is fantastically balanced between angst and romance and fluff and humor

HE MADE THEM A HOMEMADE GIFT 😭

THAT KISS WAS EVERYTHING I'M SCREAMING it was the perfect moment that had been building throughout their relationship and was the epitome of the respect that he has for them and their relationship as well as the sweet love that they had been missing

"For weeks, you've been light," Hoseok kisses the tip of your nose, "warmth," he kisses your cheek, "home."" 🥹 mmmm this fic is light, warmth, and home 😭💗🥰

row, thank you thank you thank you for this fic 🥹 it felt super cathartic to cry with them as they figured out their previous relationship and see them blossom and find comfort in a super healthy connection 💛💛

(this was me while reading)

Hope for the Holidays

Meeting someone extraordinary and deciding to leave your partner of three years wasn’t quite what you had in mind for the holiday season, but life rarely goes as planned, does it?

❄ Hoseok x Non-binary (AFAB) Reader ❄ word count: 25.9k (i am so sorry) ❄ strangers to lovers, chance encounters, slow burn, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw ❄ warnings: a smidgen of emotional infidelity (but mc tries not to!), emotionally manipulative, toxic and vindictive partner, having complicated feelings about a relationship, breaking up, hurt/comfort, falling for someone new, angst, fluff, not going home for the holidays, strained relationship with family, panic & anxiety, recreational drinking, moving on very fast, falling in love, honestly just trying to live their best lives ❄ This fic is part of a hyung holiday collab! Check out the other fics by @here2bbtstrash, @gimmethatagustd and @sailoryooons! ❄ beta read by @neoneunnajimin, banner by @sailoryooons ❄ posted on dec. 2022 | read on ao3

❄ note: hi friends! i am the last man standing in the hyung holiday collab! this is a breakup fic, as advertised. but it is also a discover someone new fic and a feel alive for the first time in a long time fic. although mc's relationship isn't explicitly abusive, the way Ash behaves may be reminiscent of the way abusers behave so please proceed with caution. this has a happy ending, so don't fret! i poured a lot of my personal feelings into mc, their relationship to the holidays, and their strained relationship to their family. there is going to be angst and lots of fluff (and in a separate part, there will be smut, so if you are not an enjoyer of smut, then the ending of this part is also an ending.) also! shout out to @m1sss1mp for letting me use her name (sorry you were a chismosa in this story hehe i'll give you a kinder role next time! <3) since Ave is a real person, i did not describe her, so you are free to imagine she looks any way you would like!

With each buzz of your cell phone, you take a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to steel yourself. You already know what to expect, and this is not the conversation you want to be having on this bright—albeit frigid—Wednesday afternoon. 

You answer the call and do your best not to sound too nervous as you say, “Hey, Ash!” in a practiced, bright tone.

They sigh, which sends a pang of anxiety to your guts, and you squeeze your eyes closed, turning from the sun that suddenly shines far too brightly into your reading nook. 

“Baby! Hey! I miss your voice, oh my god.”

Their chipper tone brings you a hint of relief, and you smile in an effort to keep your voice smiling, as well. “I miss you too. How is everything? How are the parents?”

“Parents are good,” they respond, sounding a bit out of breath. “Dad and I just took a little hike around the land, and mom’s been cooking up a storm! They’re both stoked to see you. Any, uh…any word on that?”

Of course, Ash would jump straight to the point. You feel like mold in a petri dish, ready for examination. 

“I, uh…” you cringe. “No. No, I haven’t been able to find any good prices, and—“

Ash sighs—heavy, exasperated. “Baby, please just let us chip in,” they mutter quietly, as if to hide their words from eavesdroppers. “It’s fine, they want to help—“

“I don’t want that, Ash,” you insist, absolutely unwilling to let their parents send you any money. “Look, I’ll keep trying. There’s bound to be a holiday deal, maybe I can cope with a long layover somewhere warm…I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

It’s silent for a beat, and you inhale slowly, count to three, and then let the breath out. 

“It’s okay, baby. If things don’t work out, there’s always next year.”

You hum a weak, “mmhmm,” feeling anxiety pound at your rib cage. 

“At least you got yourself a tree,” Ash says brightly, as if attempting to save the mood. 

You glance around your reading nook, where the large, ornate pine tree would ordinarily stand, finding only pillows and stacks of books. “Yup.”

“Send me a pic! I want to see it!”

Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you do your best to swallow it down. “I w—I will. I haven’t found the perfect topper, yet, so once I do that, I’ll send a pic,” you lie. 

“Just use mine! It's in a box somewhere."

"Uh–okay, I'll look for it."

"Alright, well, I have to go. Let me know if you find any tickets! Mom and dad really miss you!” There’s an insistent bite in Ash’s tone, and you do your best to ignore it. 

“I will, baby," you respond, unable to hide the shake in your voice. "I miss them too.” 

“Bye, I love you!”

With shaky hands, you end the call, and glance around the space. A tree. If you won’t fly out to San Francisco, the least you can do is get yourself a tree. What a bother. 

The thing about living in the middle of a big city and choosing not to own a vehicle—because the public transit is okay enough to get you where you need to go—is that getting large things like an eight-foot fucking pine tree is a bit of a hassle. 

Thankfully, with the internet comes people ready and willing to deliver pretty much anything you could possibly desire, often within the span of several days. 

And that is how you wind up in the crowded foyer of your apartment building, attempting to heave a giant box toward the elevator. As soon as you laid eyes on the thing standing tall beside the mailboxes, you burst out laughing. There is just no fucking way—absolutely ridiculous. 

You probably make it two inches in the correct direction before deciding that this box is not only too tall, but too heavy to move, and instead, you sit on the foot of the steps with your head in your hands, running through a list of people you may be able to bribe to help you out, shooting off a few texts starting with folks who live nearby. 

“This is just fucking great,” you mutter under your breath. 

All of this, you’re doing to appease someone who won’t even be here to see the damn tree, just so that you can prove to them that you’re not miserable without them. 

The truth is, this is the first time you’ve really gotten to breathe in months, and having a holiday-tree-free home has been just fine. But that is a thought you do not let yourself dwell on. You and Ash have been together for three years; you have a history. Every relationship has its rough patches. This is simply one of those. And who knows, maybe having the damn tree around will brighten your mood. That is, if you can get it into your apartment.

With a defeated sigh, you bury your face in your hands and let out a heavy exhale. Why is it that the holidays always come with some sort of nonsense? This is truly the cherry on top of a towering nonsense cake. 

You are about to say fuck it and leave the box in the lobby for someone else to claim, when the front door of the building opens, and in comes a large, cold gust of wind and one of the prettiest people you have ever seen. 

They’re tall, wearing a long, camel tan jacket with fur lining the hood and perfectly framing their face—sharp yet soft, and scrunched in the cutest frown you have ever seen. 

“Shit,” they mutter under their breath in a slightly high-pitched, nasally voice. “It's cold!”

The pretty stranger meets your eye and gives a wide smile, and if you weren’t already swooning, their heart-shaped lips would have done you in. You sit up straight, beginning to worry that you are in the way of this stranger, and start to shift around on the steps that are effectively blocked by a large box.

"Need some help?" the person asks with an accent that rolls their words ever so slightly. 

You shake your head and mutter, "No, no it's too heavy. I think I'll leave it."

"Leave it here?" the person asks with wide eyes, and you nod your head. 

"Yeah."

They hum and glance around the box, then ask, "Which floor are you on?"

"Three," you respond meekly, hoping that with that information, they will surmise that it is, in fact, too big to get to your door, and that you should leave it out on the street. 

They hum again, then say, "Wait here. Two minutes!" and take off running toward the elevator. 

You stand, holding a hand out while shouting, "Wait, no, it's alright," but as they press a button, closing the elevator doors, they smile widely, holding up two fingers, convincing you to stay. 

With a huff, you sit back on the steps and take out your phone. Of course, your traitor friends have not responded to your pleas for assistance, leaving you to wait on some beautiful stranger who left in a flash, just as chaotically as they arrived.

When the elevator dings, you sit up straight and turn toward the sound, and you actually feel disappointed to find someone else exiting and walking down the hall. They pause to ask if you need help with the box, but the way they stand—chest and shoulders puffed out with a frown on their face—has you certain they are just asking to be polite.

"Nah," you say, shaking your head. "I'm waiting for someone."

They shrug and leave, and that is that. Now, you are some weirdo on the steps with a giant box who has been perceived by not one building tenant, but two, and you are ready to bury a deep, deep hole in the earth where you can go lay down and freeze to death.

Certain that two minutes have passed and the pretty stranger may have just been messing with you, you stand and begin to push the box back toward the front door. They never said what they were going to get; maybe they decided that offering you help was a mistake and that the best thing for them to do is run far away and never show their face on the third floor. You can't say you would blame them.

The elevator dings once more, and you hear the sound of wheels against the shitty linoleum of the foyer. You turn to find your beautiful building-mate standing before you with a layer of clothing shed, and a dolly in their hand. How and why they even have that device is beyond you, and you nearly cry when they wheel it up and stop it just before the box.

With an eyebrow raised, they ask, "You were pushing it to the door, weren't you?" in a teasing tone.

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you give a sheepish glance, responding, "Noooo..." sarcastically. 

"Here," they offer, pointing the dolly at you to hold onto, and you walk around them to take the handles, which come up to your ribs, holding it in place while they wiggle the box onto the rectangular base on the bottom, which sits between two large wheels. Then, they come back around and hold out their hands, muttering, "I got this," so you step aside and watch in horror as they slowly lift the far end of the box from the floor, tilting it toward their body, then begin to walk backwards toward the elevator. 

You charge ahead and push the call button, then run inside as soon as the doors open to hold the button that keeps them from closing. It is a precarious feat to get the eight-foot tall box into the small elevator with the two of you, and there is quite a bit of squishing yourselves against the wall with your feet nearly getting rolled over before the doors are able to close.

As you crane your neck to look at the person standing with their shoulder pressed into yours, they look at you and smile. 

"My name is Hoseok, by the way."

"Hoseok," you repeat, enjoying how it sounds on your tongue. You tell them your name, followed by, "They, them pronouns."

Hoseok's eyes widen, and he smiles softly. "My pronouns are he, him."

"Nice to meet you," you mutter, glad to have that all sorted out.

Hoseok opens his mouth to respond, but the elevator dings open. The fight to get out and into the hallway begins, though it is much easier this time around, and you pause briefly after exiting, allowing your heartbeat to even out. It takes you a moment to realize Hoseok does not know where to deliver the tree, and you spring into action, walking a few doors down before coming to a stop in front of yours and fishing a key from your pocket.

"Will someone be by to help you decorate this later?" Hoseok asks politely.

You shove the door open, kicking stray shoes out of the way, and allow Hoseok to enter the space. A kitchenette is to the left, with a countertop that separates it from the small dining area and living room. Ahead, past the restored wood tables and forest green couches, is a nook where the windows jut out, creating a nice, cozy space for you to sit and read. You lead the way, picking up stray clothing items, then tell Hoseok to set the box down beside a pile of books.

"No," you finally respond. "It's just me."

Sheepishly, you glance around and scratch your head as the realization hits that you don't have anything to decorate the tree with. Ash has a bin of holiday items, and you are certain that there are some that are meant for a tree, but the idea of digging through their things makes you uncomfortable.

"Actually, I don't have anything to put on this yet," you admit.

"I guess we have to go shopping, then," Hoseok says with a soft smile.

We. Just like that, Hoseok breezes into your life and makes himself at home, and you feel helpless to stop him, returning his smile with a smaller one, as you mutter, "I guess we do."

While shopping with Hoseok, you learn several things about him. The first of which is that he is from Gwangju, South Korea, which is about three hours south of the capital city Seoul, by car. He moved halfway across the globe about a year and a half ago to study fashion abroad, and since he isn't a huge traditionalist when it comes to Christmas, he opted to save his trip home for the Lunar New Year, instead. 

You also learn that Hoseok is extremely curious and animated, and he enjoys pointing at and touching things, making tiny little sound effects, and turning everything into characters for which he creates special voices. You found it alarming at first and shied away from the excitement, ducking your head and looking on in confusion. But as you eased into the afternoon with Hoseok, you found yourself pointing to things that reminded you of previous characters and moments, and laughing along. 

"It's nice to see you relax," Hoseok says over a steaming paper cup of hot chocolate, and you look up with a start, tilting your head the way he tilts his whenever you say something that doesn't sink in immediately. 

"What do you mean?" you mutter, bringing your own paper cup of cocoa to your lips and blowing over the top to cool it enough for a sip. 

"You've just been really tense all day," Hoseok continues, still holding his drink to his lips but making no move to taste it. "Not a complaint, though; just an observation."

You hum and accept Hoseok's observation. Truth be told, you have been tense for months—not just this morning. And, in fact, this time spent with Hoseok is the first time you have really laughed and let yourself go in so long, you actually feel embarrassed. Holing up in your apartment by yourself and being a recluse has been too easy, especially with the weather as cold as it has been, and you have forgotten how nice it is to get out and have a cup of hot chocolate. 

Try as you might to not let your mind wander to when things used to be this carefree and simple, you can't help it. You imagine the early days with Ash when you would meet up at the local cafes and initiate impromptu snowball fights, falling into a pile of goose feather padded fabric and giggling with snow stuck to your hair and a chill on your cheeks. 

Now it's tense smiles and words replaced by hums and grunts. You can't remember the last time you bought a gift out of the blue because you saw something that reminded you of them, or suggested trying a new eatery just for the fun of it. Even meals cooked at home are usually performed by one, without consulting the other, and you either share the food or choose to make something else.

How depressing. 

"Earth to marshmallow," Hoseok chimes, waving a hand over your face, and you blink away from your thoughts, tasting rich, warm chocolate on your lips. 

"Marsh—" you begin, questioning his choice of nickname, when you feel a stray, small marshmallow stuck to your bottom lip. You tug your lip into your mouth while warmth rises to your cheeks and set your cup down so you can bury your face in your hands. 

"Embarrassing," you groan. 

Hoseok begins to yank at one of your wrists, and you give in, smiling as your one free eye reveals his smiling face. 

"It was cute," Hoseok teases, releasing his grasp on you. 

The spot Hoseok touched tingles, and you drop both hands to the table and rub your fingers over your wrist in the hope of making the feeling go away. 

"So," Hoseok says with a wide, pretty grin, "we got tinsel, lights, some ornaments—but maybe not enough ornaments?"

You shake your head. "Definitely not enough ornaments."

"So we just need more of those and a topper, and this tree is ready to decorate!"

You nod and worry your bottom lip. Shopping with Hoseok has been nice, but you feel bad for dragging him all around downtown, looking for the perfect decorations. Why you are being so picky about the final product in the first place is beyond you, since this tree is more to appease Ash than anything, and they won't be back in time to even see the fucking thing. Why should you care so much?

"I think we should find something that is less traditional than an angel for the top," Hoseok suggests, eyes staring off into the distance as he takes a sip from his cup and lets it settle in his mouth before swallowing. "You don't strike me as an angel person."

"Like a star?" you recommend, considering the shades of gold and pretty pastel colors that the rest of the decorations are. 

Hoseok hums. "Exactly! I think a star would be perfect."

The realization hits you, sinking into your guts to swirl with all the bile and acid: You care about the way the tree looks because Hoseok cares, and you want his approval. During the entire shopping trip, you deferred to his opinion and considered his feedback. And now, here you are, sipping hot chocolate and planning the star—the piece de resistance—with him as if this tree is also his. 

If you had any shame at all—even just a single ounce of it—you would cut the excursion short, lie about something you need to do back home, and take what decorations you have back to your place to adorn the tree alone while shopping online for the rest of what you need, thus cutting all ties between Hoseok and the entire event. 

But you do not want to exclude him from even a second of this project because his company is warm and comforting, and you hate the thought of doing it alone. And sure, you can remind yourself all day that you wouldn't be doing any of this alone in the first place if you had just gone to San Francisco with your partner as is tradition, which you have done for the last two Christmas and New Year seasons, mostly to make them happy. 

But things don't always work out according to plan, and you think maybe it is time to start new holiday traditions that bring you joy. Hoseok is the only reason you got the damn thing into your apartment in the first place; he deserves to see this through to the end, as well. 

At least, that's what you tell yourself in order to abate the guilt.

With a fortifying breath, you put the compostable plastic lid back onto your hot chocolate, take a drink, and then ask, "Ready?"

Hoseok beams at you, eyes turning into pretty little crescent moons as he replies, "Ready."

Ash That's...interesting.

You Interesting? Really?

Ash I mean, it's not really Christmas-y.

You It is literally a Christmas tree. 

Ash Why didn't you use any of my decorations? Seems like a hassle to go out and buy all new stuff when I have a bin full of shit that you could have used. 

You IDK it felt weird going through your stuff.

Your phone rings, and you sigh, watching as Ash's name and smiling face appear on the screen. Beside you—on your couch, watching some shitty Hallmark movie that you have all but spaced away from paying attention to—Hoseok cocks his head to the side and knits his eyebrows, studying your sullen expression. 

"I have to take this," you grumble, standing from the warmth of your fuzzy baby blue blanket and making sure the large bowl of popcorn that sits between the two of you is undisturbed. 

Hoseok nods and reaches for the remote, but you shake your head and say, "It's fine, don't pause it," as you leave the living room and walk to your bedroom. 

Ash has already cut the unanswered call short, and you thumb through your phone and call them back. It rings twice before they pick up and let out a familiar sigh, setting your nerves on end.

"Sorry, I—"

"You can text but you can't answer your phone?" Ash snaps.

Your jaw tenses and you take a deep breath, attempting to keep your voice steady. "I was on the toilet, geez. Did you want to listen to me flush and wash my hands that badly?"

"It's not like I haven't literally watched you take a piss," they respond, and you roll your eyes.

"Pardon me for wanting a moment of privacy."

Silence hangs, and you wait for Ash to speak since they were the one to initiate a conversation by calling first. When they say nothing, you mutter, "So you hate the tree?"

"I don't hate the tree, babe, I just...I don't understand what you're doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ash sighs loudly, "it feels like you're not even trying to come here, and now you're decorating the tree with shit that you went out to get yourself rather than just using what I have. It's like you're trying to cut me out of your holiday altogether, and it just feels fucking...weird."

Your gut instinct is to get defensive and question where this newfound paranoia is coming from, but although Ash is not correct in their assumption, they are also not entirely wrong. No, you are not trying to cut them intentionally out of your holiday, but it is true that some part of you has begun to pull away from them, in general. 

"Ash," you respond, keeping your voice as level and guilt-free as you can manage, "I'm not trying to cut you out of anything, alright? I just had some free time and wanted to go trudge around in the snow for my own decorations. I'm sorry if that made you feel left out."

Ash hums, and mutters, "Alright. Sorry for getting defensive."

Although nobody can see you, you shrug as you say, "Nah, I think it's a perfectly reasonable way to feel. And I'm glad you voiced those feelings."

"Thanks for being understanding," Ash says, then, after some chatter is heard in the background, they mutter, "Gotta go, babe. Love you," and hang up before you can say anything back.

As you shove your phone into your hoodie pocket, you rock in place, unsure where you want to settle your feet. It would be rude to stay in your room while your guest is on the sofa, but returning to the living room and explaining your relationship to Hoseok feels...awkward.

And you are unsure why it feels that way because it's not as if he would judge you for being in a relationship. At least, you assume that to be the case; you don't really know. It is late evening on day one of your whirlwind friendship with Hoseok, and he has already taken up more space in your life than anyone else has in months. 

After the shopping excursion, Hoseok ran to his place—also on the third floor, on the far end of the hallway—to change into dry socks and some sweatpants while you also changed, and then he returned promptly to help you clear away the piles of your books, unpack the tree, decorate the tree, and help himself to two bags of microwavable popcorn that you had forgotten were in the kitchen cabinet. 

There were talks of eating actual dinner, but Hoseok became very invested in a film about two neighbors competing to decorate their house for Christmas, so you settled on popcorn because you are an adult and are free to make poor dietary choices from time to time. 

All day, despite the ebb and flow of emotions, everything with Hoseok has felt really easy.

Hoseok is very friendly and open, and he would most likely be understanding of whatever version of the situation you choose to tell him. So why would it be awkward? Assuming today is not just a one-time thing, Ash will eventually come home and meet your new friend. So he should therefore know they exist, right?

You trudge back to the living room with an impassive smile, hoping that your presence alone will be enough and that Hoseok will refrain from asking questions. And your wish is granted as he shoves popcorn into his mouth while attempting to explain everything you missed in what he has adorably coined The Battle of the Dads. With a nod and a smile you listen, despite having no idea which dad is which in this story. It doesn't matter; Hoseok is smiling. 

Your apartment feels empty when Hoseok leaves—too quiet for comfort. You had gotten so used to the chattering, the humming and singing, the sounds of busy shopping malls, hanging decorations with hip-hop tracks playing in the background, and winding down in front of the television. This one day feels like several have passed, and you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to text Hoseok, just for something to do. 

You failed to bring up Ash after returning from the phone call, but there are signs of them all over, so you reason that Hoseok has probably picked up on the fact that another person lives in the apartment with you. Earlier, when you were talking about Hoseok's life, and how he was not intending on going home for the holiday, you had mentioned that you were also not planning to visit any family, but you left out the part about Ash's family. For once, it felt good to have a conversation about the holiday season and not really think about their family at all.

It is not as if they are bad people; Ash's parents are wonderful. But there is something about being the add-on to someone else's holiday celebration that makes you feel a little displaced. And not for lack of trying on their part; Ash's mother always goes out of her way to make sure your favorite snacks are stocked, and she is very considerate with the gifts she buys you. But, no matter how hard she tries, you will always feel like an outlier. And this year, you are not in the mood to feel that way.

Perhaps, in the back of your mind, you are allowing yourself to admit that you and Ash are drifting apart a little too much, and that things will probably never be as exciting and nice as they used to be. Ash is becoming more standoffish and defensive, always assuming the worst about every little thing—even from miles and miles away. 

And you are tired. Work is stagnant, the city doesn't feel as charming as it used to, your friends are all getting married and having children, and you feel like there is nothing left to do but let the tides carry you like a hunk of driftwood. Will the waters pull you back out to sea, to discover new and exciting things? Or will they toss you onto the sand and leave you to rot in the sun for the rest of your days? It does not matter because you simply do not have the energy to care one way or another. 

Except...for today, with Hoseok. 

For one day, everything else felt tertiary; less important. Hanging out with him felt so natural and comfortable—as if you had known each other for years—and time flew past in the blink of an eye. When he disagreed with one of your suggestions, he was polite and non-judgmental, and he never attempted to talk you out of something—even when the pink tinsel you wanted was evidently "bland and inferior" to the pink tinsel he liked best, he encouraged you to buy it anyway. In the end, you bought them both, just to make him smile. 

Hoseok feels like a breath of fresh air—a tide gently pulling you away with a promise to no longer let you smash into the cliff sides over and over again. Hoseok is full of life, abundant with joy, and shrouded in mystery. Though, if you continue to play on the ocean cliche, the mysterious bit becomes less appealing, as the ocean is literally full of unimaginable horrors, but in your sleep-addled state, you reason that you can let the metaphor slip just this once.

With a sigh, you turn to your side and close your eyes. Staring at the ceiling all night is not going to do you any good, so instead, you begin to replay the moments of your day that stood out the most. Hoseok whooshing into the building like a friendly wind elemental to save you from your sorrows. Hoseok suggesting hot chocolate and taking you to a place he recently discovered and was so giddy to show you. Hoseok smiling, and giggling, and laughing, and being so calm and patient while a silent storm raged inside you. 

With a smile on your face, you fall asleep thinking about Hoseok. 

"Wait," you mutter against his lips. "I can't."

He pulls you closer, makes you whine as your bodies press together flush and fitting, like they were always meant to be.

"Of course, we can," he teases, voice far lower than you remember. 

Your palms are on his chest, and you attempt to push him away, but he holds you tighter, tighter, tighter. 

"You don't love them," he growls, words stinging like capsaicin across your lips.

You push some more, afraid to agree but far more afraid to disagree. Whatever this is, it cannot be happening. Especially not with him. 

"Give in to your desires," he growls like a wild beast. "You want me, so have me."

"I can't!" you shout, attempting to push him away. 

When you wake up, sweat beading on your forehead, you sit with a start, muttering, "I can't," under your breath. 

Your heart pounds like a drum behind your ribs, and you attempt to get your bearings, searching your bedroom for any sign that something is amiss—desperate to be out of that dream.  

If you try hard enough, you can remember the smell of Hoseok's musky, floral cologne and how, in your dream, it invaded your senses and made you dizzy with desire, against your better judgment. 

This is bad. You have only known Hoseok for one day, and already, you are having dreams of infidelity while in his arms. Your only reprieve is that you cannot imagine Hoseok actually behaving in that manner. That was purely a work of your imagination. Though, where it is coming from, is a mystery. 

Hoseok is attractive, yes, but you barely know him. Ordinarily, it takes a lot of emotional connection before you begin to feel the arousal butterflies flitting about, and although you did feel incredibly comfortable with Hoseok yesterday, it should take far more than that to have you dreaming about nearly kissing him. 

At least you manage to wake up at an appropriate hour, and rather than having to fight to get more shut-eye, you toss aside your blankets, slip your feet into a pair of bright yellow chicken slippers, and pad into the kitchen to start up your coffee pot. 

As a rule, you try to begin your day without immediately checking your phone, and you usually have no problem with going through the motions of making coffee and breakfast, consuming the coffee and breakfast, and then returning to your room to check your notifications before you shower and get on with the day. But today, as you set out the frying pan and open the fridge to grab two eggs, you find your mind wandering to your phone again and again. 

You wonder whether Hoseok is awake and if he has plans for the day. He still has classes, but he mentioned half of them are online, and you wonder if he is on campus yet, or still just down the hall. Or, perhaps, at a third, unknown location. 

Although you work as a freelance writer, you tend to have the holiday months carved out for traveling, and for that reason, you do not have much to do. The pile of books began to accumulate at the reading-nook-turned-tree-nook all thanks to not having much of anything to do without Ash around. Before meeting Hoseok, you were comfortable in the vast nothingness, but now you feel antsy. 

With your breakfast cooked and your coffee steaming up from your favorite mug, you trudge into your bedroom and grab your phone from its charger. It is only 8 AM, but you still find yourself surprised to have no notifications, and even feel a tinge of sadness. Surely your new platonic bestie would think to message you the moment his eyes opened to the new day. 

Just thinking about it makes you cringe. Seriously, who are you?

With a huff, you return to the small dining table and plop down to go through the motions of breaking fast despite barely being awake enough to be hungry. The coffee helps to perk you up, but you still feel listless and out of sorts after that very tame but alarming dream. You are no stranger to your subconscious thrusting arousal upon you at unsuspecting times over people you adore, but this...this just seems far too hasty. 

For the rest of the morning, you make motions through the apartment, navigating around the giant tree to find your copy of Bell Hooks' All About Love, and curling up on your couch with your favorite blanket. 

In a blink, your coffee is empty, the words are beginning to blur, and you stretch your limbs before getting up and walking around, glancing outside to see the early afternoon sun hanging high. 

You should go out and do something, you tell yourself. Yesterday was a blast; you should make today another blast. But you hesitate to text your neighbor, and there is nobody else who lives nearby and is not already fully absorbed in the chaos that this time of year brings. You could always go alone—something you have happily done plenty of times before—but a voice scratches at the back of your mind, telling you to text him, text him, text him. 

You Busy? I was thinking about going out to grab lunch.

You chew on the inside of your mouth while you wait, anxious for a response. When your phone finally dings—a mere thirty or so seconds later—you let out a light, excited huff of air and check the notification immediately.

Hoseok Not busy. Give me 10?

You Sounds perfect.

In a flash, you toss the book aside and jump to your feet, making your way to your bedroom to attempt to become presentable. Luckily, Hoseok already saw you dressed in typical jeans and hoodie attire with no makeup yesterday, because you were not anticipating interacting with another human being when he came breezing into your life, so you don't feel too much pressure to get done up. 

A coat of mascara to make your eyes pop, and a black sweater that is more form-fitting than a hoodie, coupled with a pair of skinny black jeans feels decent enough. You leave your hair down and find your favorite mustard beanie, then check your phone to find twelve minutes have passed since Hoseok asked for ten. 

You wonder if he is the type to take a long time getting ready, and nearly return to your book on the couch when there is a knock at your door. The sound startles you, and you call a shaky, "One moment!" as you make your way to the entrance.

When you twist your knob and fling the door open, the sight nearly takes your breath away. Hoseok's hair is parted over his forehead, and he also looks a little more put together than yesterday, despite wearing the same camel, fur-lined knee-length jacket. Beneath the jacket is a brown, blue, and white argyle sweater and light grey slacks.

"What did you have in mind?" Hoseok asks with a pretty heart-shaped grin, leaning into the doorway.

You take a step back and begin sliding your feet into chunky, brown snow boots. "Honestly, I haven't gotten that far," you admit sheepishly.

"Do you like Korean food?"

You think briefly about what your past experience with Korean food has been. "I've only had Korean barbecue, but I really liked what I had."

"How do you feel about soup?"

Soup does sound good, and you nod as you tie the strings of one boot and then the other. "Soup would hit the spot."

With a pleased hum, Hoseok says, "There's a spot kind of nearby that makes it close to how my mom does...well, as close as I will hope to get away from home."

Eager to know that little detail about Hoseok and his life back home, you agree to trek several neighborhoods over, just to have some soup. Without another word, you throw on a long, black pea coat and wrap a mustard scarf around your neck that matches your hat.

The walk through the hallway, to the elevator, and out to the front entrance of the building all feel uncharacteristically quiet, but you don't question it. There are many reasons a person might be chipper and talkative one day and not the next, and it feels weird to pry. You still don't fully know Hoseok or what kind of a person he is, and this is only day two of discovering the various sides of him. 

Despite the sun hanging high and bright in the sky, the afternoon air chills you to the bone the moment it touches your skin, and you instinctively bring your scarf up to your cheeks. 

"Does it get this cold back home?" you ask, watching your footsteps make prints in the shallow snow, which crunches under every step.

Hoseok hums. "The weather is similar. Cold in the winter and humid in the summer."

At the thought of heat and humidity, you roll your shoulders back, thankful for the cold. Soon enough, your breathing is steady, your posture is relaxed enough not to shiver, and you feel comfortable. And, perhaps, there is a warmth that radiates from your new friend, as well. 

"You wear a lot of black," Hoseok says after a block of comfortable silence. 

You snicker. "I do."

"You would look nice with some color."

Something in your stomach lurches at Hoseok's words, but not necessarily in a bad way; it's hard to put your finger on it. Sure, the thought of looking nice for Hoseok is something that has crossed your mind, but it is much easier to have these thoughts without the added pressure of knowing that he has an opinion on the matter.

"Color is overrated," you tease, turning to watch Hoseok's expression go from calm to feigned offense. "Anyway, you wear enough color for the both of us."

Hoseok laughs, then playfully nudges your shoulder with his, throwing you momentarily off balance. It's so subtle he could not possibly detect the way his touch makes your world spin—throwing you off trajectory entirely—but you can feel it. 

Conversation the rest of the way is so light and relaxed, you keep remembering that you and Hoseok only just met yesterday. You point out cafes, bars, and restaurants that you like and discuss going to them one day together as if there is no question that your future is now forever entwined with his. 

It feels nice to talk about things with no pressure or fear of being judged. So far, the only judgment Hoseok has offered is that you would look nice wearing color—something you can hardly hold against him. He is, after all, a fashion major.

"Does the black make me seem like a gloomy person?" you ask somewhat out of the blue when the conversation lulls. 

Hoseok chuckles beside you. "It was just an observation. Don't let it make you feel insecure."

"It doesn't," you respond somewhat insistently. "I'm just curious."

"Not gloomy," Hoseok says, offering you a smile. "Just less...I don't know...bright?"

The uncertainty in Hoseok's voice could be from worrying about whether you are likely to be offended, and you give him time to sort it out.

"I guess, yeah, gloomy. Black makes you gloomy."

You can't help but laugh and nudge Hoseok with your shoulder. He gasps in surprise and holds his hands up defensively, whining innocently, "I was just repeating what you said!"

All you can do is giggle as Hoseok links his elbow with yours and trudges you forward quickly. It takes about thirty minutes to arrive to your destination, so your cheeks are numb as you walk in the front door, and warmth instantly settles over your skin, tingling ever so slightly. 

The place is quaint, with wooden tables spread throughout and a bar that overlooks part of the kitchen on the far end. Hoseok leads you past all of the tables and pulls out a seat at the bar. Then, he calls to the older woman behind the counter, and they banter in Korean. 

Hoseok speaking his native language kicks up a new feeling in your chest—seeds taking root and germinating into sprouts. Whereas he is usually slow and calculated in his speech with you, with the older lady he is fast, giggly, and emphatic—alive in an all new way. It is beautiful, and you do your best not to stare. 

The older lady disappears into the back, and Hoseok apologizes for speaking for so long and leaving you out. Warmth crawls up to your cheeks when you observe how flushed and giddy he is, and you shake your head and say, "It's alright. I don't mind."

"Do you drink alcohol?" Hoseok asks, and you nod, cracking a smile. 

"From time to time."

"Have you had soju?"

You think you have had soju at the Korean barbeque spot and say, "Maybe? It was clear and reminded me a little of sake."

Hoseok nods and smiles widely. "She's going to warm some up for us."

You grab a menu and look through it, suddenly overwhelmed by the choices. Soups and stews, rice and meat bowls—some with an egg on top. Everything looks amazing. But you want to have the meal that Hoseok says tastes like home.

"Which one is the soup that you mentioned before?" you ask, running your finger somewhat aimlessly over the pictures. 

"Oh, you don't have to get that specific one," Hoseok says as his lips turn into a slight frown. "Everything here is great."

"I want to," you respond with playful defiance, making Hoseok laugh.

"Alright. It's this one," he points to the menu. "Kimchi jjigae. You can get it with pork, tofu, seafood, or a combination. I usually get pork and tofu."

You repeat jjigae quietly to yourself as you read the description, and decide on getting pork and tofu, as well. "That sounds good. I'll have that."

"Should we just get different things to share?" Hoseok suggests. "Or are you afraid of my germs?"

A laugh rocks through your chest before you can stop yourself, and you lightly smack Hoseok on the arm. "We can share. I think I can handle a little soup spit."

There's a sparkle in Hoseok's eyes as he observes you, and it makes your heart pound wildly in your chest. You duck your head down, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, and pretend to read the menu despite everything blurring and becoming impossible to parse. 

"How about some appetizers, so you can try some different things?" Hoseok suggests, voice softer than before. 

You can't bring yourself to meet his eye and nod instead, looking over the options. Rice cakes in sweet, spicy sauce sounds appealing, and you point at the photo, unsure how to pronounce tteokbokki. Hoseok hums happily, suggests also getting fried chicken, and then it's settled. When the older lady returns, Hoseok slips between speaking Korean and English, sometimes repeating himself in both languages, and once the food is ordered, he gets to work pouring the two of you small glasses of soju.

"She speaks English too, but it's nice to fall back into Korean," Hoseok explains. 

"Understandable," you respond, feeling a myriad of questions bubble up. You want to learn everything there is to know about Hoseok, about the language he grew up speaking and the city he moved so far away from. But you also feel at a loss for what to say and instead accept the small, warm cup of clear liquid. 

"Repeat after me," Hoseok says, "geon—"

"Geon—"

"—bae."

"—bae."

Hoseok taps his class to the side of yours and says, "Geonbae," and you recite it with a smile, then follow his lead of drinking the liquid back.

The taste is subtly heady and bitter, and not too strong, but it warms your mouth, throat, and chest instantly. Hoseok watches expectantly with his eyebrows raised, and you nod with a smile, telling him, "It's good."

As Hoseok pours the next round of shots, it dawns on you that you are still bundled up, and the warmth is beginning to feel stifling. You peel off your hat and scarf and set them on the counter beside your glass of water, which has a foot or so of extra space before the wall. Then, you begin the precarious feat of wiggling your shoulders and arms out of your jacket while sitting in a somewhat narrow space. Hoseok follows suit, shrugging much more easily from his jacket. Then, he slides your cup of soju over, and you pick it up. 

"Does geonbae mean cheers?" you ask, holding the glass up for him to tap his against. 

"It means empty cup," Hoseok responds cheerfully, with the same shimmering gaze as before.

"Ah, like bottoms up," you say as he taps his cup to yours. 

Hoseok cocks his head, and you tap your middle finger against the bottom of the cup, then mimic throwing it back without actually moving enough to spill any liquid.

"Oh, yes!" Hoseok says as he grins. "Bottoms up!"

You take your shots, setting the small glasses down with a light thunk. The warmth slowly spreads throughout your chest, giving you a slightly dizzying haze as sweet intoxication ripples at the edges of everything. 

"I wonder how many strange sayings and words there are for you to learn, in English," you muse.

"Too many," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "You will have to teach them all to me."

Once again, your future feels woven with his, and you nod and say, "I will do my best."

After two more shots, the appetizers arrive, and you feel somewhat overwhelmed by the inviting smells, unsure where to start. Hoseok picks up his phone and takes a photo, then grabs two sets of wooden chopsticks and hands one to you. As you pull the chopsticks from their paper sheath, you remember Hoseok taking a photo of his hot chocolate at the cafe yesterday and you smile to yourself at the thought that he likes to document things. 

"Do you post those online? Or just keep the photos for yourself."

"I post them usually," Hoseok responds, taking a piece of fried chicken and blowing on it before taking a bite, wincing and hissing as he perseveres through chewing, grumbling, "Fuck that's good," with his mouth full.

You decide to try the chicken first, finding a smaller piece and giving the skin a little nibble before blowing on it to cool it down. Ultimately, like Hoseok, you give in too soon and take a steaming hot bite, quickly inhaling air with the hope of cooling down your mouth as the chicken heats it up.

The skin is crispy and crunchy and paper-thin, with a perfect blend of spice that brings out the flavor of the juicy meat inside. You hum and close your eyes, savoring it to the sounds of Hoseok gasping and hissing, undoubtedly eating a second piece before letting it cool.

The tteokbokki is equally as delicious, with a rich, spicy flavor that is delicately sweet. And when the soup comes out, you can barely contain your excitement as you grab a plastic spoon and have a taste. The broth is hearty and reminds you of home in a way that is inexplicable and impossible to articulate—a warm, comforting home that is not yours. Hoseok waits quietly for your opinion, and when your wide-eyed surprise turns to soft appreciation, he smiles and nods, hastily shouting something to the older lady who brought out the food.

"It's perfect for winter," you mutter after a second slurp, and Hoseok hums. 

"It's a really simple dish to make, and sometimes I break down and make it myself, but there is something special about receiving it from someone else."

You nod and watch as Hoseok's smile downturns into a slight frown. 

"My mother always made it when I was sick. She swore it could cure anything. So when my heart feels sick thinking about her, I eat it."

"Ah, homesick," you mutter, suddenly feeling a heavy sadness hanging over you.

Hoseok nods, shrugs, then smiles. "I made the choice to move away, but sometimes it feels hard to be so far, you know?"

"I do know," you respond, using chopsticks to grab a piece of the pork. "Sometimes, even if the choice is necessary or good, it can still be painful to reconcile."

At this, Hoseok watches you, eyes soft and intent. Embarrassed under the undivided attention, you duck your head and eat the pork that has cooled at the end of your chopsticks. 

"You're wise, marshmallow," Hoseok teases. "I appreciate it."

"I need a better nickname," you groan past half-eaten pork, and Hoseok shakes his head, muttering that it is cute, then joins you in eating.

By the time the dishes are empty, you are full and warm and ready for a nap. Hoseok huffs out a sigh as he sits back in his chair, and you nod, agreeing with the sentiment.

"Caffeine?" Hoseok suggests.

"Caffeine sounds amazing," you groan, sitting up and stretching your limbs. 

"I know just the spot," Hoseok says—because, of course, he does—and you both stand and begin to put on your jackets before heading out into the cool afternoon air. 

Coffee leads to walking the long way home, which leads to Hoseok inviting you to his apartment for more soju and another terrible Hallmark movie. You concede without much of a fight—only a few groans at the mention of the movie genre—and that is how you wind up curled up on Hoseok's cozy, brown faux leather couch, falling asleep against the armrest with a belly full of soju and food and a head full of him.

For the next two weeks, Hoseok says he has to keep his head down and focus on studying. He has exams in all of his classes and rattles off a list of essay, presentation, and project deadlines that are also coming up, over the phone on Monday afternoon, in between classes.

"I just wanted to call and tell you that I will be distant, even though we live in the same hallway."

You smile to yourself, glancing out into the city from your nook window beside the tree that the two of you decorated two days ago. "That's fine. If you need me to bring you anything, just let me know. I can grab coffees or something."

Hoseok hums and says, "Maybe. I will probably be on campus a lot more, only coming home to sleep. But if I am home and need to call in reinforcements, you're at the top of the list."

You chuckle at Hoseok's response despite feeling a tinge of sadness at the thought of not seeing him for a little while. It feels silly to admit how much you expect to miss someone who only just met and began spending time with, and when Hoseok teases you about it, you very flatly tell him that you are an adult and will handle his absence just fine, thank you very much.

But you do miss him. It surprises you how much, in fact, considering you hardly know him, all things considered. Although, even as you tell yourself that over and over—an attempt at talking yourself out of caring as much as you do—you know that it is not true. Hoseok is radiant and open and loves talking about himself as much as he seems to enjoy learning about you, and he has shared quite a lot of himself over the span of just two days. His presence is hard not to miss. 

Tuesday afternoon, when Hoseok calls to catch up between classes, you learn that gender and identity are fluid to him and that—although Hoseok uses he, him pronouns and presents as male—he loves to play with androgyny and fashion in a way that attempts to erase any cisheteronormative assumption. He tells you that he sticks with he, him pronouns because things back home are a little different when it comes to gay and trans rights, and, for now, changing the language is something he is not fully ready to embrace, but he thinks he feels closer to how you describe your feelings, and that warms your heart. 

"I can't really put into words what I think about gender," Hoseok mutters before sipping loudly from a compostable coffee lid. "But I feel disconnected from it. Indifferent."

"Me too," is all you could bring yourself to say as you stare at the bright red cover of your open copy of All About Love that sits sprawled open, page-down on your lap. Suddenly, you find yourself overwhelmed with feeling a deep, strong connection to him.

"Anyway," Hoseok continues brightly over the phone, "I have to run, but once finals are over, I want to show you some of the pieces I have designed."

"I can't wait," you respond happily as the call comes to an end.

On Wednesday, when your phone dings thrice in a row, you drop your book onto the table and grab your phone excitedly, only for the feeling to dissolve into disappointment when you find the messages are not from whom you want to hear. 

You almost don't open them until you take a moment to read the third message that has come in succession, sitting on top of the notifications, and decide that whatever Ash is going on about needs to be addressed.

Ash So you're definitely not coming for Christmas, right? I know you said you would look into it and search for deals, but you're not actually doing that, are you?  I wish you would just be honest with me.

With a deep, fortifying sigh, you close your eyes and center yourself. This is a conversation that you have been putting off, but you are tired of always feeling put on the spot by them, and it is partially your fault for not being forthcoming. 

You I have looked, but not as much as I could have. I'm sorry, I guess I'm not in the mood to travel this year.

Not ten seconds after you send the message, your phone begins to ring, and your anxiety spikes to the ceiling. Talking to Ash right now feels like willingly throwing yourself into a lion's pit covered in fresh meat, and you end the call and shoot off another text.

You I'm not in a great place to talk. Can we text instead?

Ash Are you fucking serious?

Your hands tremble, and you take another breath, but this one is less deep than the last, and when you close your eyes, tears form around your lashes. When did things reach this point? You and Ash used to be open and honest and receptive to one another's problems, and now everything they say is laced with impatience and vitriol. Which of you was the first to begin pulling away? When did the pulling begin?

You Geez, Ash. I'm sorry that this is upsetting, but behaving this way is not going to make me change my mind.

Ash Behaving what way, exactly??? Because last I checked, you were the one telling me one thing while wanting another, and you have also been keeping my hopes up. My family has been eager to see you, and now I have to let them down.

You Every single thing I say and do seems to piss you off. You were angry when I had to stay behind for work, angry when I bought my own tree decorations, and now you can't respect the fact that I'm not in the mood to travel to someone else's family event for a holiday that I'm not a huge fan of, in the dead of fucking winter. Even if I had been excited to fly out, the ticket prices were already exorbitant. And during all of this time, you haven't once asked how I am, how things have been going with work, or what I have been doing to keep myself busy. You just complain and take everything personally and treat me like an inconvenience.

Ash Wow.

You Yeah. Wow.

Minutes pass, and you brace yourself as you see Ash typing a response. 

Ash Please can I call you? I just want to hear your voice.

You almost concede and tell them yes. A part of you would even like to hear their voice, hoping to find comfort in their familiar cadence and tone. But you know that all they are going to do is backtrack and offer empty apologies that will only last until the next time they blow up again. Or, worse, they will just yell over the phone until you feel forced to hang up on them.

You I don't want to speak right now. I need some space to think.

Ash That's rich coming from someone who is not only physically far away but has the entire apartment to themself. How much more space do you require, exactly? Should we fly you to the moon?  My family has been nothing but good to you, and this is how you treat them.

With an exasperated sigh, you fire off your response—

You And this is exactly why I didn't want to talk to you. Not an ounce of understanding for how I am feeling, just jab after jab about how inconsiderate I am when I have been telling you for years that I would like a quiet holiday all to myself or just the two of us. And I understand if you want to be with your family, but please understand that maybe I don't. Being on the sidelines of someone else's event is really fucking difficult when all I can think about is how much I wish I had that too. No matter how nice your parents are, they still aren't my parents. I just want one fucking holiday with a clear head and no stress, and you can't even grant me that because you would rather be pissed off at me for not doing what you want than try to understand how I feel. I'm muting my phone now; I need to walk away from this conversation for a bit. 

—and then mute your phone before shoving it between the couch cushions. All at once, you heave for air and fall forward against the armrest as tears pour into your open hands. Things have been rocky for a while, but when did they get so bad? Ash used to be your safe space, and now all they make you feel is anguish and frustration. 

Although your phone is muted, you still hear it vibrate as a message comes in, followed by another. There have been times in recent weeks that you have considered blocking their number altogether, but at that point, you figure you would be better off just ending the relationship.

Tears continue, and you breathe deeply, attempting to quell them. A good cry is cathartic, yes, but this is not how you would like to spend your sunny Wednesday afternoon. Determined to pick up the pieces and attempt to have a good day, you decide a trip to the cafe will be nice. You can get something warm and covered in marshmallows. Maybe you can take your laptop and start working on a new writing project to take your mind off things for a little while. 

Between the cushions, your phone vibrates consistently—an incoming call. At first, you sigh and squeeze your eyes closed, eager to ignore it. But then you remember it could be Hoseok calling, and you fish the device out, careful not to hit the answer or end call buttons in the process. Hoseok's name greets you, and you fumble to answer before it disconnects 

"Hey, Hoseok," you say with an obvious shake to your voice. 

"H-hey," Hoseok responds carefully. "Did I call at a bad time?"

You sniffle and let out a chuckle over how unconvincing you must sound. "No. I mean, I'm not having the best day, but it's always a good time to talk to you."

"Corny," Hoseok responds, though the laugh in his voice is more subdued than usual.

"God, it was, wasn't it?" you cringe, replaying what you just said and how it must have sounded. 

Silence hangs, and you fiddle with a loose thread at the bottom of your shirt as you try to come up with something to say that is unrelated to having a fight with your partner of three years. Ordinarily, Hoseok launches into how his day is going over the phone, and his silence makes your tension rise. 

"Are you sure it's not a bad time?" Hoseok asks again, softly.

"I'm sure," you respond, voice unsteady but more measured than moments ago. "What did you call to tell me?"

Hoseok hums and says, "I actually called to ask about your day. Everything here has been boring me to death and I need some excitement. But whatever made you cry doesn't sound too exciting, so now I don't know. I don't want to pry."

"Ah," you respond, letting your shoulders fall. Then, you remember you were going to set out to try to enjoy the day, and sit up straight. "Well, I was going to leave the house and get some fresh air to clear my head. Do you want to talk to me while I get bundled up and head out?"

"Sure," Hoseok beams, smile evident in his voice. "Where are you going?"

You get up and stretch your shoulders, arching your back as you stand on your toes, then let out a yawn. "I was thinking about the cafe we went to for hot chocolates. I might take my laptop and do some writing."

"Ooh, writing?" Hoseok asks excitedly. "What kind of writing?"

You make your way toward your bedroom to grab your favorite black hoodie, then you pause. Hoseok telling you that you would look good in color rings out in your mind, and you drop the sweater back onto the bed and head toward your closet, putting your phone on speaker so you can set it atop your dresser and look through the shirts that are hanging. 

"I don't know. I usually write articles and essays for money, but occasionally, I like to write short stories."

"Like fanfiction?" 

You can't help but laugh at the suggestion, and although you have certainly penned a steamy scene or twenty in your day, that is not quite what you had in mind. "It concerns me that that's your first thought."

"Write a story about the handsome stranger who turns your world upside down and makes you believe in love again."

Hoseok's words are playful, but you can't help but wonder if he is trying to tell you something without saying it explicitly, and it makes your hands tingle and your heart pound. "Sounds unrealistic. Aim lower."

Hoseok laughs loudly and brightly, and you chuckle along, though panic still surges through you. Surely, Hoseok does not have those kinds of feelings for you, and is only joking, right?

You pull out a forest green sweater with a loose turtleneck and pull it over your head, shoving your arms through the holes and attempting to steady your breathing, but the garment makes you feel somewhat claustrophobic. Still, you keep it on and grab your phone, making your way to the dining table, where you have left your hat and scarf. 

"First the Hallmark hate and now this? You really are not romantic at all, are you, marshmallow?"

The nickname makes you scoff as you pull the hat over your head and loosely wrap the scarf around your neck. "On second thought, maybe I will not get any writing done," you chide, getting bundled up. 

Hoseok laughs again, and you picture his wide, heart-shaped smile and eyes scrunched into tiny crescent moons. You grab your black coat from where it hangs beside the front door and shove your feet into your chunky brown boots, placing your phone atop a black Vans sneaker that sits on the top shelf of a very chaotic shoe rack. 

"Almost bundled up and ready to head out."

A sigh comes through the phone, followed by, "I wish I could join you."

"Me too," you say softly before you can stop yourself. 

Thursday passes quietly, with a few texts exchanged from a very stressed Hoseok. You wish him luck, sending more kaomoji than you might ordinarily use, then get dressed to head out to the cafe again. Getting out and walking in the cold air and warm sun has been doing wonders for your mental health, and having a sweet treat to look forward to is the perfect incentive. 

You still haven't opened the messages that Ash sent the day before, and you are not sure when you will.

On Friday evening, after not hearing from Hoseok all day, he calls. You are in the middle of scrolling through recipes for kimchi jjigae and wondering if making a soup from scratch for the holiday is a challenge you are up for, when his name glows brightly on your screen.

"What are you doing?" Hoseok asks, rather than saying hello.

"It's top secret," you respond. "What are you doing?"

Hoseok chuckles—music to your ears. "Keeping secrets already? I'm hurt."

"I'll reveal it soon. Consider it a Christmas gift."

You think you may hear Hoseok gasp, then he mutters something in Korean before saying, "Really? A gift for me?"

Warmth spreads to your cheeks, and you hum. "It's nothing big. Don't get too excited, okay?"

"Nope! This is exciting. Shit, now I have to do something for you."

"Absolutely not," you chuckle, closing your laptop with the soup recipe left open in a tab. "Don't feel obligated to do anything."

Silence, save for the sounds of Hoseok humming softly, hangs between you. Then, he continues. 

"Hey, so, I don't have anything too big coming up on Monday. We can hang out this weekend if you'd like."

Hope blooms behind your ribs, and the sprouts that have begun to grow behind your ribs stretch toward the sun for sustenance. "Of course I would."

"Awe, missing me already?"

"Shut up," you complain with a laugh.

Hoseok hums. "It's fine if you do, because I miss you. Tomorrow?"

Your heart pounds as you agree, "Tomorrow."

Thrice since Wednesday, your phone has buzzed with messages from Ash, and each time you have ignored them, clearing the notifications and allowing the little red dot beside your messenger app to increase its number. This morning, as you open your messenger app to find out what time Hoseok was thinking about hanging out, you hover a thumb over the row containing the message preview from your partner and open Hoseok's text thread, instead. 

You What time did you have in mind? 

Certain that Hoseok will not respond immediately, you set your phone down on your dresser and begin pushing the various hangers around in your closet, looking for something with a splash of color. A red flannel button-up catches your eye, and you grab a white long-sleeve tee to accompany that and your standard black skinny jeans. You may be trying to be less gloomy when you visit with your friend, but he will have to pry the black denim from your cold dead hands. 

Your phone dings and you step out of your closet and grab your phone, unlocking it before checking the notification. When you find yourself peering down at a wall of text from the person you were not wishing to hear from, your heart sinks. Although you do your best not to read every message, your eyes flit over certain words—ungrateful, selfish—and you back out of the app, wishing you could erase the image from your mind—childish, a waste of time.

Another ding accompanied by a gentle buzz from your phone causes you to jolt, nearly dropping the device to the floor. "Shit," you mutter as you fumble to unlock the screen, checking the notification bar first. Luckily, this message is from Hoseok, but your excitement is now dimmed.

Hoseok Just showered. I could be ready in 20? Or is that too soon?

You 20 is fine. I was already getting ready for the day.

Hoseok What if it only takes me 15?

You Then show up in 15.

Hoseok See you soon! :)

You :)

As you get dressed, you remind yourself that today is a day for positive, happy feelings, and you do your best not to let the weight of the other messages bring you down. There is something to be said for their accusations—you are being childish and selfish by ignoring them flat out. But you cannot ignore the way your anxiety rises when you think about confronting the conversation, even if you remind yourself that the longer you wait, the worse it might become. 

At least you are making an effort to get out of the house and see a friendly face rather than sitting in the apartment in a bubble of self-loathing like you would otherwise be if you stuck to doing what you had been doing prior to The Great Tree Incident, as you have begun to call it in your head. So, whatever Ash is assuming of you and spitting at you daily without giving you a chance to gather your thoughts and form a response is likely only partially true. 

You apply a little mascara despite knowing it will just make your lashes sticky and eventually sweat onto your cheeks, then apply a nice lip balm to ward off chapped skin, rubbing your lips together while attempting to stay grounded and not get so far into your head that it will be impossible to come out by the time your friend arrives. 

And, when he does show up with his signature single knock followed by three quicker knocks, you give yourself a once-over in the mirror and decide that red flannel is definitely your look before trotting from your bedroom to the entryway.

When you swing open the door, you can't help but smile widely. Hoseok must have gotten the flannel memo, though his is less traditional than the lumberjack-type style, and instead, has larger squares in muted blues, greens, and yellows against white. He wears a white tee underneath, khaki pants, and his camel tan jacket overtop. 

"Wow!" Hoseok exclaims, holding his arms out. 

You are unsure whether he is using his arms to signal that he is impressed with your choice, or if he is expecting a hug, and you hesitate, lifting your arms after a beat and cocking your head. With a chuckle, Hoseok steps through the threshold, into your personal space, and wraps you in an embrace, squeezing you tight. You reciprocate the hug but in a looser fashion, awkwardly giving him a pat with your hands when you are unsure whether it has lasted too long. 

"Nervous?" Hoseok asks, and you hate how easy you must be to read. 

"Nah," you respond, "just a little tired still."

"Well, you're in for a treat, because I found a new coffee shop on Instagram that has been going viral for their latte art, so let's go get caffeinated."

And that is how your Saturday began—and your third day of spending nearly every waking moment with Hoseok. The latte art was just the tip of the iceberg. After deciding to grab a reasonable lunch and not just snack on pastries from the cafe, the two of you found a noodle bar nearby and had udon and some sake. Then, you walked to a neighboring park and moseyed along with two fresh cups of coffee and a bit of a buzz. 

"Should we go to a bar later and keep this momentum going, or do you want to have a chill night in, falling asleep while I watch another holiday movie?"

You roll your eyes and bump your shoulder into Hoseok's, groaning at the mention of more holiday movies. "Don't you get sick of that sappy shit?"

Hoseok chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight side hug that nearly throws you off balance. "No. I like sappiness and romance. Don't you?"

You scoff and shake your head, though something settles in the pit of your stomach. Sadness, perhaps. Envy. It's hard to put a name to, and you do your best to ignore it. 

"No. I don't know. Maybe? I've never dated someone who was romantic," you admit. "Or someone who has made me want to be romantic, you know? I guess if someone I loved enjoyed romantic gestures, I would do them, but it's not my default."

Hoseok hums, gives your shoulder a squeeze, and lets you go. You are curious about the hum, and the squeeze, and the hug itself, but you swallow it down and decide not to ask. 

"This could be romantic," Hoseok says after silence has settled, and you glance at him to find him looking out over a frozen body of water covered in ice. Trees line the area, giving it a calm, serene feel, and around you, people chatter quietly and walk by, their feet thudding softly against the wooden bridge on which the two of you stand. "What I mean is, it's not something that needs to be forced or bought. Small, quiet moments count, as well; enjoying something simple together."

Eager to sway away from the thought of the two of you sharing a romantic moment, you circle back to the topic at hand. "Okay, but the romance in those movies is always so over the top."

"True," Hoseok concedes with a playful smile. He turns to you, eyes soft and full of something you dare not try to define, and you smile briefly and turn away, looking over the scenery once more. "Over the top is fun to indulge in from time to time. You're just a scrooge."

"Oh, okay," you chide, stepping back from the wooden railing and continuing your walk down the bridge, in the direction you had been going. "I'm a scrooge. Right."

"I have hope for you, though," Hoseok says as he catches up, falling into step beside you. 

"Oh thank god for that," you mutter under your breath, pulling your coffee to your lips. 

Hoseok laughs and nudges you, nearly making you spill, and you swat at his arm playfully. "You just need more corny holiday films to melt that icy heart and you'll be a true romantic in no time. A soft little marshmallow."

After spending the afternoon walking around, you and Hoseok agree to return to your apartments for new socks and dry shoes before you decide on what else to do. There is a bar nearby that you and Ash used to frequent, and you remember the conjoining pizzeria being pretty good. Hoseok agrees to the idea the moment he returns to your door, and you head back out into the chilly winter evening. 

The bar is only two blocks from your apartments, and it is a bit of a dive. The tables are all scratched up, the music is a little too loud, and the drinks are cheap. The bartenders have been working there for ages, and tend to know the regulars pretty well, making it a welcoming atmosphere, overall. 

Hoseok surprises you by suggesting whiskey shots to go with your cheap cans of beer, and you agree. Two shots and cheap beers in, the world has a haze around the edges, but you feel good, and Hoseok is so friendly and pretty, and everything is great. The two of you order a medium pepperoni pizza to share, and when it comes, you thank your lucky stars to have greasy bread to sop up the alcohol.

After finishing your pizza, the two of you sit with your heads close, looking at the jukebox app on your phone, making selections from the comfort of your rickety barstools, when someone taps you on the shoulder.

"Hey," the voice calls, and you turn to find Ave, one of Ash's friends, standing with her arms folded over her chest.

"Ave, hey," you respond in a forced chipper tone, not exactly thrilled to see her. 

Ave nods her chin toward Hoseok. "Who's this?"

"Oh," you say, half-turning toward Hoseok before turning back to her, "this is Hoseok. He lives in our building."

With a hum, Ave nods her head and squints her eyes. "Are you not spending the holiday with Ash's family?"

A chill runs down your back, and you shake your head. "No, work kept me here too long, and then flights got too expensive."

"But you work from home, right?" Ave presses. Anger rises, and you keep your smile pulled tight, lest you scowl. "So you could have just gone."

You exhale, steeling yourself. "Is that all?"

Ave takes a small step back and cocks her head. "Excuse me?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," you grit through a stiff grin. "So if you have no other questions, I would like to get back to hanging out with my friend."

With a huff, Ave turns on her heels, and you flag down the bartender for two more shots before downing a quarter of your third beer. You can see that Hoseok is fidgeting with his hands on the bartop, but you try not to draw too much attention to the situation, and instead stare ahead, desperately searching for something to say to change the topic, but falling short. 

"You don't have to tell me," Hoseok says, leaning in to make sure you can hear him over the music. Your eyes fall to your phone—the screen of which has gone black, abandoning your task of finding songs to play—and you feel guilt begin to rise to your chest and throat. "But if you want to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks," you respond, turning to offer Hoseok a smile, aware that your eyes betray you. "I should talk about it but I guess I'm not ready."

Hoseok nods in response as the bartender drops off two shots, and you slide his glass toward him, then pick yours up. "Gunbear!" you shout, which is what you said earlier when you couldn't remember the word Hoseok had taught you, to Hoseok's utter delight, with the hope of lightening the mood. 

"Geonbae," Hoseok responds with a smirk, tapping his glass to yours and shooting back the bittersweet liquid. 

Three shots and three beers may just be too many, and you stumble out of the bar with your elbows linked, leaning into Hoseok's side. The night is still relatively young, and you would rather continue to hang out than go to bed, but you also feel nervous to ask, not wanting to intrude on Hoseok's time any longer than necessary. Luckily, Hoseok does not share the same worry.

"So, my couch or yours?" he asks as you approach your apartment building. 

"Yours is cozier," you respond, leaving the thought of not wanting to return to a home surrounded by Ash's stuff left unsaid. 

Hoseok hums and leads the way through the building, to the elevator, and you ride to the third floor in silence, eyes glued to the silver doors ahead. Blurred figures are reflected back, standing with their elbows linked together, and suddenly, you worry that you might be doing something wrong. But you don't want to drop your arm to the side, letting go of Hoseok; you need your anchor now more than ever. 

The doors slide open, and Hoseok leads you down to the far end of the hall in silence, stumbling slightly and letting out soft giggles here and there. You knock your hip into his for comic effect when he over-adjusts and knocks slightly into you, and this sets off a game of back and forth of hips hitting hips and feet stumbling to trudge forward. By the time you reach his door, you are doubled over laughing and gripping onto his arm like a lifeline. 

As Hoseok fishes his key from his pocket, you lean against his door, attempting to get your bearings. Three whiskey shots and three cheap beers have never gotten you so drunk before, and you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to replay the night, but all you can picture is Hoseok's pretty smile flashing over and over again. 

With a hum, Hoseok nudges you, and you open your eyes to find him looking at you with concern. 

"I was trying to sort out how we got so drunk from just those shots and beers," you grumble, words coming out in a slur. 

Hoseok laughs as he slowly opens the door, which you continue to lean into, stumbling as its momentum carries you over the threshold into his apartment. "We had sake with lunch and a bunch of caffeine."

The laughter that rocks through you at the realization that you had been drinking earlier in the day threatens to throw you completely off balance, and you reach with your free hand to try to grip the open door but end up flailing, instead. Hoseok grabs your arm with his free hand and gently pulls and rotates you forward, steadying you on your feet, and you stare at him with surprise.

"You're strong," you mutter, only realizing now how close the two of you are—inches apart. 

Hoseok smiles and nods, then releases his hold on your arm and allows you to move into his apartment. You stand a while longer, however, still surprised by how Hoseok effortlessly handled you, and by how, in this tiny, confined space, he smells like a freshly picked bouquet on a cool autumn morning. 

"May I..." Hoseok begins, nodding his chin toward the rest of his apartment, and you snap out of your daze, clear your throat, and take a step back and around, pressing your back flat against the wall to give Hoseok room to close the door, bend to remove his shoes, and walk into his kitchen. 

Your shoes slide off easily enough, and you attempt to chuck them in a mindful place, in the general direction of his neatly organized rows, but they tumble out into the middle of the floor, where you decide they shall live because bending over right now feels precarious and you need water. 

"Since you'll fall asleep anyway, I'll pick the movie," Hoseok calls from the kitchen. 

You can hear popcorn popping away in the microwave, followed by the sound of the sink running, and you shrug your jacket off, hang it on a hook above the shoes and round the corner from the small entryway. You find Hoseok has removed his sweater, and he stands in a white tee and khakis. His arms are much more toned than you had expected for his otherwise willowy body, and before you can help yourself, you wonder about his chest, then immediately blink heavily and instead try to conjure images of kittens laying in a basket that has a pretty bow tied on the handle—anything to clear your mind.

"Did you hear me?" Hoseok asks, and you meet his gaze to find his eyebrow raised. 

The microwave dings and Hoseok opens it up, retrieves the bag of popcorn, and tears it open. You watch as the steam wafts up, past his smiling face. Then, he dumps it into a large plastic bowl and turns you. 

"Loud and clear," you respond with a small smile. "I have simply given up on trying to argue about the movie. The choice is all yours!"

Hoseok approaches and holds the bowl out, which you reach out to grab. Then he taps you on the chin with the pad of his index finger and says, "So good for me," sending a chill down your spine as he turns back to the kitchen to grab the two glasses he had filled with water. 

You have no idea why those four little words leave you stunned, standing in the threshold of the kitchen as if you have been glued to the spot, but when Hoseok turns back toward you, you clear your throat and will your feet to move, turning in a daze toward the living room where his cozy brown sofa awaits. 

Hoseok walks past you, hurrying to put the glasses down and grab one of the three blankets that lay hung over the back of the couch. He likes to lay a large, fuzzy royal blue throw down, then cover himself up with a thin white blanket with a birds of paradise pattern, or with another fuzzy throw that is soft and thick and has a black and white plaid pattern. 

As you approach, Hoseok reaches over the sofa for the bowl of popcorn, and you open your palms, handing it over while still feeling a bit discombobulated and holding your hands open for a few seconds too long. Hoseok either does not seem to notice the shift in your demeanor or he is unfazed by it. You have never heard someone tell another they were "so good" for them outside of a sexual context with the tone his voice took, but maybe he is too drunk to realize what he said. 

Hoseok turns on the TV and pats the cushion beside him, telling you to sit. As you make your way around the small wooden table, to the end of the couch your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket. You attempt to ignore it, but it keeps going and going, stopping by the time you take a seat, only to start up again. 

"Fuck," you mutter as you pull your phone from your pocket at glance at the screen to find Ash's name and face lighting it up.

You silence the vibrating and sit back with a huff, then drop your hand to the cushion with the phone clenched tight, keeping your gaze on the TV. "What movie did you have in mind?"

Hoseok hesitates, then asks, "Do you need to take that?"

"No," you respond quickly but softly. "I don't need to."

"That person at the bar..." Hoseok begins, but he trails off as your phone starts to buzz again, lighting up the space beside you. 

You end the call and open your messenger app, to type, "Trying to sleep. Text and I will respond in the morning." Then you set your phone screen face-down on the cushion. 

"Sorry," you mutter. "I can shut my phone off."

"Is it important?" Hoseok asks cautiously, voice slow and measured.

"It is," you admit, swallowing a lump of worry as your heart pounds, sending the room into a dizzying spiral. "But I don't want to deal with it right now. I should, but...I just don't want to."

Your phone buzzes again, just once to signal a text has come through, and you squeeze your eyes closed, nausea pooling and threatening to rise. 

Gently, Hoseok places a hand over your knee, and you open your eyes to find his expression worried—pleading. "Can I ask why?"

All at once, your breathing becomes shallow, tears threaten to spill, and you have to gasp for oxygen. "They're my—" you begin, then swallow saliva that has pooled too quickly under your tongue. 

"I'm in a—in a relationship," you try again, eyes falling to your hands, which are clenched tightly together against your thigh. "But I want to end it. I've been wanting to for a while."

You have never voiced it before, and now that the words are spoken to the universe, a sob rattles through your chest, settling in your throat, and you attempt to breathe past it, finding the task difficult.

"Oh," Hoseok says, moving his hand away from your knee. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you mutter softly, suddenly feeling guilty for keeping something like this from your new friend for the entire week of your friendship. "I didn't want to lie, I just...they're away with their parents for the holiday, and...it's been nice pretending they aren't coming back."

Hoseok remains silent, and your anxiety rises to great new heights as you wait for him to respond. Of course, you have no idea whether this information will matter to him at all or not, but you imagine that he might feel upset that you haven't been as forthcoming about your personal life as he has been about his. 

When Hoseok says nothing, you turn to him and mutter, "Say something," instantly feeling regret over the distant look on his face.

"I just..." Hoseok trails off, throat bobbing as he thinks. "I guess I saw the photos of the two of you and didn't think much of it. Nobody else has been around, nobody was going to help you with that Christmas tree...maybe I was seeing their stuff all along and assuming it was also yours."

"To be fair," you make an attempt at lightening the mood, "most of the shoes by the front door are mine."

Hoseok cracks a smile, undoubtedly because there are many pairs of shoes by the front door, and the thought of them all belonging to one person is a bit ridiculous. But then his lips tug back into a frown, and his eyes fall to his hands.

"I don't want to tell you that you should leave, and I don't want to shut you out when you seem to be going through something difficult," Hoseok says, bringing his earnest, doleful gaze to meet yours. "But I was really starting to have feelings for you, and this news is kind of hard to take."

All at once, the air feels knocked from your chest, and you heave out a silent sob, blinking through a fresh set of tears. Hoseok's hand lifts slightly and twitches as if he wants to reach out to you, but he pulls it back and shoves it beneath his thigh. 

You nod and take this as your cue to leave. Hoseok is not asking you to, but it clearly pains him to sit with you, and the last thing you want to do is hurt yet another person, especially one who you have quickly come to care for so much.

"I'm gonna go," you mutter softly, watching as Hoseok's eyes fall to the floor, and he nods. "I need to deal with this, and then we can talk."

Hoseok doesn't look at you as you leave, simply muttering, "Okay."

In a daze, you walk back to Hoseok's front entrance to step into your shoes, letting your heels bend the backs, wasting no time to put them on correctly, and grab your jacket from the hook, draping it over your arm with a sad sigh. You slip out the door as quietly as possible, twisting the nob as you pull it shut, then releasing it slowly. 

The fluorescent lighting in the hallway is bright and boring into your brain, and you stumble down to your door as quickly as you can, fishing your key from your jacket pocket and fumbling to get it into the lock. The familiar smell of your apartment fills you with a heavy emptiness, and tears begin to pour once more from your eyes as you drop your jacket and key to the floor and step out of your shoes. 

All you want is to throw yourself into bed and disappear from the world, but you make a pitstop in the kitchen, pulling a glass from the drying rack and shoving it into the slot on your fridge that produces water. You only have the energy to fill the glass halfway, then you stumble out and pause, making a choice.

If you go to the bedroom, you will undoubtedly climb under your covers and cry yourself to sleep with your head buried half under your favorite pillow. But if you go to the living room, you can sit and read through Ash's messages once and for all, and make a choice. 

As you pad toward the couch, you tell yourself that your decision cannot be swayed by Hoseok admitting that he is starting to have feelings for you. Especially considering you have no idea what he is thinking right now—what if his feelings change after tonight? You can't say you would blame him. 

With a huff, you sit and pull the soft baby blue blanket that is bunched up on an armrest to drape over your knees. Then, you take a deep, fortifying breath, hold it for a few seconds, and slowly release it. The whiskey and beer continue to swirl and knock you off your axis, but you feel more sober than you did stumbling into Hoseok's apartment less than an hour earlier.

First, you read the messages that came in from Wednesday, sent just after your novella about feeling misunderstood. 

Ash Ignoring me to "clear your head" sounds more like shutting me out, but okay. Do whatever you fucking want, just like always.  I just think it's funny that you had nothing to say about this trip before and then waited until after I fucking left to drop the bombshell. How long have you been planning not to come? You are so fucking ungrateful. 

And then you read their texts from Thursday—

Ash Are you seriously going to leave me hanging this close to Christmas? How selfish are you??? For three years, I have put up with your fickle, shitty moods, and this is how you repay me? This is childish, even for you.  How am I supposed to wrap my head around everything when you make me feel like it has all just been a waste of time? You know how much Christmas means to my family, why are you acting like this?

—and from Friday.

Ash Baby, please just talk to me. 

And finally, you read what was sent tonight after you ignored their call at Hoseok's place. 

Ash Are you fucking joking? Pick up the phone.

You Trying to sleep. Text and I will respond in the morning.

Ash Trying to sleep??? Less than an hour after Ave saw you at the bar with some guy??? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I need to know who this friend is and why you haven't bothered to mention him to me. Ave said you were rude, which sounds like you, but it still raises concerns if you were giving an attitude simply because she was asking about him. This is fucked up. I can't believe the person you've become.  Maybe I shouldn't come back home once the holiday is over.

Your thumbs shake as they hover over the keys, and instead, you bite the bullet and dial Ash. Everything you want to say to them feels too big to say over text. The tone rings for so long, you wonder if they might not pick up. But then, they do, and your heart sinks a little.

"Trying to sleep, huh?" There is a bite to their voice that makes the hairs on your neck stand tall.

"Ash—"

"Tell me what is going on."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. "Maybe you should stay there for a while."

Silence hangs, and when Ash speaks, their voice is meek. "What?"

"I can mail your things."

"Wait, baby, what are you saying?" Ash asks, sounding panicked.

Numbness fills you, warm and heavy, and you open your eyes to stare past the tree—a dark, looming figure without its lights plugged in—out the window. A golden glow dapples through the thin curtains from the streetlights below, and you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"We haven't been happy for a while. I don't know when it began but...I want it to end."

Ash sighs, then lets out a humorless laugh. "So that new guy is more than just a—"

"No," you interrupt firmly. "He's a friend, and that's all. I wouldn't do that to you, or to him. That's not fair."

"When did you meet him?"

"A week ago," you admit. "I couldn't get the tree upstairs and he saw me struggling and helped me."

"A week ago? You told me you bought the tree before then."

"I know. I originally didn't want it at all. Funny, how I got it to appease someone who isn't here to see it."

"So he lives in the building?" It's more of a statement, sounding accusatory. 

"Yup."

"And you're sure you're not fucking him?"

Anger builds, and you grit your teeth. "Don't do this."

"So you're really breaking up with me?" Ash practically shouts, voice shaking. "Over the fucking phone, two weeks before Christmas."

"Yup."

"Wh—"

"Look, I know you haven't been happy, either. You've been so fucking cold lately; I don't know who you are. So, consider this your gift from me this year. I'm putting an end to everything before it could get any worse and we could become any more miserable."

"Oh, fuck you!"

All you can do in response is sigh. Truth be told, you feel really good—like this should have been done months ago, but neither of you had the guts to see the problem, much less voice it.

"You can't just break up with me!" Ash pleads, voice breaking. It feels like a final test to hear them on the verge of tears and have no emotional reaction of your own.

"I'm sorry. I can find a new place if you want to return to this one, or I can mail your things in the new year."

"Baby, please—"

"I'm happy to draw a contract promising to send your half of the security deposit when I move—"

"—you can't do this!"

"—just let me know what you feel the most comfortable with."

A loud sob comes through the phone, and you fold yourself in half, leaning forward to rest your forehead against your knee. Intoxicated or not, you know you are doing the right thing and that you need to be patient, now. But you are also fucking exhausted.

"You c-can't just break up with me," Ash sobs, sniffling loudly.

"I'm sorry," you say flatly, making no attempt to show emotion. 

"You are not fucking sorry!" Ash shouts before breaking down into more sobs. 

Tears do threaten your waterline, and when you move to readjust your bent forward position, one even falls down your cheek. But you do not sob, and you do not feel all that sad. You are simply letting go. If anything, you feel lighter. 

"I need sleep," you say after a long moment filled only with Ash's anguish as the backdrop. "We can talk more about this tomorrow."

"Fuck you. I never want to talk to you again."

You yawn and sit up straight, stretching your back. "Be that as it may, we still have to figure out the living situation, or the stuff situation. Whichever it comes down to."

"I hope that new boy knows what a fucking coward you are!"

"I can always look for a new place if you need to move back for the time being."

"I hope he breaks your heart twice as hard as you fucking broke mine!"

"Just let me know what works best for you. We have time; I don't want to rush you."

"Stop it!" Ash screams, and you wince, pulling your ear an inch away from the phone. "How are you so fucking heartless? Aren't you sad at all?"

With a sigh, you lean your head to the side, against the backrest sofa cushion. "I've been sad for months. For months, you have been cold and callous and distant. For months we haven't been intimate—have barely had a conversation about anything but work. We don't cook together, we don't go out together. I am done with feeling insignificant. I loved you, and we had some good times, but I don't want to do this anymore."

With another sniffle, Ash says, "Fine. We're done. If I am so fucking terrible, then, by all means, shut me out. But nobody else will love you like I do."

"Sure," you respond with an anger-tarnished smirk. "They'll love me better."

And with that, you hang up and drop your phone to the couch, then let your face fall to your palms to rub the heels of your hands against your eyelids. Exhaustion covers you in a thick blanket, and you grab the glass of water, take a nice big gulp, then abandon it on the table to take your phone with you and go to bed.

Hoseok Good morning, sunshine!  Thank you for giving me the space to think. I'm sure leaving wasn't easy, and I honestly hated to see you go, but it seemed like we both had some soul-searching to do. I would like to catch up and chat over coffee when you are feeling up for it, though I fear it will either have to be today or next Friday, because of exams and all that. If today is too soon for you and you need more time or space, I will respect that. And if not, I will be looking forward to seeing you later.

You smile and hug your phone to your chest, then stretch and get out of bed. At the very least, your friendship with Hoseok seems intact, which is the best news you can hope for. Anything beyond friendship is something the two of you will have to build up to and figure out along the way.

You Today would be nice, actually. I could use a friend to talk to if you have the energy to listen to me finally open up about all of this.

This morning, you skip breakfast and jump straight to taking a quick shower, letting the steaming warm water beat down against your muscles for a little longer than usual before washing up and getting out. As you towel off, you do your best not to rush, allowing your mind to be clear and patiently ready for whatever this day may bring. 

Once you are finally dressed in the same green turtleneck you wore earlier in the week and your signature black jeans, you make your way to your bedroom and find your cell phone sitting face up with one new text message.

Hoseok I definitely have enough energy for both of us. I hope you haven't already had breakfast.

You I have not. And I am showered and dressed, so I could be ready for breakfast as early as right now.

Hoseok See you in 10. :)

Although you feel optimistic about the day ahead, you worry that things may become a bit emotional, so you skip the mascara, instead deciding to pull your hair back from your face, pinning it just above your ears and attempting to keep the back and sides as tame as possible. 

As ready as you'll ever be, you make your way to the entrance and pick up your discarded jacket and keys from the floor, then search around for your scarf and hat, wondering if you had worn them to—and, consequently, left them at—Hoseok's place. You look around a bit, but, ultimately, decide that one day with your ears and cheeks out in the cold air will be fine. 

Several minutes pass before Hoseok's signature knock pulls you from your thoughts—which had led you to meander into your living room to twirl aimlessly on the balls of your socked feet—and you make your way to the front door, plastering on your brightest smile as you pull it open. 

Hoseok is bundled up with cheeks pink from the cool winter air, and he is holding a bag full of to-go containers and a drink tray with two coffee cups. 

"Oh!" you exclaim as you retrieve the cups and take a few steps back into the entranceway to give Hoseok room. "I didn't realize you meant you would bring breakfast."

With a soft, perhaps apprehensive smile, Hoseok says, "Well, I didn't think either of us would want to have a heart-to-heart in a restaurant. I don't know about you, but I hate to cry in public."

Gently, Hoseok nudges the front door closed behind him with his foot, and you reach out to grab the bag while the tray balances on your other hand, so Hoseok can get out of his jacket and boots. 

"You were anticipating crying?" you tease. "Interesting turn of events."

Hoseok gently sets his boots among your chaotic pile of footwear and unravels a royal blue scarf from his neck. "Well, I am the romantic one, after all."

You turn and take the items past the perfectly good dining room table to the living room and set everything on that table, instead. As you begin to unpack the boxes, the smell of fruit and maple syrup hits your nose. 

"I got us pancakes," Hoseok explains as he joins you on the couch, "and peppermint mochas. I actually placed the order after your first text, and received it after your second. Talk about perfect timing."

Excited to dig in, you turn to Hoseok and flash him a grin. "Perfect, indeed."

Hoseok offers a small smile, and you get to work unpacking everything and immediately digging in. The pancakes are fluffy and sweet, complemented nicely by strawberries and blueberries—which are just slightly tart—and salty pads of butter. There are also sides of bacon and sausage, which you slather in the rich, thick maple syrup.

"Wow," you groan with a mouthful, and Hoseok hums in agreement. 

The two of you eat in near silence, with only groans and hums voiced. Once the containers are empty, you grab your paper coffee cup in both hands and adjust on the cushion with your legs bent, facing Hoseok. He takes the last two bites of his food, then has a drink of his mocha and sits the same, turning to you and leaning against the backrest of the couch.

For the first time since he has arrived, you finally take in the sight of him. His hair is parted over his forehead, and he wears a simple black turtleneck tucked into tight-fitting black slacks. 

"Now who's dressed gloomy?" you tease, and Hoseok gives a soft smile, eyes falling to his hands. 

"I wasn't sure what to expect," Hoseok admits, "so I dressed for the worst."

"Well, why don't we start from the top? I'll tell you everything that I wasn't telling you before, and then we'll go from there."

Hoseok nods, and you take a deep, slow breath. You start from the beginning with Ash, how you had been together for about three years, and how you usually went to their parent's place for Christmas. You briefly explain how—despite how wonderful their parents are—being there makes you feel like an outsider. And, if you are being totally honest, getting closer to the parents of someone who you were beginning to drift away from felt disingenuous. 

You explain not wanting to travel, putting it off, and ultimately buying a tree because Ash insisted that if you were going to be spending some of the holiday season alone, you should at least do so in style. Hoseok nods and listens attentively, only pulling his gaze away from time to time to look down at his fidgeting hands that cradle his coffee cup, before looking back at you.

"And that brings me to the day you found me on the stoop, ready to leave the damn thing to die or be stolen in the hallway. When we were watching The Battle of the Dads, I was in my bedroom arguing with them over whether or not my tree was festive enough, because of course, they hated our choice of decorations and wondered why I didn't just use theirs, instead."

"You seemed unhappy when you came back, but it felt rude to pry."

You nibble on your bottom lip. "Honestly, if you had asked me about it, I would have told you. I wasn't planning on keeping my relationship a secret. It just felt so good to forget a little."

"And when I called last week and you had been crying," Hoseok mentions gently. 

"We had been fighting over text. I finally admitted that I didn't want to go to their parent's place, and that I wasn't actively looking for tickets, and they were just so angry and defensive, and unwilling to see my point of view."

"That's rough."

"I haven't been perfect," you admit. "The spark between us has all but died out months ago and I have been allowing myself to become numb rather than try to rekindle it. I guess I wanted them to try harder, too, and it already began to feel like the relationship was over."

Hoseok nods and takes a drink from his mocha, and you take the opportunity to have a sip, too. It is perfectly balanced between mint and chocolate, and you hum with delight before resting the cup against your knee and diving into the conclusion. 

"So, anyway, I broke up with them last night."

Hoseok's head shoots up, and he watches you with wide, worried eyes.

"They had been nasty over text all week, bombarding me with messages despite me not sending anything in response, and it just became so clear that they did not have my concerns or interests at heart. When I called, after I left your place last night, they were quick to accuse me of cheating with you and told me they hope you break my heart one day, even after I insisted we were just friends. Then they sobbed and shouted, and didn't seem to care at all about my reasoning. So I told them it was over, and in the end, they agreed that it was for the best."

Hoseok's eyes seem misty with tears, and he sets his cup down on the table, then opens his arms. "Can I hug you?"

You smile and nod, reaching to place your cup on the table before walking on your knees across the couch and allowing yourself to fall into Hoseok's arms. His familiar light, floral musk fills your senses, and you wrap your arms around his ribs, smiling as he pulls you into a tight embrace. 

"Are you alright with everything?" Hoseok asks against your head, voice reverberating from his chest to your cheek. "Are you sure you made the right choice?"

"Honestly, I feel amazing," you admit, and Hoseok squeezes you tighter. "I am sad when I think of little things that I have lost, but over the course of the last year or so, I have felt like a ghost merely existing in this apartment with them. I can't do that anymore."

You loosen your hold on Hoseok and begin to sit back, and he drops his arms and watches you settle in front of him. "And, I feel like it's only fair to tell you that, in a lot of ways, you have helped me realize that this was something I needed to do." Hoseok's eyes widen, and you worry that he may take it the wrong way, so you continue to explain. 

"Even before last night, when you admitted to maybe having feelings for me, I felt a lot of platonic love and appreciation from you in such a short amount of time, that it honestly blew me away and made me wonder why the fuck I had been settling for someone who wasn't giving me even an ounce of that."

Slowly, Hoseok reaches for your hands, and you place your palms in his larger ones, smiling when he gives them a gentle squeeze. "I wanted to talk to you about that."

Anxiety and anticipation race through you, and you nod, doing your best to seem perfectly calm, despite the storm brewing within. "I meant what I said. Since pretty much day one, I have felt a connection with you, and I have wanted to spend every waking moment near you and speaking with you. The affection was not all platonic, but I was also trying to show my feelings without being pushy because it was impossible to gauge whether or not you had feelings for me, too. And now I understand why."

Embarrassed, you look down at your hands, and Hoseok gives them another gentle squeeze. 

"Do you...have feelings for me?" Hoseok asks softly, with a slight tremble to his voice.

For the first time since the start of the conversation, tears well, and although you try to blink them away, one falls down your cheek. You nod in small, quick movements, then finally utter what has been blooming behind your chest for a week. "Yes. I do have feelings for you."

Hoseok looks stunned—mouth agape with eyes wide and brimming with tears, and you smile, then softly shake your head. "I didn't fully realize it at first. Or, rather, I wasn't ready to let myself. There were moments when you would say or do something that gave me butterflies, but I would try to ignore it. I didn't want to be unfaithful, even emotionally. Although, there were times when I think I was. But then you told me how you felt, and I played back different moments from the last week and realized that, if I let myself, I would feel the exact same way."

With a pleased sigh, Hoseok brings your hands to his lips, leaving a soft kiss against your knuckles, and you smile as the flowers behind your ribs bloom brightly. It feels so good to have everything out in the open, you never want to keep a single thing from Hoseok again. 

"If you do want to be more than just friends, then I want to take things a little slow," Hoseok says, lips moving against your skin as his warm breath ghosts between your fingers. "At least, I want to wait until after this week. Our friendship was already whirlwind, and, if we're on the same page, I honestly don't know how long I will be able to hold out before I want more."

"I can wait a week," you respond with a grin, feeling adoration swell at the sight of his wide, eager grin. 

The rest of the day is spent on your couch, watching holiday movies back to back. You manage to stay awake for one and a half before curling up against a pillow placed on Hoseok's lap and drifting to sleep while he plays with the hairs at the nape of your neck. 

When you wake up to the ending credits of what might be the second movie—but could also be a third, for all you know—Hoseok stretches and rubs his hand over your shoulder, down your arm.

"I should get going. Although I don't have much to do for tomorrow, I have a lot to do for Tuesday, and I should get a head start."

"Sounds good," you say with a yawn, and you sit up to stretch your arms out and fall against the backrest of the couch. 

"I'll call you everyday," Hoseok promises, lifting a hand to caress your cheek ever so gently before dropping it.

"I hope you do," you respond, feeling lightheaded both from having just woken up and from Hoseok's gentle caress. 

"On Friday, after my last final, we'll talk about this some more, yeah?"

You nod, smile, and say, "Yeah," feeling hopeful.

For the next week, Hoseok does call every day. 

He spends a chunk of Monday with you on speaker while finishing up a sewing project, pausing what he is saying from time to time to let a machine whirr loudly in the background.

On Tuesday, he only has time between classes to tell you that he hopes you have a lovely day, and on Wednesday, you don't hear from him until late evening, when you are returning home from a trip to the convenience store because you have been feeling a bit lonely and wanted to soothe your weary soul with chips. 

"You sound a little down tonight," He remarks as you unlock your apartment door and quietly close it behind you. 

"Yeah," you admit, "I find myself missing you a lot. But it's alright. I have Friday to look forward to."

Thursday, Hoseok calls in the morning, nervous for his big final presentation; in the afternoon, antsy after showing his pieces to the professor and to his class; and on his way home late in the evening to say he thinks he did well, and that your well wishes in the morning have helped him get through everything. 

Then, on Friday, Hoseok calls between exams, telling you to be ready by 5 PM sharp. He instructs you not to dress fancy, so when 4 PM rolls around, you settle on wearing the red flannel with the first few buttons undone and a form-fitting black tee underneath. You apply some mascara and lip balm, then proceed to pace around your apartment for a while, realizing you still have a little over thirty minutes before he is supposed to meet you. 

As you settle in to do a little reading, your phone dings with an incoming text. The rational part of your brain knows that Hoseok is likely not messaging while taking his exam, but you are antsy and unlock your screen, clicking on the notification with reckless abandon. And, of course, it is not from Hoseok. 

Ash I have been giving it a lot of thought, and I am not ready to let you go. I know things haven't been great for the last several months, but what we had before that was amazing, and I know we can find that again. Please reconsider. I will be coming home as planned on the first weekend of the new year, and I would like for us to talk and reconcile.

The wind feels knocked from your sails as you read over Ash's message, and your eyes prickle with fresh tears. The absolute fucking audacity, after everything you have been through—everything you have voiced to them—for them to steamroll through it all and demand a reunion.

You I am disappointed that this is the conclusion you have drawn from our last conversation and the texts that came before it, and I have no desire to reconcile. 

You hate how quickly your pulse goes from antsy over seeing Hoseok to frantic and angry to be communicating with Ash, and you lay back on the couch, waiting for their inevitable response to come through with a ding and a buzz. 

Ash You are being so unfair, you know that, right? I'm pouring my heart out to you and all you can say is no.

You Coming from the person who didn't listen to a word I said over the phone. If you really do care about how I feel about any of this, then you will be able to clearly see that I am unhappy and ready to move on.

Ash But I'm not.

You I don't know what to tell you, Ash, but we're not getting back together. If you really do plan on coming back here, then I will begin looking for a new apartment and put my stuff into storage for the time being.

When Ash says nothing in response, you sit up and begin to pace around, once more. Threatening to move out is more or less empty at this time of year, and you would hate to leave the convenient proximity to your favorite neighbor. You hope that, as per usual, Ash is all bark and no bite.

A knock at your door pulls you from your spiral, and you flounce to the door, flailing your arms happily. As you swing it open, you only briefly check to make sure nothing is in Hoseok's hands before throwing your arms around his shoulders and taking a nice, deep inhale of his scent. 

"Wh—hey, marshmallow," Hoseok greets, voice surprised, yet soft and deep.

With a pleased and somewhat exasperated sigh, you loosen your hold and let your head rest against him. Hoseok's arms gently wrap around your sides and give you a squeeze. 

"They're tormenting me again and I thought I was going to have an anxiety attack," you admit, feeling Hoseok's hold tense slightly, briefly. 

"Your ex?"

You hum in response and take a step back to get a good look at Hoseok's pretty, understanding face. He continues to gently hold you, and you rub your fingertips over the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sorry, that's not a pleasant way to greet someone."

Hoseok chuckles and slowly begins to move forward, forcing you to step backward, into your apartment. Your heart pounds, heat rises to your cheeks, and you do your best to keep your eyes on him. 

"A hug is the perfect way to greet someone," Hoseok counters, closing your door gently with his foot and spinning you until your back is flush with the wall. "And I want you to always tell me what's bothering you."

The two of you stand so close that one of your legs is slotted between his and one of his, yours. His breath is warm as it ghosts your face, and you can pick up a hint of coffee on his breath. 

Ordinarily, this is where the two leads of a story would lock lips, moan in tandem to let out all the pent-up feelings between each other, and tighten their grasp on one another, desperate to never let go. But this is not a corny holiday film, and you want to allow Hoseok to make the first move. 

"I've missed you," Hoseok says as he leans in and brushes his lips gently over the apple of your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Instinctively, you tip your head to the side to give Hoseok access to anything he would like. He leaves a soft kiss against your cheek, and one on your temple, then he releases his hold and takes a step back.

You realize you had been holding your breath, and you release it in a slow, shaky exhale, voice coming out ragged. "I've missed you too."

"You look great," Hoseok beams quietly, heart-lips smiling wide. 

Hoseok's hair is styled partially off his forehead, with some bangs hanging parted, just above his eyes, and he has a fresh undercut with his short sideburns coming to points around his ears. He wears a black turtleneck with a black and white knit sweater vest overtop, tight-fit black slacks, and black boots. No jacket, this time. He is absolutely stunning.

"You look—" you begin, losing the words as you examine him up and down, smiling when your eyes meet his. There is a hunger in Hoseok's gaze you have never seen, and you mutter, "—ah-amazing," as the heat of his stare threatens to set you ablaze and turn you to dust. 

"I thought we could go to the dive down the street and celebrate the end of my semester and your breakup with some pizza and beers," Hoseok says as he lifts a hand and gently places it below your chin.

You can't help but chuckle, feeling the mood lighten despite the heat that radiates from his skin to yours. "Pizza and cheap drinks is how you want to celebrate?"

Hoseok grins and shakes his head. "I've been craving the pizza."

With a nod, you concede. You would have suggested something a little nicer to celebrate such important life events, but if Hoseok wants pizza and two-dollar cans of piss beer, then that is what he will get.

"Alright," you say with a lift of your eyebrows, "let's go."

Your whole body trembles as you bend to slip on some black boots—sleeker than the ones you tend to wear in the snow, but similar to the ones he wears. These are not warm-weather footwear, but being that the bar is close, you figure your toes can take it.

Once you are bundled in your favorite mustard scarf, Hoseok takes your hand, linking your fingers between his, and tugs you toward the exit. You lock up and allow yourself to be dragged down the hall, giggling as you stumble to keep up. Once the elevator doors close behind you, Hoseok turns and steps into your personal space, caging you in with his arms, and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat. 

"You seem so nervous," he teases.

"A little," you confess softly.

Hoseok hums, cocking his head to the side, and you can't help but chuckle at how simultaneously adorable and sexy he is. 

"You're making me nervous by getting in my face so much," you complain, grinning. 

Hoseok lifts an eyebrow and smirks. "Scared I might kiss you?" 

You open your mouth to respond, but you are so taken aback by his forwardness, and the opening of the elevator doors pulls you back to reality, leaving you dizzy and fumbling around loose vowels. 

Hoseok chuckles, mutters, "Cute," and tugs you through the building and out into the cold. 

The two of you walk hand in hand to the dive. It's a raucous affair inside, full of others who you presume are wrapping up their semester. In the back of the room is a small two-person couch with a dingy wooden table, and you slip your hand from Hoseok's and nod to the corner.

"I'll grab the seats, you get the drinks."

With a nod, Hoseok approaches the bar, and you make your way through the small crowd, to the worn, ripped black leather couch that wheezes as you sit on it. You glance up to find Hoseok leaning against the bar, placing an order, then you take a deep breath and pull out your phone, curious to see whether you have any messages. None. 

Hoseok returns with two shots of whiskey, then quickly spins and returns to the bar for four cans of beer cradled between his slender fingers and a long metal stand wedged in his armpit with a plastic card attached to the end displaying the number 13. You stand to slip the number out of his grasp to place it in the center of the table, then take two of the cans. Hoseok sits beside you with a huff and holds up both of his cans as if wanting to call cheers with two at the same time. 

"I got us pepperoni again," he announces. "To the illusion of freedom!"

You lift both cans and tap them to his, then take a drink from one, followed by the other. The first taste of cheap beer is always uncomfortably sweet, and you wince slightly as your taste buds adjust. 

"The illusion of freedom?" you ask, setting one of the cans down and settling with your body angled toward Hoseok. 

Hoseok nods and leans in, speaking over the music, "My semester is over, but I return in the fall. And your relationship is over, but I intend to sink my claws in soon."

Your pulse quickens, and you scoff in an attempt to hide just how affected you are by Hoseok's sudden change in demeanor. This new side of Hoseok is dangerous, and you are eager for more. 

"Is that so?" you ask, feigning resistance. 

Hoseok leans in, placing a hand gently on your knee, and speaks low into your ear. "I see how shy I make you. Am I wrong?"

You shake your head in small, quick movements and mutter, "N-no."

"Good," Hoseok responds, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sitting straight and causing your brain to buffer momentarily as you stare into space, then blink back into reality. 

Hoseok sets down his beer, then grabs both shots of whiskey and hands one to you. "Bottoms up!"

"Geonbae," you shout in response and tap your glass to his before shooting it back. 

The first shot of whiskey is vicious the way it settles over you in a thin blanket of warmth. You roll your shoulders back, feeling yourself loosen up just enough to lean in and sneak a peck on Hoseok's cheek. The startled look that melts into a smile kicks up a swarm of butterflies in your tummy, and you chuckle, then sit back in your shared seat. 

"You're a menace," you shout as you pull your beer to your lips and have a sip, eyes trained on Hoseok, who leans toward you. 

"Is that so?"

You nod. "I had no idea what kind of monster you would be once given the freedom to flirt with me."

Hoseok laughs, throwing himself back against the small sofa as his shoulders jolt and bob. He looks so pretty and carefree, and you want to kiss him stupid. 

"This is nothing!" he finally shouts once he has gotten his breath back. 

"Oh?"

"I'm holding back a lot, trust me. I don't want to rush anything; you're fresh out of a breakup. And I want to be more than a rebound."

You know that there is no ill intent in Hoseok's words, but they do make you feel a tinge of sadness, so you lean forward and take Hoseok's free hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. "You would never be a rebound. Even if we jumped into a whirlwind relationship before I had a chance to heal from my breakup, you would be so much more. But I appreciate the caution. We should take it a little slow."

The gaze Hoseok fixes you with is soft and warm, and you smile to match his. There is so much you want to express, but the bar is loud and you feel content with what has been said, to this point. 

The moment the pizza is set before you, your stomach groans, and you lean in to take a slice, flopping it onto a paper plate and settling back with it. Its warmth is welcome, and you hardly let it cool before taking a bite, letting the cheese and grease ooze into your mouth, hitting the spot. You understand why Hoseok has been craving it. 

The two of you eat and drink mostly in silence, and when all of the beers are empty, Hoseok returns to the bar for another round. In your pocket, a buzzing signals an incoming text, and you sigh before pulling out your phone. 

Ash I wish you could just be honest for once. Ave says you're at the bar again with the same guy, and the two of you are holding hands. How am I supposed to believe your intentions were pure before you broke up with me?

You Man, Ave really needs to get a life. 

Ash That's all you have to say?

You Nah, but what's the point? You aren't going to listen. 

Ash Try me.

Alcohol emboldens you, and you chew your bottom lip, ready to make a big fucking mess of things. To hell with it. 

You It's true that I have been holding hands with Hoseok tonight. Before tonight, we were just friends, spending most of the week speaking only on the phone, giving one another space while he finishes his semester, and I allow the breakup to settle over me. And now, we are treading the territory of becoming more than that.

Ash Wow.

You It's called moving on. You should try it.

Ash Fuck you.

You I'm good! Anyway, I have better things to do than argue. Have a good night.

Surprisingly, Ash does not fire off any snarky closing remark, and when Hoseok returns, you slip your phone back into your pocket and glance up to find Hoseok approaching with two more shots.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" you tease as Hoseok hands you a shot and taps his to yours, bent over the table.

"I'm trying to get us both drunk," Hoseok responds innocently. "We're celebrating!"

"Bottoms up!" you shout, met with his, "Geonbae!" and you shoot the liquid back. 

Hoseok takes the glasses, returns to the bar, and comes back holding two cans. You drink the beers while leaning in close, bumping shoulders and foreheads while people-watching and loudly singing along to the various songs that play just a bit too loudly. 

Then, you close out the tab and stumble out into the cool, winter night. It is still fairly early when you shuffle down the hallway and onto the elevator, and without a word spoken between the two of you, Hoseok leads you to his apartment, to his cozy sofa, where you fall asleep in his arms, watching some corny holiday film.

Waking up on Hoseok's couch used to feel awkward. The discombobulation of getting your bearings and realizing you had let your guard fall so far with someone who was not your partner always set off panic in your guts. 

But as you sit up in a daze, still drunk and wrapped in a soft, thick blanket, you smile at the sight of a sleepy Hoseok stirring below you. As he opens his eyes and his lips crack into a soft grin, endearment blooms and bursts behind your ribs. 

"You should get to bed," you grumble, poking at his sides.

"Don't want you to leave," Hoseok whines, tugging you closer.

You sigh; you also do not want to leave. "Soon," you say, pushing away from Hoseok's warmth and stretching your limbs. "I'll be ready to stay the night with you soon. And not cramped up on the couch."

Hoseok whines, and you will yourself to stand, tugging on his arm to encourage him to sit up. "Go to bed and stretch your limbs. I'll text you in the morning."

With a groggy smile, Hoseok nods and says, "Okay." 

He stands, stumbling slightly on his feet, then wraps you in a warm, tight hug, grumbling, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond with a chuckle, full of warmth. "You'll hear from me as soon as we wake up."

The next week breezes by in a flurry of trips to the local Korean market without Hoseok catching wise or tagging along. Christmas is on Sunday, and you want to surprise him with a homemade pot of kimchi jjigae. 

Luckily, Hoseok claims he has to make something special for the holiday, doing a very bad job of hiding the fact that he is planning a gift for you, as well. 

Several mornings are spent with one of you showing up at the other's front door with coffee in hand, or an invitation to trudge out to some cafe nearby. Most evenings are spent curled on one of your couches watching movies, either after breaking apart in the afternoon for a few hours or seeing each other for the first time, that day. 

The closer it gets to the holiday, the more Hoseok seems intent on sitting in front of the television, not voicing many thoughts or emotions, and you wonder if the weight of being away from home is starting to overwhelm him. 

You give Hoseok as much space and pampering as he needs, doing your best to pick up on cues for when he seems to need attention versus alone time. Hoseok is usually pretty forthcoming with his emotions, but some things are harder to voice than others, and you understand that better than anyone. 

The night before Christmas, Hoseok is particularly quiet, hinging on difficult to read. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close before leaving for the night, drowsy after having woken up on his couch, curled against his side. 

"Are you alright?" you ask, brushing the tip of your nose against his. 

Hoseok nods, but his eyes stay trained on the floor, and you pull him in for another embrace, muttering, "I miss my family too."

At this, Hoseok squeezes you tight and sighs. Then, he releases the hug and takes a step back, offering a soft smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect this week to take so much out of me. It feels like everything has passed by in a blur."

You nod and rub your palms up his long yellow sleeves. "I agree. But tomorrow should be nice. And if you need to talk about anything, you know I am here to listen, okay?"

"Okay," Hoseok responds. "Talking would be nice. I do have some things I need to tell you, and I have been trying to wait for tomorrow."

"Grand romantic gesture?" you tease. "I'm so shocked."

And with that, Hoseok pulls you into a hug, kisses your forehead, and wishes you good night. You feel a mix of sadness and happiness settle over you as you pad your way to your apartment. But also, hopefulness. Tonight, you have a gift to wrap before you can go to bed, and you really hope Hoseok will like it.

On Christmas morning, you wake up with a smile on your face and begin to prepare, marinating the pork belly in rice wine and black pepper, and putting two servings of rice into the rice maker. Then, you shoot off a text to Hoseok—

You Ho, Ho, Hoseok, good morning, and merry Christmas!

—smiling like an idiot at your phone as you type.

Everything has to be perfect, and you have each ingredient needed for two servings of stew already separated and kept neatly in the refrigerator. While on your various outings over the past week, you found a very adorably ugly hand-embroidered red sweater with a giant Christmas tree and gifts on the front, complete with ribbons hanging from the various ornaments and boxes to give it a nice 3-dimensional feel. 

You add a little glitter above the eyes, apply some mascara, and really take in your reflection as you stand before the mirror in all your glory. If Hoseok isn't instantly charmed by this nonsense, you truly do not know what will work. A ding from your phone pulls your attention, and you nibble on your lip as you read it.

Hoseok I guess the hot cocoas that I am cradling as I type this are not the only sweet treat I have to look forward to, today. Marshmallow, you made me laugh so hard, I embarrassed myself in public. 

You Cute.

Hoseok Be there in 10? Or do you need more time? I was hoping to surprise you, but I also don't want to rush you.

You Be here now, for all I care. I'm ready for you.

Hoseok See you soon. ;)

You walk to the living room to plug in the Christmas tree, stopping in your tracks at the sight of two gift boxes sitting below it. Earlier yesterday, Hoseok had come by to drop off your gift, sternly insisting that you not shake it. The recipe for kimchi jjigae was up on your laptop, and you rushed to the dining room table to close the screen, nearly letting Hoseok in on your surprise prematurely. 

And today, in mere moments from now, the two of you are going to exchange gifts. Yours wrapped in gold with pastel pink dots—a paper Hoseok helped you pick out back when you were buying ornaments and still not certain you would have any gifts to actually wrap this year—and his in shimmering green paper with little red bows. You plug in the tree and stand, marveling at the pastel colors and big, bright star. 

Everything feels surreal. The past several weeks have felt like a hurricane swept in and completely washed away traces of your former self, leaving you in ruins. But in a good way. You still have a huge mess to clean, and you are still not sure what the aftermath of the storm will entail, but as the sunshine breaks through the clouds, offering warmth and light, you can sit in the wreckage and smile. You can be ready to rebuild. 

Four rhythmic knocks on the door jolt you from your thoughts, and you gasp as you stand up straight. It has definitely not been ten minutes. 

As you prance over to the front door, giddy to finally get to see Hoseok, worry begins to stir in your guts. Worry that you are moving too fast, that your gesture is too big and too romantic, that you are not cut out for this at all—especially not so soon after a breakup. 

But you grin and swing the door open wide, ready to accept Hoseok into your heart and into your life as more than just a friend. And judging by the endeared smile Hoseok gives you as he eyes up your sweater and glances at the lit-up tree behind you, you think that perhaps, he is just as ready as you are. 

Hoseok is dressed in a green sweater that has poorly puff-painted ornaments covering it, and you huff out a laugh at how precious and ridiculous it looks. He wears khakis and slip-on shoes, and his hair is tousled somewhat messily. 

"You are full of surprises," Hoseok muses as you take a step back and allow him to enter the small space. 

"I am," you respond, biting back a grin. 

Hoseok toes out of his shoes, handing you a nice, large paper cup of hot chocolate, and you turn to make your way through the apartment, to the couch. You are eager to open the gifts, especially when you turn to find Hoseok sniffing the air with a squint in his eyes, already on the path to discovering what his will be. 

"I smell rice."

You hum, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. "I read that Koreans eat rice for breakfast."

Hoseok's eyebrows lift, and he smiles playfully. "Just rice? How thoughtful."

"Not just rice," you tease in return, rounding the sofa and kneeling on the cushion to face Hoseok. "Come, open your gift."

Hoseok, nosy as ever, takes a step into your kitchen and leans over the counter to observe the plastic wrap-covered bowl, holding the marinating meat. Then, he lifts his head, cocking it to the side as he peers over the small island. "What's in here?"

With a huff, you stand and stomp over to Hoseok, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him toward the couch. He only puts up an ounce or two of resistance, giggling as you drag him along. With him settling down, you grab his gift—which is a bit heavy—and place it on the table in front of him. 

"Open at the same time?" Hoseok asks, and you smile and return to the tree, grabbing your featherlight shoebox-sized present and bringing it back.

Once you sit, you make a show of shaking your box while grinning at Hoseok, who gives you a wide, surprised gasp. There is some movement inside, but it is simultaneously too heavy and too light to give itself away. 

"Awe, you bought me socks," you chide, "how charming."

Blush creeps up Hoseok's neck, and he leans to pick up your gift, attempting to shake it before realizing how heavy it is and muttering something in Korean under his breath. 

"What is in this?"

You arch a brow and say, "Open it and find out," then take the edges of the shimmering green paper under your nails and begin to dig your fingers in. 

"Wait," Hoseok says, reaching a hand out, and you stop, looking up to find a worried expression. "I just—I don't want you to—" he takes a breath, "I made this for you. So...just don't expect something extravagant and expensive, okay? It's—it's not a big deal."

Your heart soars at the thought of Hoseok making you a gift, and you rip the paper open, clawing at it like a wild beast. Hoseok clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head as if ashamed, but a shy smile creeps across his face as he watches you.

"Open yours too!" you insist as you pull a plain brown box from the shredded paper, curling your fingers under the lid but waiting to lift. 

Hoseok tears at the taped paper flaps, opening his gift much more carefully and calmly, setting every nerve of yours alight with anticipation. Once enough paper is torn away, you begin to lift the lid from the box much more slowly than you ripped into the wrapping. 

"Oh!" Hoseok exclaims, examining the photo of the ceramic hot pot on the box. "This is great, but...I feel so bad telling you this...but I have one of these."

"Of course you do," you respond with a cheeky smile. "But I didn't have one, and that's...technically not your actual gift."

Hoseok cocks his head, and you watch the wheels turn. Then, he bursts out laughing. "You made me unwrap something that you're keeping?" 

With a cheeky grin and squint you lean in and say, "Your gift is what I am going to make in that pot once I open this box."

Hoseok's mouth drops, though he still hasn't seemed to figure it out, and you smile as you return to your task. As you lift the lid, you find a neatly folded pile of black knitted fabric with dots and lines of various yellows and golds—like shooting stars against a pitch-black sky. You lift it, and it unravels into a thick, beautiful infinity scarf, knit in a chevron pattern of deep v's. 

Tears well in your eyes, and you hug the scarf close, rubbing the soft fabric against your cheek. It smells like Hoseok, and you bury your face against it, taking a sniff as a sob chokes from your chest. 

"You made this for me," you whimper, overwhelmed by affection.

When you open your eyes and glance up, Hoseok is smiling soft and sweet. You can tell he is nervous about the gift, but that he no longer feels the need to apologize. You wrap the scarf over your head twice and bury your nose once more, shamelessly filling your senses with your favorite musk.

"Hoseok, this is—I love this. Thank you."

Hoseok sets the hot pot on the table and opens his arms, and you accept the invitation and throw yourself against his chest. Nobody has ever handmade something like this before, and you cannot fathom how long it must have taken him. 

Suddenly, your gift feels silly. A meal is hardly a tangible thing, not compared to a scarf. Fresh tears threaten your eyes, and you sit up, rubbing them away before they can form streaks on your face. 

"Now I have to finish making your gift," you say shyly, taking Hoseok's hands in yours. "And while I do that, you should put on The Battle of the Dads. This time I won't fall asleep."

Hoseok laughs and nods his head, and you let go of his hands and sit back, reaching for your hot chocolate to savor a nice, warm sip. Then, you take the hot pot and make your way to the kitchen, setting it on the counter and opening it up. You give it a quick wash and dry, then place it on the stove.

First, you take the prepped container of kimchi and tofu from the fridge and set it close to the stove, then you light a burner beneath a small skillet and take out the kimchi to warm and soften over the heat. After a few moments, movement comes from the living room, and you shut off the burner and turn in time to find Hoseok sliding into the entry on socked feet. 

"I smell Kimchi," Hoseok announces with wide eyes. Then, he glances again at the bowl of marinating pork, this time moving the plastic wrap from the edge, and back at you. 

"I know it won't taste like the soup your mother makes," you say shyly. Tears form in Hoseok's eyes, and he brings his hands to his mouth. "But I wanted to try. I know your heart has been sick for home lately."

Hoseok strides through the kitchen, wraps one arm around your back while the other comes up to gently take your chin. "I'm going to kiss you," he mutters softly, so close you can smell the cocoa on his breath. 

You nod and smile, tilting your chin in an invitation, and Hoseok closes the space between you, brushing his lips gently against yours. A light exhale leaves your lungs—a sigh of relief and joy and so many things left unsaid—and you wrap your arms around Hoseok's neck and pull him ever so slightly closer, slotting your lips between his and smiling as he lets out a sweet, contented groan. You kiss Hoseok slowly and steadily, movements languid and soft as if you have all the time in the world.

Hoseok turns you, maneuvering you away from the stove to press you against the countertop as he rests his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to find him looking down at you while tears streak his pretty face. 

"Be mine," Hoseok mutters an inch from your lips. "Please."

"Are you sure it's not too soon?" you ask, and Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. 

"I should be asking you that."

Fondness and desire fill you with warmth, and you pull Hoseok closer, kissing his lips fully and eagerly. "I'm ready if you are," you mutter against him. 

Both of Hoseok's hands take you gently by the head, cradling you as he licks over your lips—as he grins against your mouth at the sound of your soft whimper. You push your fingers into his hair and part your lips, inviting Hoseok to have more, but he sucks your bottom lip gently between his teeth then releases, sliding his hands to your shoulders and pulling you into a firm embrace. 

"I want to kiss you until we're both dizzy and out of breath, but I am also very hungry," Hoseok mutters softly against your temple.

You laugh, overcome once more with emotion as hot tears fall down your cheeks, and you sniffle as Hoseok steps back to give you space to turn on the burners and resume preparing his gift. You expect him to return to the movie—which he has left playing in the living room—but he sits on your counter and watches as you work, asking about where you picked up this and that ingredient, impressed that you memorized the recipe—which you have stored on your phone, just in case.

"It's an easy recipe," you tease as you pack the tofu and kimchi on top of the pork and scoop in the rest of the ingredients. 

"It is, but everyone comes up with their own spin. My mom always adds a dash of sesame oil, something not everyone does."

With a frown, you chew on your bottom lip. The recipe you memorized didn't call for sesame oil, and it is not something you have cooked with before. Hoseok hops down from the counter and approaches, giving your forehead a kiss as he mutters, "Be right back," then slips on his shoes and runs out the door. 

As the pork cooks, you bring the scarf back to your face and smell, closing your eyes and smiling. Hoseok kissed you. Here, in your kitchen, on Christmas morning, Hoseok kissed you, and it made you feel more precious than any single kiss has made you feel in a good long time. Hoseok kissed you and the clouds parted and the birds began to sing and the sun warmed your cheeks.

Several minutes pass and Hoseok returns with sesame oil. He helps with the rest of the ingredients, measuring the water and scooping bowls of rice. Once the soup is ready, Hoseok uses oven mitts to carry it to the living room, where he has set out a pot holder, bowls, and utensils. 

"I was supposed to do all this," you complain with a smile as you walk to the living room empty-handed, "this was supposed to be my gift to you."

Hoseok sets down the soup, slides off the oven mitts, and places them on the table. Then he approaches you and gently places his hands on your cheeks. 

"You've already been my gift," Hoseok says softly, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. "Bringing me along for your errands, welcoming me into your home...I haven't felt this happy during the holidays since I left Korea. For weeks, you've been light," Hoseok kisses the tip of your nose, "warmth," he kisses your cheek, "home."

Tears spill as you wrap your arms around Hoseok and kiss his lips, chin, and cheeks in quick, wet smacks, one after another after another until he is quaking from laughter and pulling away.

"Soup first, then more kisses later," Hoseok proposes, holding his hand out toward the table. The Battle of the Dads plays on the television, and you smile widely, feeling truly at home in this apartment once again. Finally.

"Deal. Soup first, then kisses later."

“To return to love, to get the love we always wanted but never had, to have the love we want but are not prepared to give, we seek romantic relationships. We believe these relationships, more than any other, will rescue and redeem us. True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved.” ― bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions

writing this fic was incredibly cathartic, and even made me cry at times! thank you so much for reading. i love you and i hope you have a safe and happy new year!

please don't be a silent reader! comments and kudos go a long way and likes are always appreciated.

tags: @1dsn @btsiguess-kpop @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13  @giriiboyy  @moonleeai  @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki

Hope for the Holidays  is copyright 2022 Nabi Olive, all rights reserved. Let’s be friends on Twitter

---

i kid you not i think the most consistent thing in my life at this moment is my NEED to reread this fic every month.

the cuddles got me this time — just something about the gentleness and explicit desire to be physically intimate when mc is experiencing something that society has deemed gross??? absolute swoon 🥹

they’re just so cute together too, like the back and forth, the teasing, the way they’re so comfortable with each other, all of it. 🥰🥰

deep end (explicit)

genre: pwp / domestic-ass smut hehe 💕

pairing: namjoon x reader (ft. no gendered language! bc lots of people get periods!)

summary: your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.

word count: 4.2k

contains: explicit sexual content ~*~*~ established relationship, boyfie joon in a hoodie/glasses/with stubble (yes that's a warning), they use the term 'baby' a lot because it's me writing joon duh, some minor implications that menstruation is gross (from reader) (buuuut they get over it lol), 🩸period sex🩸, nipple play, fingering and clit stim, joon has a monster cock bc of course he does, size kink, bulge kink, he's all up in their cervix, reader has a.... cervical orgasm which might just be an a-spot orgasm my googling was inconclusive whatever none of you care - a good mix of fluff and playful bickering, the ending is soft 🫠

A/N: JOON HOES I HAVE RETURNED FOR YOU 🫡 it's been too long, so please take one of my favorite things i've ever written as my very sincere apology. idk this really just flowed out (no pun intended ksdjhgdfsdf) and i had a lot of fun with it, i heart bodies doing body things yknow. shout-out to my period for being extra bad last month and inspiring this.... it's called MANIFESTING amiright besties 💅✨ i hope y'all enjoy!!!! would love to hear your thoughts if you did 🥺💜

and all the love in the world to @haliiimede for betaing and being my emotional support capricorn, where would i be without you my love

read on AO3 !

~*~

The hinges of the bedroom door creak softly as it’s pushed open, and you glance up.

You’re where you’ve been for as long as social responsibilities will allow you to hide from the world and futilely attempt an afternoon nap: curled up on your side, knees pressed tight to your chest, gritting your teeth through each fresh round of stabbing pain. It’s worse than usual this month, for no discernible reason, which is stupid.

Namjoon leans against the doorframe, domestic-cozy-cute in the way that usually makes you want to jump him, glasses and a hoodie. He can’t help but smile sympathetically when he notices your arms are wrapped around an emotional support Koya plushie.

“You okay?”

You wince. “Cramps. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a flutter of mattress springs and bed sheets as he sits down at your side. “Is today the worst of it?” You nod. “Did you take your stuff?”

You smush your cheek against the top of Koya’s head, nuzzling into the soft fabric, tactile comfort. “Yes.”

“Extra-strength?”

“Yes, Joon,” you snap. “I’ve been having periods since I was twelve, I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, baby.”

You feel guilty as soon as the exasperation-tinged words leave your mouth. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Just… fucking hurts.”

He tries again. “Heating pad?”

“Worked for a bit, but I got too hot.” Your feet kick frustratedly under the blankets. “I’m ready for winter.”

Namjoon laughs at this. “Does that mean too hot for some company?”

The corners of your pouted mouth just barely start to pull up as you pretend to think it over. “…No.”

“Okay then.” He pushes back the sheets to slide in next to you, removing his glasses and reaching over to deposit them on the nightstand. He smells good, clean laundry and woody cologne. You don’t fight him when he moves to gently pry Koya out of your hands.

“Get out of here,” he murmurs, and you laugh in surprise when he unceremoniously flings the plushie across the room.

“Hey!”

“We don’t need him,” Namjoon says with a smug smile as he adjusts the blankets so he can settle in behind you.

Just the presence of him pressing into your back, big and solid and familiar, makes you start to unwind. His hand slips under your oversized t-shirt to rest on your low belly, fingertips dipping beneath the band of your underwear to gently trace over your skin. The warmth is nice— you feel yourself melt a little under his touch.

“You know what’s good for cramps?” He asks softly. You hum a response, prompting him to continue, and he does. “Orgasms.”

With a sigh, you turn your head to press your face into the pillow. “Vibrator’s dead.”

“Do you want me to plug it in?”

You make a sound that isn’t a clear yes or no, debating internally, then finally answer. “Don’t leave.”

He doesn’t. “What can I do then?”

The answer is immediate, paired with a dry laugh. “You can put me out of my misery.”

Namjoon shakes his head, tuts a little. “Can’t do that. But maybe I can help another way.”

The hand on your stomach slowly starts to slide further up, over your waist and rib cage, coming to cup one of your breasts. He gives it a tentative squeeze. “Sore?”

You shrug. “A little.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

His thumb starts to move, tracing slow, lazy circles over your nipple, coaxing the soft bud to a peak.

You let your eyes flutter closed and allow this sensation to overtake the others, enough to pull an appreciative noise out of you. “Nnh— feels good.” Your voice comes out nearly a whisper.

“Good.”

He wiggles his hips a little in response, and you can’t help but laugh when you feel something firm press against your ass. “How are you hard right now?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling, and you shift to turn onto your back so you can see him properly. It doesn’t hurt that it also gives him a better angle to play with both of your breasts— a second hand quickly finds its way up your shirt. “Everything turns you on.”

Namjoon shrugs, unbothered. “With you, yeah.”

“But…” You shift your legs vaguely under the sheets, knowing he’ll understand what you mean. “It’s gross.”

“How?”

The feeling of his fingers gently flicking over both of your nipples simultaneously makes your brain lag. “Uh— dirty.”

“Not true.”

Your eyes flutter shut again as you try to keep up with the conversation despite the heat of arousal that’s starting to swell in your gut, and lower. “Okay, messy.”

“All sex is messy,” Namjoon says, like it’s a given.

You huff a noise of frustration, glancing over at him. “Stop being obtuse. It’s different.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “It just sounds like you have some unnecessary shame. It’s a natural thing.”

“Natural,” you deadpan back. “You’re a hippie.”

He smiles. “Maybe.”

The admission is paired with a light pinch to your nipples, and you inhale sharply, biting back a whimper. “A freak.”

His laugh is soft and deep. “Sure. Have you fucked on your period before? I know we haven’t, but— ever?” You shake your head into the pillow. “Might feel good. They say it helps.”

You scoff at this. “Yeah, I bet ‘they’ all have dicks.”

“We don’t have to.”

Namjoon pauses, as if waiting for you to make a decision. You can’t ignore the way his hands on your tits have worked up a steady pulse between your legs.

“…You’ve done it before?” You squeeze your thighs together as you ask the question.

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

“And it wasn’t gross?”

“No, baby. It’s just a—”

“Do not say fluid,” you interrupt with a grimace.

He quirks an eyebrow. “An output.”

“Actually, I think that’s worse.”

A smile blooms on his face, dimples popping, his hands jiggling your breasts. Playful. “It’s free lube.”

You laugh despite yourself. “We’ll mess up the sheets.”

“We’ll put down a towel,” he corrects. “And if we do, I’ll wash them.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Promise?” There are few things more torturous than the idea of doing laundry on your period.

“Yes, baby,” Namjoon assures you, his gaze roaming over your face. “But I don’t wanna force you. If you feel that bad, let’s just watch a movie.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unable to hide your smile. “Nuh-uh.” You scoot a little closer, rolling in to hitch a leg over him, your socked foot teasing up the back of his calf. “You played with my tits too much. No turning back now.”

The answer makes him cocky, his tongue briefly toying at the corner of his mouth when he smirks. “I’m not scared.” His voice is deeper, darkened by lust, enough to send a shiver through you.

You tilt your jaw up towards his mouth. “Kiss me.”

His lips are soft and warm when they press to yours, and you tip onto your back again, his knees and forearms sinking into the mattress as he follows to cover your body with his.

Your palms slip under his hoodie to slide up over the smooth, defined muscles of his stomach, the broad expanse of his chest. His tongue flutters over your lower lip, and your hands trace back down to the hem, bunching the thick fabric up in your fists.

“Take this off.”

Namjoon smiles against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands still pawing under your shirt. “Bossy today.”

You tug at his hoodie again for emphasis, earning a pinch to your nipples in response. “You like it.”

“I do.”

“Off.”

He sits up on his knees, untangling himself from under your shirt to strip, and you do the same. You can see the imprint of his dick already straining against the thin fabric of his joggers, and you reach up to slip your fingers under the waistband, running your palm down the length of him over his briefs. There’s a new kind of ache in your core now.

“These too.”

He laughs a little. “Okay, baby. And do you wanna—”

You follow his gaze to stare down at your own sweatpants. “Yeah, let me just. Bathroom.”

Namjoon leans forward, so his mouth ghosts over yours when you sit up. “I’ll get the towels.” He sucks gently on your bottom lip when he kisses you. It’s enough to leave you breathless.

You do your best not to overthink it as you slip into the bathroom and go through the motions. Sweatpants off, underwear too, pad discarded, attempt to clean up a little. You move fast, trying not to leak. The blankets are pushed to the foot of the bed when you return to the bedroom, brown towels laid over the sheets, even a box of tissues on the nightstand.

Namjoon has kicked off his pants and underwear, one hand lazily pumping himself as he turns to face you, muscles in his forearm shifting from the motion.

You lick your lips appreciatively. His cock is flushed dark, hard, already wet at the tip. The thought of him dripping precum just from setting out towels and tissues makes you giggle a little as you climb into bed— a Virgo through and through.

The mattress shifts as he crawls over you, letting go of himself to trace a slow hand up your thigh, over your hip, to finally settle at your waist. “Still okay?”

You nod and pull him down.

He kisses you more fervently this time, and you tilt your head to lick into his mouth, your breath edged with a moan when your tongues pass over each other. You run your hands along his back, nails scratching gently, as his lips move to brush against your jaw, then nibble at your ear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Namjoon’s voice goes straight to your cunt, thick and dripping like honey.

Your mind swims as you try to answer the question, and you instinctively bring your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you were curled up in bed earlier. You pull them apart a little, spreading yourself for him, nowhere to hide. Heat blooms in your face as his eyes trace your body down to your pussy, and he hums softly.

You suck in a breath at the barely-there brush of contact, his slender fingers tracing over your folds. “Is it bad?”

“It’s perfect. It’s you.” You bite down on your lip, not quite willing to believe it’s that simple. “Can I touch you?” You nod again. He groans a little in the back of his throat when he presses in. “Fuckin’ wet.”

“Joon,” you gasp. Your cunt flutters around his finger, tender, as if to suck him further in. He adds a second, sliding easily, and you can feel the way he curls inside to pet long strokes over the ridges of your front wall, made supple from sensitivity. The pleasure sends a shower of sparks through you, and your spine arches. You squeeze your eyes shut as they roll back in your skull.

“This okay?”

You reach up to dig your fingernails into his arms, his biceps flexing under your touch. “’Sgood, baby. More.”

“More fingers?”

You shake your head, eyes flickering open to meet his. “Cock.”

It’s both dirty and domestic, doing it in broad daylight, the bedroom drenched in mid-afternoon sun that pours between the cracked window blinds. No shadows to disguise it, no questioning the color painted over Namjoon’s fingers when he withdraws, dark red.

Your discomfort feels like an afterthought compared to how badly you want him now. He pauses to wipe the excess off on the towel beneath you, free hand guiding the still-slick tip of his cock to brush over your folds, teasing.

You can’t help but whimper. “Baby.”

With a soft grunt, he does it again, more purposefully now— the whole of this thick cock grinding over your slit, both of you smeared messy with arousal and flushed warm from blood-flow.

You press yourself up on your forearms in time to see him wrap his hand around the base and slide it in. He pushes slow, but you’re wet enough that he can slip right to the hilt without resistance, and your jaw goes slack as you watch all of him disappear up inside you.

“Ah, Joon—” you hiss a little as he bottoms all the way out, fucks in until there’s no space left between you.

He stills his hips, eyes flitting up to find yours. “Hurts?”

You shake your head and whine softly. The stretch was easier than normal, actually. “Just, nnh— full.” Letting your head drop back on the pillow, you breathe a laugh. “You’re fucking big.”

He’s nearly wincing. “You’re swollen, baby. Makes it feel like more.”

The pressure of being filled blooms thick, indulgent, a sensation you can feel all the way down to the soles of your feet, every inch of you plugged up with his cock. You lick your lips and try to speak.

“Can you move?”

Namjoon flashes a dimpled smile, suddenly shy. “Hang on.” He scrunches his nose a little, eyes rolling up briefly to fix at a spot on the wall behind you. You can hear the strain in his voice. “Trying not to come.”

Your eyes go wide. “Really? Are you a teenager?!”

He huffs an indignant laugh, face flushing. “It’s like a fucking flood down there! And you’re extra tight… So damn, give me a second.”

Giggling a little, you reach up to loop your arms around his shoulders, fingernails lazily scratching at the nape of his neck, combing through his dark hair that’s gotten so long. He exhales a slow stream of air as he closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks them open again with a smile.

“Okay. You okay?”

You hum. “The pressure is… it’s good. Think it’s helping.” Your cramps have started to subside, or at least you’re not focused on them.

“It’s not too much, all the way in like this?” He circles his hips experimentally, which makes the head of his cock press firmly against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and you feel him reflexively start to pull out, paired with a concerned look flashed over his face. You smack a hand to his lower back to stop him, to hold him still.

“Please, Joonie, don’t— it felt good. Just, ah, keep doing that.”

“You squeezed me so hard. Thought I hurt you.” He rolls his hips again and you both groan softly. “Shit, baby, look down.” Namjoon’s voice is slightly hoarse.

You tilt your head up to see an unmistakable bulge in your lower abdomen that shifts as he ruts his hips into you again. You gasp at the rush of pleasure and the visual of his cock so deep inside you.

“You like that?” You swallow hard and nod at his question, whimpering as he brings one hand up to gently press down around his girth. A mixture of pleasure and relief floods through you, and you moan. “Like it when I’m in your stomach, baby?”

Your head drops back against the pillow. “Fuck” is the only answer you can give as he keeps moving his hips.

It takes you by surprise when you feel the brush of his lips over yours, and you tilt up to deepen the kiss instinctively. “So damn sexy,” he murmurs into your mouth. For a minute, you let the rest go, and allow yourself to believe him.

Namjoon falls into a consistent rhythm, cock grinding into your cervix so steadily that it makes it impossible for you to bite back your moans. He keeps one hand splayed over your stomach to meet himself there, and your cunt squeezed in between feels liable to overflow, on the verge of splitting open.

“Nnh, shit, Joon, that feels so good.” It’s like he’s pressing up on your lungs now— you can hardly breathe, dizzy with pleasure. 

Fucking is somehow more intimate this way, taking him as deep as you can go and keeping him there, his shallow flutter-thrusts rocking slow and heavy for your shared sensitivity. Trading lazy kisses and stilted breaths and pretty sounds into each other’s open mouths. The press of his broad hands into your skin and the towel-guarded mattress, the wet squish of your folds on the base of his cock.

“God,” Namjoon groans, breath ghosting over your lips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

Without warning— or maybe in response— your walls start to pulse, and then the dam of steadily built-up pleasure bursts, a rush so intense that you can only gasp and dig your nails into Namjoon’s shoulders. “Joon, Joon—” You clarify when his brow creases with concern: “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You think you might die if he does.

He keeps going, barely-there strokes that rub the thick head of his cock into you over and over, and you cry out as you come fully undone.

A strange new feeling lights you up like a live wire, warmth radiating through your body as contractions squeeze your pussy so tight you swear you see stars when you close your eyes.

Namjoon curses under his breath, your whole body shaking beneath him as he works this surprise orgasm all the way out of you, until your thighs reflexively pull together and he stills his motions again.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, turning your head to press your cheek into the pillow. You slowly start to come down through the aftershocks, a lingering buzz glittering in your fingertips from the weight of his cock still crammed up inside you.

Namjoon’s large hands pet up the backs of your thighs, trailing soft heat. “You good, baby? That was crazy.”

“I-I just—” You exhale in an attempt to catch your breath, and it turns into a laugh as your eyes flicker open. “I didn’t know I could come from that. Fuck.”

He cracks a smile. “Sensitive. How’s it feel?” He leans forward to seek a kiss and you return it, nuzzling along the line of his jaw once you break apart. His stubble drags against your cheek, not unpleasant, and you shiver a little.

“I don’t know, I just had a crazy fucking… cervix orgasm,” you tease. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”

“Just don’t want it to hurt.”

“It doesn’t,” you murmur into his mouth. “So fuck me?”

You both moan when Namjoon begins to properly move, thrusting slow and deep-deep, your pussy clinging tight to him on the upstroke. You’re wet enough to gush when he fucks back in— just the sound of it makes your head spin. Your clit aches, so worked up untouched that it’s starting to throb.

“Baby,” you whine. “Touch me. Wanna come again. Please.”

He hums a soft noise of surprise, eyebrows raising, hips worked up to a steady rhythm now. “Already?” His lips press to yours again, and a sly smile spreads across them as he pulls back. “Needy.”

You huff a laugh, leaning up for another kiss, insatiable. “I said please.”

Namjoon earns a whimper out of you this time when his tongue swipes into your mouth, and he’s a little breathless when he breaks away. “I like you needy. I’ll keep you in this bed all day, if that’s what you want.”

“I—nnh—” you lose the thread of mid-sex conversation entirely as he shifts to free one hand and bring the pad of his thumb to your clit, flicking down firmly at a pace to match his strokes. “Fuck, Joon.”

Your hands grasp at the pillow beneath your head, fingers sinking in to grip desperate. He’s pounding heavy into your g-spot now, your legs spread wide and back arched up to take it.

It’s so good, it’s overwhelming, warm glow all the way through you. Arousal drips from your cunt to make the squelch of his strokes even messier. His hips are unrelenting, and your thighs start to shake from the pleasure, amplified with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

“Just—” You can barely speak, have to gasp for air after the first word, “—just like that.”

“Baby,” Namjoon’s voice comes out hoarse, in the way it does when he’s close, too. The bed creaks from the weight of his strokes. “So damn tight, so soft, can you feel it?”

A whine and a nod are all you can manage. You can feel him everywhere, down to the details, the fat veins that run the length of his cock molded to your walls, pulsing velvet heat. Your cunt melts lush around him, wet and raw as he fucks you apart. He rubs you in time to bring you over the edge again, and you’re helpless to it, can only let out a strangled sob of a noise as you tense up and come hard.

Namjoon’s thumb keeps circling, hips keep rocking, working you through it and groaning low in his throat for the way your cunt clenches up around him. Your nails dig into the pillow as you shudder and gasp.

“That’s it, shit, baby. Tight little pussy, gonna make me come too, fuck.”

With a grunt of effort, he pulls out, one hand reaching down to stroke his cock as he comes, thick ropes of his release painting your stomach in milky gloss. Your cunt pulses around nothing, hot pleasure aftermath, twitching sensitive.

Fucked to oblivion, you collapse against the mattress, feeling spent and heavy-all-over. Your head is still spinning, enough that you’re only distantly aware of the way Namjoon’s ragged breathing softens at the edges and starts to dissolve into gentle laughter.

Your eyes blink open to see him leaning over you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.

“Good thing I grabbed these,” he remarks as he lifts up his red-stained palm.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight. “Oh my god, Joon.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up enough for a dimple to wink back at you as he goes through a couple tissues to clean himself up. “Relax, baby. It really doesn’t bother me.” He pulls a few more loose from the box to deal with the mess on your stomach. “Just wanna point out that you don’t mind when I come on you.”

You huff. Smart-ass. “It’s different.”

“Is it?” He challenges. “It’s just bodies being bodies. Byproducts of the human condition.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “You’re a poet.”

“Maybe.” His clean hand smacks playfully against your thigh, jiggling the soft skin there. “Shower time.”

The whine that escapes you sounds pathetic, even to you. Movement of any kind feels impossible. “I won’t make it.”

“Come on.” You yelp and grab to wrap the towel beneath you over your waist as Namjoon scoops you up in an effortless bridal carry and heads for the bathroom. He turns the shower on with his foot as you cling to him for dear life, but he somehow manages not to drop you.

When he deposits you onto still-shaky legs, you let the towel drop to the bathroom floor. The water is scalding when you step into the shower, the way you both like it. Crowding you under the spray, he reaches for the washcloth and squirts a liberal amount of body wash into the fabric, infusing the steam with eucalyptus and mint. It feels like you can breathe a little deeper.

One large hand comes to your hip under the water as he works up a lather. “Turn around.”

You can feel the staining at the crux of your thighs, dry and sticky, as you shift unsurely in place. “Nnh,” you pout. “Can I rinse first?”

“Nope. Tryna take care of you, so let me.”

Scrunching your nose for dramatic effect, you turn for him. When the washcloth passes over your skin, his touch is so gentle, so immediately overwhelming, that emotion bubbles up before you can stop it. There’s nothing you can do to hide the way your shoulders start to shake as tears spill down your face.

It takes a second, and then you feel his motions slowly come to a stop. “Baby?”

You shake your head, embarrassed, bringing your arm up to wipe at your nose. “‘m fine. Emotional. Ignore me.”

“I can’t do that.” He rights himself, and the fingertips of his free hand trace the line of your jaw, encouraging your gaze to meet his. “Talk to me, please.”

Another fat droplet slides down your cheek, and his thumb catches it. You inhale, trying to catch your breath, and your chest shudders. “It just. Feels like too much, sometimes. Like I don’t deserve it.” You gesture broadly. “Everything, you. I don’t know.”

Namjoon frowns a little as he momentarily drapes the washcloth over the edge of the tub. “C’mon, don’t think like that.”

When he pulls you in, you allow yourself to sink into the embrace, tears flowing freely as his strong arms press you close. You know he’ll let you ride it out, the same way you do with him.

His lips brush over your hairline. “You’re good to me, wanna be good back,” he explains, voice low. “That’s all.”

Your cheek rubs against the hard plane of his chest as you nod.

“You’re so good to me, Joon. Too good.”

“Nah.” You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smiling— you can hear it in his voice. “You’re easy to love.”

---

OH MY GOSH JEWEL (and bee!! @hot-soop y'all are a power DUO) THIS IS EVERYTHING I HOPED FOR AND MORE AHHHHHHH (also apparently I left this in my drafts and never hit post so SO SORRY for the delay 🫠) and thank you for taking this ask and diving so deep as a touch-averse person I so so appreciate it 🥰🥰

without further ado: my heart DIED and is in pieces but then you put it back together because this is precious and soft and iiiiiiii 🥰🥰🥰

JIN AND THE REGULARLY SCHEDULED BACK HUGS YES plus linking pinkies is making me emo 🥹

alas I can't find it but yoongi and the please hold hands comment is sending me RIGHT back to that run bts episode when he follows jimin around 🥹 and they hold hands with his little cross body bag 🥹🥹🥹 ALSO BEE YES THE LITTLE EARLOBE TUG I CAN ABSOLUTELY SEE IT 🥰🥺

GOOD LUCK PEELING HIM OFF OF YOU I'M DYINGGG 😂😂 hobi is 100000% in your face I love it ahhhhhh I can imagine him being the king of I need to always be touching you SOMEWHERE that's absolutely perfect 💜💜

namjooooooon 🥰🥹 hand 🥹 on 🥹 thigh 🥹 vibes 🥹 but also soft little spoon TOO the range he's got layerssss PLUS THE VIDEO CALL BACK 😮‍💨

omg stop it (but also never stop please dear goodness never stop) the JIMIN ONE?!?! couch cuddles 🥰🥺🥰🥺🥰🥺 PLUS THE DRAMATIC KISSES ACROSS THE ROOM ABSOLUTELY AHHHH MY HEART and the need to spill the tea that man 10000% runs on chisme

KING OF ROMANCE KIM TAEHYUNG 😩

just wants someone to fuss over and someone that will fuss over him in return.

I am SOFT

but why would he ever want to be separated from his favorite person?? get ready for your house to become a part-time flower shop/museum bc every trinket suspiciously reminds you of him and he "couldn't help himself"

😩😩😩

and then rounding out with jk my heart hehehe I love one (1) man (actually seven, 7, men all truth be told) I can absolutely see him being clingy and jealous if someone else shows too much attention and just needing to be generally around you at all times ahhhh 🥰🥰 plus the neck kisses 🥺 and the hair scratching 🥺 and the little drawings 🥺

I cannot tell you how healing this was I loved every single one you and bee are MAGICAL and I'm so so so grateful for the time you spent on this eeeeee I will be revisiting whenever I need a little hug 🥰😍✨🌟💖💜

jewel hello hello!! congrats on the milestone!!!! i’ve been all up in my fluffy physical-touch-is-my-love-language feels and i was wondering if you’d be willing to drabble or headcanon bts’s favorite way to touch/hold/physically manifest in your space when they get home? so so so many congrats again :)))

mg hello <3 thank you for the congrats and the request, this was very comforting even if i am the most touch-adverse person alive <3

i enlisted bee's help bc she's a wizard and the best <3 @hot-soop

headcanons: bts as physical touch/affection

seokjin —

king of domesticity aka food as a love language

has dinner 95% done by the time you get home, so you have regularly scheduled back hugs while he's at the stove

doesn't strike me as super physically affectionate; would probably be more comfortable receiving it than instigating

would be a crime to let those shoulders go to waste, though, so put your head on it

wants you to put your feet in his lap while you're on the couch but DOES NOT want to touch them (rip taehyung)

big fan of forehead/temple kisses

strikes me as the type to link pinkies rather than fully hold hands and i love that for him <3

yoongi —

he is the #1 acts of service king and i will die on that hill

please hold his hand, though

and scratch at his scalp, please

and just know to do it bc he'd probably rather die than ask you to do it, and probably displays affection all wrong and semi-violently. bee said he'd tug an earlobe as a sign of affection and that's bang on.

has big "will gently scratch/rub your back as you're falling asleep" vibes

GENTLE SHOULDER KISSES!!!

whatever it is, acts like he hates it

(still makes you mixtapes/playlists, though)

hobi —

good luck peeling him off of you

completely goofy, over the top, exaggerated displays of affection

cheek/forehead/etc. smooches with sound effects, tickling under your chin, hip checks, butt smacks

honestly all over kisses; bee says behind the ear and i agree

always an arm over your shoulder; tucks you into his side when he hugs you

talks a mile a minute at you as soon as you're through the door

namjoon —

let's be real he is probably off in another world whenever you get home so you have to go find him; either off reading a book or in the studio

wherever he is, always says "hi, baby" (#1 baby as a pet name king) and lets you plop into his lap to tell him about your day <3

you'll be able to hear him coming a mile away when he gets home. probably won't admit it but loves when you meet him at the door. probably plays dumb like "ha ha how did you know i was there" but he's also holding a ripped grocery bag with all your food on the ground, so......

big big big "hand on thigh" vibes

also just big in general so i think he'd really enjoy feeling a lil delicate and protected sometimes? born to be the small spoon tbh

we all saw that video of him at hobi's album release party so big fan of a protective hand on your back/shoulder/etc. in group settings

alone, though — top of head kisses!

jimin —

we all know jimin is very physically affectionate but also very emotionally intelligent so he'd know when to rein it in and when to ramp it up

good day at work? kiss and let me hear all about your day. bad day at work? he's pulling out all the stops. whatever you want, you're getting.

and if either of you went out with your friends? get ready to spill and receive all the tea

tangled together on the couch/in bed vibes

also strikes me as the type to link pinkies so let's hope yours is smaller than his

blows you kisses from across the room so please accept them dramatically bc if you don't he will mime falling to the floor and dying of a broken heart

taehyung —

king of romance, king of affection

continuing the taehyung foot fetish agenda sorry but it's true: MASSAGES

would love to brush your hair for you. put on your lotion for you. doesn't know how to do hair but would love to practice different updos or types of braids, etc. just wants someone to fuss over and someone that will fuss over him in return.

another one that's zoned out when you get home — probably covered in paint or playing the saxophone or doing god knows what. never know what you're walking into

comes to find you immediately when he gets home, though. clingy (affectionate) vibes, but why would he ever want to be separated from his favorite person??

get ready for your house to become a part-time flower shop/museum bc every trinket suspiciously reminds you of him and he "couldn't help himself"

will kiss your hands/wrists/etc.

jungkook —

also strikes me as the type who's more comfortable receiving affection/physical touch than instigating

except we know he's also the jealous type so lots of little touches that let people know he's with you but not, like, possessive. he's got sense

playfully whiny and clingy. will drape himself over you to get attention

will draw little sketches of you when you're on opposite sides of the couch <3

please run your hands through his hair/scratch his scalp while he's gaming

NECK KISSES

will probably let you do whatever you want tbh. wanna paint his nails? sure. want to color in his tattoos with markers? love it, go for it. have a spur of the moment urge to bleach and dye his hair at 3am? don't even need to ask.

just wants to hang out with you <3

these are obviously all vibes so feel free to come discuss what i got wrong/right in my inbox!

---

I've just discovered this did not make it out of my drafts last week when every other thing I read was a jade fic so HERE YOU GO

i’m on a jade kick and i’ve never been happier i’m so glad to be here HI AGAIN

THIS HELD ME IN A COCOON gently patted my head and whispered it's going to be okay and I'm now crying. jade idk how you just do it again and again thank you from the bottom of my heart 💖

If you didn’t love yourself like this, how could he be expected to? 😭😭😭

you so perfectly captured the anxiety of someone seeing and witnessing the mess (when the phone rang outside the bedroom door my heart DROPPED with mc's)

and then it was immediately soothed and his gentle kindness and love is just mind blowing iiiiiii

he washed the dishes 🥺 took out the trash 🥺 organized The Chair 🥺 AND UNTANGLED MC's CROCHET?!?! 🥺🥺🥺

“I love you including.” 😭😭😭

I can't even begin to explain how much this fic touched my soul. I loved every single line and word (your bed as a tool not a tomb?!?!?) and will be returning to it when I need that hobi hug) thank you for writing it and sharing it 💜💜💜

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.”

---

this brought my heart so much joy oh my LORD merry holiday season it's lights on the trees time no matter what the temperature is outside oh my goodness this is PRECIOUS

my notes on this is literally just me going "OMG HES SO CUTE THAT GIGGLE AKCMSDNIA for 1,809 words 😂 )

"current you was cursing past you for being over ambitious" THIS IS ME CONSTANTLY I FEEL SO SEEN LMAO

"FALLING FOR-I MEAN ON ME" I CAN'T EVEN

"THINK OF HOW GREAT OUR MEET CUTE STORY WILL BE" 😭😭😭😭 THEYRE SO CUTE AHHHHHH

A Packaged Meet-Cute

(Banner made by the lovely Jiya <3)

Hanging lights on your porch goes a little sideways. Thankfully someone is there to catch you.

Jungkook x Reader word count: 1809 genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, meet-cute, non-k-pop idols warnings: none! A/N: A birthday gift for my lovely Sprout <3

Current you was cursing past you for being over ambitious. 

It’s the first year you’ve lived in a place with enough of an overhang or porch to warrant hanging lights and since you’d never been able to do it when you were a kid, you had been eager to do so. 

Now?

You wish you hadn’t been too cheap to pay someone to do it for you. Granted, you didn’t have a lot of expendable money and it was the holidays which meant you were stretched even thinner being a broke college student largely living off of your loans, grants, and what meager hours you could get working at the campus bookstore. But, you were sure you could have convinced some poor guy to help you with the promise of the baked goods your parents sent you for the holidays. 

Hindsight was 20/20 and you were paying the price as you stood precariously on the top step of the ladder you’d borrowed from your neighbor. 

The lights you had chosen weren’t anything fancy. You’d gone with some basic white lights and a string of icicle lights for the front of the porch. Unfortunately, you had only opted for one string of those and that meant you were struggling to get the plug connected to the adapter. 

All of this would be utterly and completely pointless if it weren’t plugged in and you didn’t get to enjoy the glow of festive lights whenever you were entering your home. 

“Oh come on!” You cursed, leaning precariously on the ladder for the end of the other string of lights. “Almost--” 

You felt the ladder wobble beneath you, panic widening your eyes as you tried to correct the imbalance too hastily. This resulted in your body tipping sideways, fingers scrambling to grab ahold of something stable, while the ladder tipped the other direction. Your nails scraped against the metal of the gutters but found no purchase and you found yourself tensing in preparation for your inevitable fall. 

You had drawn your elbows into your chest, cradling your head in an attempt to prevent a major injury, but instead of landing on hard concrete, smacking into unyielding wood, or falling face first into cold snow or a bush, you found yourself on something soft but firm. 

“Oof.” 

Warm, strong arms circled your middle and when you blinked your eyes open you found yourself greeted by the roughness of a zipper against your cheek before you pulled back. Slowly, it occurred to you that what you had fallen upon was a person, a person with a decidedly broad chest and long frame who was holding you against him very tightly. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped, face heating up at the realization. Immediately you pushed yourself up, palms pressed against solid pecs that distracted you momentarily. Until you realized that your shift in position had resulted in you straddling the stranger. Panic zipped down your spine as your embarrassment grew and there was no speed in which you could remove yourself from the compromising position that was fast enough. 

“OhmygodI’msosorry,” you told him in a rush of words, rocking back on your heels to spring to your feet. 

Part of you wanted to dash into your house and hide until the kind, ripped, stranger left. Another part of you wanted to be swallowed by a hole in the ground. The part of you that won was the one whose anxiety wouldn’t let you run off until you ensured your knight in delivery clothing was okay and thanked properly. 

He saved you from a possible concussion, or worse a broken limb, after all. 

The stranger propped himself up on his elbows and peered up at you. A hesitant smile started to spread across his lips, cheeks puffing up and lips parting to expose his teeth. The way his two front teeth sat reminded you of a bunny, it was cute. 

Charming. 

A contrast to the rest of him. 

As you stared back, you couldn’t miss the way he filled out the jacket he was wearing, couldn’t forget the way you’d felt his muscles beneath your palm before you scrambled to your feet. Even his style was intimidating, dressed in all black with matching combat boots. Despite the sweetness of his round cheeks and bunny grin, the man looked like he could easily bench press you. 

“I--” Your mouth opened, closed, then reopened and stayed that way with not a sound escaping. 

“I hope whatever you ordered wasn’t fragile,” your strange man said. He had the nerve to look sheepish, like he might be the embarrassed one in this situation instead of you, who fell off a ladder trying to put up Christmas decorations and had to be saved from harm by a passerby. “I, uh,” he shifted his weight to one arm and you had to keep yourself from ogling, “tossed it across the lawn when I saw you fall.” 

When his head turned, so did yours, gaze following his until you spotted the cardboard box that probably held one of your last minute christmas gifts. 

“Oh.” 

You felt stupid the moment the word left your mouth and you fidgeted with the hem of the sweater you were wearing. “Um, no. I think it’ll be fine. That’s why they put things in stupidly large boxes with lots of bubble wrap or whatever right?” 

Your delivery boy let out a little giggle and you found your gaze snapping back to him, shuffling forward before sticking out your hand in offering. He probably didn’t need your help getting up, but you felt that it was the least you could do. 

“Oh. Um. Did I thank you yet?” You asked as his hand, tattoo ink peeking out from where his sleeve didn’t cover, wrapped around yours. One quick tug and he was hopping to his feet. If you hadn’t seen that sheepish bunny smile, you might have been intimidated because he was as tall as he was broad.

He scrunched up his nose in a way that puffed up his cheeks and really highlighted the way his two front teeth made his smile bunny-like. It was incredibly endearing and you felt compelled to squish his cheeks. 

“No,” he replied, shrugging as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket. “It’s okay, you were busy being distracted by falling for-- I mean on me.” 

The reminder made you wish a hole would open up beneath your feet and swallow you again. “I--Well, thank you.” You mumbled, casting your gaze downward. “You probably saved me from a trip to the ER.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek before you dared to look up, heart skipping when you realized he was still beaming at you with that bunny grin. “How did you-- I mean. Your reflexes must be sharp.” 

You hadn’t even seen him approach, granted you were preoccupied but even then--

“Oh, I heard the chime of bells and when I looked up you were falling and I just--” He shrugged again, toeing at a crack in the ground like he had any reason to be flustered. When his large, brown, doe-like eyes met yours you could see the faintest dusting of red on his cheeks. 

Ugh. This wasn’t fair. First he saved you and now he was being endlessly adorable? What had you done to have whatever deities existed torture you like this? 

Then, his words registered and your head swiveled around to look at where your string of lights dangled, taunting you. Sure enough, the wind chime that had rested safely in the corner since you moved in was gone. You must have kicked it when gravity got the better of you. 

 “Oh. Um. Lucky me?” You didn’t know where to go from here but you weren’t sure you were willing to let your delivery boy leave just yet. Besides, he didn’t seem too keen on leaving or getting back to work. 

Oh. Right. He was working.

“I’m not keeping you from your job am I?”

He looked amused, tilting his head so the dark fringe of his hair fell across his forehead. “Nah, you were my last delivery.” 

Relief washed over you and you found that the smile on your face was widening. “Oh, maybe I can um thank you? I don’t really have anything to offer besides, like, cookies my parents sent me but, uh. I make a pretty mean instant hot cocoa?” 

Delivery boy’s shoulders hunched when he scrunched up his nose again then nodded, straightening enough that you had to tip your chin to keep meeting his eye. “I don’t think I could pass up a good hot chocolate.” 

“Great! I’ll grab my package and we can go inside…” You trailed off, realizing that despite everything you hadn’t gotten his name.

“Jungkook,” he offered helpfully over his shoulder. He had already crossed half of the yard, snow up to his ankles, to retrieve the package he still, technically, had to deliver. It took him seconds to make his way back, offering the package and looking terribly pleased with himself. 

You mumbled your name back, already turning to head up your porch stairs. 

“Oh, I can help you finish the lights, if you want.” He told you, nearly running into you when came to a sudden stop. “So you don’t, y'know, fall on some other unsuspecting delivery person.” 

“Hey!” You huffed, whirling on your heel to huff at him. “I’m not--” 

Jungkook leaned forward, that sweet bunny smile slipping into something more mischievous. For a moment your heart stuttered and you thought he might kiss you. “You can pay me back by going to get fancy not-instant-cocoa later.” 

“I--Wait. Are you--?” You shook your head in disbelief, wondering if you had managed to get a concussion or if Jungkook had in your stead. “Are you asking me on a date? After I fell on you?” 

He bit his lip before inching closer again, crowding you with your package being the only thing keeping him from truly invading your space. “Why not? Think of how great our meet-cute story will be.” 

You sputtered, brain shutting down at your delivery boy’s forwardness. Never in a million years had you expected your attempt at putting up holiday lights to turn out like this. You didn’t know how to react. 

When you finally responded, you were proud of how steady your voice was and how clever you thought you were being. “Let’s see how the lights look before I agree.” 

Jungkook looked unbothered, toying with the lip ring you’d failed to notice earlier because you were too busy dealing with everything else. “Deal.” 

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine and you knew, even as you turned to enter your home, that you’d be agreeing by the end of it.

---

if there is one thing that studying linguistics and creative writing has taught me, it is that not only should you write however the fuck you want to, but you should honor and celebrate people who do, as well.

and this is not to say that you should break all the rules and make art that is convoluted and hard to follow. by all means, study and know the rules, and figure out which to bend and break in your own style. strive to write in ways that still clearly communicate, but learn the ebb and flow of your own heart and mind, and sort out to translate it effectively.

don't bash and look down on others who may not seem to know all the rules.

for some, breaking the rules is an active form of resistance.

if your prose is poetic, lean into it. if the flow of someone's writing makes you dizzy, get lost it. sweep and be swept away.

dialects and accents are beautiful and valuable, and they deserve to be celebrated. write in your dialect and accent if that is what makes you happy. be open to others doing the same.

language is so fucking cool, and sharing it in the form of storytelling is something that is so ancient and important to humans, and i just think we should do more to cultivate and cherish the idea of people doing whatever the fuck they want and writing in ways that make them happy.

---

AICLUHBOE HARROWWWW

LEMME JUST *AGGRESSIVE FOREHEAD KISSES*

and here I thought the burlesque jimin brainrot was just a fun lil thought exercise nadtjkfnljfneubnue 😅😂🥰🤪😍 

(I've never been gifted writing before NOT TO MENTION smut and oh my LORD what on earth could top [lol] this in the future I don't even kNOW thank you thank you I love you 🥰)

ANYHOO HOLY SHIT harROW the TEASING, THE HEADER IAJDASINOSAUDBSAO, the JOINT FRIEND ENABLING to keep yoongi in the dark but also ensure that he had the opportunity to catch Jimin's eye, the clearly communicated desires (the deSIRE 😮‍💨😮‍💨), the lil baby jealousy (the comments of the other group and that one person being objectify-y was so real and I really appreciate you including it), THE FILTER OUTFIT, the ENTIRE show (plus the SECOND PRIVATE SHOW), the hair tugging, the fluffy needy jimin who knows what he wants but then gets SHY, THE GIFT !?!?!!?!?!?!?!?, THE LINGERIE, the praising, the sweetness, the softness, THE NUMBER OF ROUNDS HOLY SHIT, did I already mention the teasing bc I thought I was going to die multiple times, the whining, the aftercare, the communication of boundaries and expectations, I could keep going and going and going.

PURE SIN WRAPPED IN INVITING PINK INDEED

Wow this might be one of my favorite pieces you've ever written (sun seeker and this sordid place, watch out babes, denim yoongi and strawberry jimin are coming for you) (but also I can't pick favoritesssss I love everything you write AH)

I love how you write porn without plot but also then put the most delicious plot in anyway -- I want to know more about this friend group!! the yoongi/taehyung friendship is absolutely precious and I love how tae is so intent on making this night perfect for both yoongi and jimin. I want to know more about this hobi!!! and the dance studio they work at!! not to mention namjoon and jin and jeonguuk!!!! how long have they ALL known that yoongi is smitten (A SMITTEN SMITTEN KITTEN) with jimin ajkfnlduofehu it's absolute perfection

I love caring about your characters and you make it SO EASY. The Jimin/Yoongi relationship in this is INCREDIBLE I love the slow burn which then is flipped on its head by a VERY confident jimin who then turns to jello in the bedroom. it's so obvious how much they trust each other and want the best for each other (I loved the part when they switched positions and yoongi was like "I was wholly focused on Jimin's pleasure but ok this is also niiiiiice" 😂). they're funny and flirty and sweet and adorable. I'm so excited for whatever comes next for them 🥰🥰

on my first read through I pulled out so many lines that made me squeal and yell and stutter

here is a sampling of them below and my in the moment reactions um it's a LOT so be warned

But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.  

hdjjwksnwj AFTER ALL

"Don't let them make you feel self-conscious." "I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

🥹 🥹 🥹 (this is so real and SO HIM HAHAHA)

Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth." "What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information. 

I sputtered here, one I love hoseok's casual maintenance "let's make you pretty" AND Yoongi's attempts to figure out what's going on 😂😂 trying SO hard

"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases

I SCREAMED jfjwisksns the teasing and group support of yoongi and jimin is ADORABLE

“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him.  “I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.

I love him

To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century.

dowisisjwjsksknjdjwjdjjwkksnwuwjns OF THE CENTURYYYY

Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless. 

I'm obsessed with this and their friendship HAHAHA

Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty. 

!!!!!! SMILES TO HIMSELF !!!!! THINKING ABOUT JIMIN LOOKING PRETTY !!!!!! EEEEEE 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest

OHHHHHH WHAT A SMITTEN SMITTEN SMITTEN KITTEN

this teasing is unbelievable i love it

OH MY GOSH IS THAT A REFERENCE TO THE TIKTOK SOUND

this description is unREAL i feel like i can see it all

oh my my my

but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.

🥹🥹🥹

With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher.

I choked on my saliva WHAT

 "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile

hehehehehehehehehhehehehehehehehhehehehheheheheheheheheh

THE KITTY GANG OUTFIT IS DEVASTATING AFTER ALL OF THAT

"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed. 

the amount of shooting their shot is incredible wow I love when people KNOW what they WANT

adkjnaueohfu my heart is skipping MANY beats

yoongi GOING FOR IT i love i love i love i love

CLEAR COMMUNICATION 

And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.

akmcjndfubeunae

Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning. 

HAHAHAHAHA

Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy.

I love them to pieces oh my gosh oh my gosh

SO SHOW ME

I'LL SHOW YOU

joking aside that is 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

heheheh the TEASING

he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed

HAHAHAH

lmao and then I stopped taking notes uhhhhhhhh

their dynamic made me laugh and coo and smile -- this is the yoonmin fic to end all yoonmin fics I love love love love loved it. wow wow wow harrow you outdid yourself (and dw I absolutely caught the 'something blooming in his chest' line hehe) I screamed I yelled I had a fantastic time EEEE!

Denim & Strawberry

When Yoongi gets invited to watch his crush perform, he has no idea what to expect. Jimin stripping on stage and singing a sultry little number while tugging on his hair is definitely not what Yoongi had in mind, but who is he to complain?

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show." Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

🍓 Yoongi x Jimin

🍓 word count: 19.6k 🙈

🍓 friends to lovers, burlesque au, porn without plot, tooth-rotting fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

🍓 warnings: top yoongi, bottom jimin. jimin has pink hair and yoongi has a half-up top-knot. this is more or less porn with very little plot. jimin performing burlesque and singing while being a flirt. light hair pulling. the burgundy suit from jimin's filter performance, and his kitty gang jacket, and cute lingerie. a hint of jealous/possessive behavior. bickering as a form of flirting. the tiniest hint of sub/dom vibes. safe word establishment. teasing & light humiliation. a little begging. use of good boy and slutty. jimin is shy at times but also a brat and yoongi fights the urge to tame him. a lot of drool, spit, lube, and cum. dirty talk. so much god damn praising. anal (plug, play, eating, fingering, sex.) messy blow job. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. yoongi loves to discuss boundaries & check in. lots of heaven/angel comparisons but only because yoongi is a sucker for how ethereal jimin is (it's not that deep.) too many positions (what was i thinking???) subspace. mating press. cock-warming. after care. tooth-rotting fluff.

🍓 note: a yoonmin fic + jimin doing burlesque was some brainrot shared between @echotoyou and i that i decided to write when their birthday was approaching. but then the big day came and went, and i lost control of this beast for a very long time. she is finally ready hehe. i hope you all (but especially mg!) enjoy!!! finally my years of being a photographer for a burlesque troupe and dating a performer have come in handy for my writing lolol.

🍓 listen along: 🎵 streets by doja cat & yeah, i said it by rhianna (thank you to @sailoryooons for these song choices!!!)

🍓 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🍓 posted august 2023 | read on ao3

Yoongi pats his pockets down one last time, fingertips tentatively grazing lumps beneath denim. Phone…wallet…keys. That's everything. He presses the lock button on his open car door, then closes it. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

Namjoon Hyung, are you close?

Yoongi Just parked.

Namjoon  Okay, good. Just making sure you don’t miss anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles. He has no idea what to expect – nobody has told him much – but Jimin did say, over and over again, that it was fine if he could not make it. That he would be thrilled if Yoongi could come but understood if he could not. That there would be other shows. 

But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.  

He slides his hands into the pockets of his black denim jacket and moseys from the small parking lot to the sidewalk and around the corner. There is a small congregation of people smoking and loitering outside, under a bright red neon sign that reads Paradise. Yoongi has never been to this bar before – tends to avoid spots on this side of town because it is more popular with college kids, and therefore, the drinks are overpriced. 

Everyone outside is done up in some flashy way, wearing sequins and fishnets, glittering eye makeup, and patent leather. Yoongi feels underdressed, wearing a black band tee tucked into black skinny jeans, with a black jacket and black work boots, and he awkwardly runs a hand through his dark, wavy, unstyled, and overgrown hair. 

"Yoongi!" a familiar voice shouts, and he looks up in time to find his friend Jeongguk waving him over, past the closest group of smokers. 

Even his friends are all dressed up, with sparkly eye glitter and tight, colorful clothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are in mesh, Taehyung has a burgundy feather boa, and Seokjin and Namjoon are both wearing leather pants. Since when did the two of them own leather pants?

"Ya, you're dressed like a scrub!" Seokjin shouts, making Yoongi's cheeks warm in an instant.

"Nobody told you a single thing about the event tonight, did they?" Namjoon asks sympathetically.

Yoongi shrugs, mutters, "No," and digs his hands further into his pockets. 

Taehyung approaches, using his pinkies to brush the hair away from Yoongi's face, cradling a pot of light blue glitter between his fingers. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise," he mutters lowly, unscrewing the pot. "Don't let them make you feel self-conscious."

"I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. He stands still while Taehyung dabs his fingertip into the glitter and allows him to smudge it around his eyes. In the early days of their friendship, Yoongi probably would have fussed, but these days, he lets the youngest two – Taehyung and Jeongguk – do whatever they want.

Jeongguk approaches, unscrewing a stick of pink, shiny lip gloss, and Yoongi huffs out a sigh but stands as still as he can while Jeongguk applies it. "Should put your hair into a bun or something," he mutters before he and Taehyung trade places so Taehyung can smudge blue glitter onto his other eye. 

"Your hair is really pretty, hyung," Taehyung adds, screwing the top of the glitter pot back on and sliding it into his very tight white slacks. "You should let me style it."

"Don't we have to go inside?" Yoongi asks.

"We'll head in when the emcee comes on," Hoseok responds, approaching with a mischievous smile. Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth."

"What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information. 

"A little singing," Hoseok mutters, grinning. "You know how it is."

"I literally do not know how it is," Yoongi responds, finally becoming impatient with his friends touching and fixing him. 

"You'll see, hyung," Hoseok says as he takes a step back, inspects his handy work, and nods.

Taehyung returns with a knit brow and reaches up to fix Yoongi's glittery makeup, which he allows for a moment before swatting him away, grumbling, "Okay, enough."

"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases, then passes him a freshly lit joint. "Here."

Yoongi reaches for the joint and takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before tilting his head upward and releasing it. Then he holds out his hand for the next person to take it, and rolls his shoulders back. 

"What kind of song is Jimin singing?" Yoongi half-mutters, expecting next to nothing in response. 

Taehyung simply says, "You'll see, hyung,"  with a wink. 

“Is it an original song?” Yoongi tries. He can’t remember Jimin ever talking about songwriting, but he wouldn’t put it past him; Jimin is full of surprises. 

The sound of someone shouting into a microphone can be heard, and Yoongi stands at attention, ready to go inside. He can hear people cheering and loud pop music playing. 

“Shall we?” Taehyung asks as he takes one last drag at the diminishing joint and hands it to Yoongi. 

Yoongi nods and takes another hit, cradling the tiny roached joint between his thumb and forefinger, then holds it out for the others, all of whom hold their hands up and shake their heads. With one last puff, Yoongi flicks it into the street, then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. 

“Is Jimin part of the opening act?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin snickers. 

“He’s one of the main acts,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully. 

So he must be headlining, Yoongi assumes. 

“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him. 

“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.

He glances around and sees flyers for various events taped to the windows for drag and burlesque shows, and a few for various bands, none of which shows any images of Jimin, or any other performers he has ever seen before. In his pockets, his hands prickle with sweat, and he imagines what kind of instrument Jimin might play. Or maybe he only sings. 

Jimin is a somewhat new addition to their friend group, brought in by Taehyung and Hoseok; they all work together. To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century. And although Yoongi thinks Jimin may also be interested in him, they have not spoken too much about anything outside of college and work, only seeing one another as part of the larger friend group.

As a major in theater arts with a minor in dance, Jimin works at a local studio teaching children tap and ballet as an assistant to Hoseok. Occasionally, Taehyung substitutes for the older lady who plays piano for the classes. It was natural for them to come together, all close in age, with Hoseok only a year older than the other two.

When Jimin invited Yoongi to come watch him perform, they were all tipsy from one too many bottles of soju. Jeongguk was the last in their friend group to graduate college, and they were all celebrating with drinks and fried chicken. 

Even then, when Yoongi asked what kind of show it was, everyone was giggly and secretive. From that moment, he got the feeling that Jimin was definitely flirting with him, with the way his gaze lingered, lips curled into a smile long after Yoongi made him laugh. The more Jimin insisted Yoongi needed to just go and experience the event first-hand, nibbling on his pillowy lip with a somewhat shy, rosy-cheeked grin, Yoongi felt eager to do anything he wanted him to. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” Yoongi promised, and he meant it. 

The cheers inside grow louder, and Taehyung takes up the lead, stepping into the bar. Namjoon slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder and gently shoves him along with the group. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, but Taehyung mutters something to the door guy, who looks at a list of names and then waves the six of them inside. 

Taehyung leads them down a short hallway, into the bar. A long counter lines the left wall, with patrons leaning against it both to order drinks, and to chat with one another. Past the bar top, at the end of the venue, is a stage, and on stage is a woman lip-synching to some upbeat pop song while waving big white feather fans in front of her, enticing the audience to want to see what the fans are covering. 

Yoongi has seen clips of performances like this but has never attended this type of show before, and his gaze lingers on the woman, who winks and blows kisses to cheering audience members before Namjoon leads him over to get a drink. 

The music is loud and a little tackier than Yoongi’s usual taste, but the bass line thrums through the speakers straight into his bloodstream, building his nervousness to see Jimin, egged on by feeling somewhat high. He wonders what kind of performance Jimin might put on at an event like this, and he cannot imagine what it could be. 

“Hyung?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head toward the waiting tender. “First one is on me.”

What he would like is a nice scotch neat, but since Taehyung is paying, he finds a mid-tier whiskey and gets it with a spritz of soda water. The others order, and by the time they step away from the bar, the woman’s song is at its climax, and she is topless, wearing lacy red underwear and bouncing in a way that spins the red tassel pasties on her breasts in a circle. The action makes him chuckle, and when she bows and leaves the stage, he claps his fingers against the back of the hand holding his drink. 

“Burlesque, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to Namjoon while a man in drag takes the stage. 

Namjoon waggles his eyebrows while taking a sip from the bright blue concoction in his hands. 

“Is Jimin also doing burlesque?” Yoongi asks, earning him a shrug. 

Yoongi decides to just stop asking. Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless. 

Although there is a decent crowd in the bar, most people are mingling about, watching the stage from a distance, or whispering amongst themselves. The emcee introduces another act and leaves the stage, replaced by a person with a very nicely manicured mustache and beard wearing a big orange wig and vintage blue dress. They prance around the stage, lip-synching to a silly pop song that Yoongi has never heard before, winning cheers and applause from the crowd.

Yoongi wonders if Jimin will also come out in drag, and what kind of a gimmick he might have. Would he wear a dress? High heels? A wig? Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty. 

Taehyung leads the group toward the stage, taking his place just left of the center. The others file in behind him, with Yoongi keeping some distance from the very front. The performer comes by, lip-synching to Taehyung, who pulls some money from his pocket and holds it up while the performer bends and offers their cleavage for him to slide the notes into. 

"I don't have any cash," Yoongi grumbles toward Taehyung when the song ends and the performer exits. "Will I need any for Jimin?"

"I got you," Taehyung responds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes, shoving them into Yoongi's empty hand before he has a chance to protest. 

Yoongi attempts to straighten out the notes while holding onto his drink. Meanwhile, the emcee returns to the stage. 

"Our next performer is a fan favorite," the emcee says with an exaggerated waggle of their eyebrows. Around them, the crowd becomes dense, with someone bumping shoulders and elbows into Yoongi as they get close to the stage. The emcee continues, "A man who needs no introduction because, let's be honest, you're all here to see him…Jimin."

The stage lights go out, and there is some movement – a person carrying items, as well as the light clacking of heels on the wooden stage. Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest, and he lifts his drink to his lips, watching ahead for more movement in the dark, eager to not miss a thing when the lights come back on.

A red glow illuminates the back edge of the stage, showing the silhouette of Jimin sitting on what looks like a standard black folding chair. He is sideways on the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped over the back of the chair, and his head tilted back. He appears to be wearing a jacket and slacks, but it is hard to tell. 

Also on the stage is a tall, wooden coat rack, and hanging from it appears to be a short mesh robe with fur trim along the sleeves and bottom hem. 

Beside Yoongi, a man loudly whispers, "I fucking love Jimin; just wait," to someone else, and Yoongi shifts a little on his feet with anticipation and something like envy stirring in his guts. 

A yellow spotlight comes on, shining on Jimin. He wears a fitted burgundy suit and black leather boots with a heel and pointed toe. His light pink hair is styled off his forehead, and he appears to be wearing makeup around his eyes, but it is hard to clearly see. In his hand, which is draped over his knee, is a burgundy wide-brimmed hat. 

A familiar oldie comes on, a pop track from the 1950s, and Jimin slowly uncrosses his legs and places both feet on the floor. Female voices sing sweetly before Paul Anka's voice croons, "Put your head on my shoulder."

Only, before the sentence is finished, the song abruptly changes to a sexy R&B track with a trap beat. In that moment, the yellow spotlights turn red, the hat is dropped to the floor, and Jimin's hands are on the chair, supporting his weight as his body bows upward. Briefly, Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song from a bunch of tiktoks Hoseok has made him watch. 

The crowd cheers as Jimin rolls his body, then sits and rotates, facing the audience and spreading his legs. A woman's voice comes through, singing, "Like you…like you…like you…I find it hard to find someone like you," while Jimin rolls his shoulders and hips to the song, leaning forward and then back, holding onto this chair as he lifts his hips and lolls his head.

Yoongi is stunned, gripping onto his drink while he watches Jimin stand, spin the chair around and sit once more with his back to the audience and head tipped back while his hands rove over his body. His fingertips lift and fall to the rhythm of the song while they work their way down, down, down Jimin's body, difficult to clearly see and stirring up so many mental images. 

Jimin's shoulders and hips sway while his hands disappear, and then he pulls open the burgundy jacket. Everyone around him roars excitedly, cheering and applauding. Jimin holds onto the lapels and turns his head, teasing the audience with his opened jacket before he stands and lets the garment slip down past his shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy button-up that is tucked into his matching slacks and clings tightly to his arms and waist.

With a slow, deep swish of his hips, Jimin faces the audience and begins to rip the dress shirt open from the collar, sending buttons skittering across the stage, earning him whoops and shouts. With a strip of skin exposed, he walks over to the coat rack, turns it in a circle, and dips it as if he were dancing with a person, causing the mesh robe hanging from it to sway.

Each movement of Jimin's body is fluid, clothing clinging to his torso and thighs in a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. He wears tighter clothing sometimes when they all hang out, but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.

For just a split second, while Jimin is holding the coat rack as if he is cradling the back and neck of a person and lip-synching to the song, it seems like he makes eye contact with Yoongi, causing Yoongi to hold his breath and heavy-blink through the well of excitement and shyness that he feels. It almost looks as if the edges of Jimin's lips lift ever so slightly, but then he releases the rack and spins away from it, swishing his hips as he dips down low and continues to rip open and untuck the button-up shirt with his eyelids fluttering closed. 

Yoongi practically forgets there is a song playing, focused so intently on Jimin, that when the singer begins to rap – quick and raspy – matched by Jimin's movements of tearing away the garment and revealing a bare torso with little light-colored heart pasties on his nipples, Yoongi sucks in a gasp that gets caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. Jimin’s bare chest and abdominals are chiseled – carved from the finest clay with careful hands. Yoongi lifts his drink quickly, taking a gulp of bitter whiskey and soda water while the crowd goes wild. 

In a swift movement, the pants are torn away from Jimin's waist, revealing long, muscular legs and shiny briefs that match the pasties. Jimin sinks into a squat, rubbing his hands over his legs. Then he sits and lifts one of his legs into a high split, giving Yoongi a very clear eyeful of a bulge and taut thigh muscle, making his mouth fall open. 

Jimin unzips the boot from the foot suspended in the air and tosses it aside, then drops his leg down and sweeps his other leg out in a half-squat, half-split while he drags his hands down the length of his leg to the other boot, unzips it, and tosses it near the other one. 

He spins, gets onto his knees, which are spread, and rolls his hips, lifting and dropping his ass while his hands rove up to his neck and hair, and his head lolls back. All he wears is shiny briefs and pasties, making Yoongi feel more intoxicated than the glass of whiskey ever could. 

The group to Yoongi's right is particularly loud, cheering for Jimin and shouting things like, "That's it, baby, show us how you ride it!" making a shiver run along Yoongi's spine. The objectification makes him feel uncomfortable, but he wonders whether Jimin cares, considering he clearly enjoys stripping for an audience; maybe that is all part of the thrill. Yoongi can't say he blames him. 

The song fades out as Jimin gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over to the coat rack, then slowly gets to his feet. As the music ends, the red lights fade to regular spotlights, revealing the briefs, pasties, and mesh robe – which Jimin pulls from the rack and begins to put on – are all a light pink color that matches his hair. 

Jimin ties the robe with a cord around his waist, standing barefoot while looking out at the crowd with a soft smile. The audience roars with applause and praise, and Yoongi expects Jimin's performance to be over, but then a stagehand in all black runs out, collects the discarded clothing while another sweeps a large broom across the floor to kick away loose buttons, and he hands Jimin a microphone that has been covered in light pink rhinestones. 

Once the men wearing black disappear behind tall curtains, a new song begins, also a slow R&B track, and Jimin lifts the microphone and starts singing, slowly swaying his hips and approaching the front of the stage. 

Yeah, yeah…yeah, yeah… I ain't tryna think about it, no

Taehyung takes a step back, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, and pulls him closer to the stage, causing Yoongi to fumble as Jimin approaches. He stands still as a statue with his hands in front of his chest – wad of notes that Taehyung gave him wedged between two fingers while both hands grip tight to his cold, condensation-covered glass of whiskey and soda water. 

Jimin's eyes find Yoongi, and he smiles, tilting his head sweetly to the side. To his right, the guys who had been cheering loudly try to close in and reach forward, but Jimin ignores them, looming over Yoongi while he sings in a soft, sweet voice, delivering lyrics that have Yoongi's cheeks absolutely burning. 

Yeah, I said it, boy, get up inside itI want you to homicide it

As Jimin lifts a hand and reaches out, Yoongi steps forward instinctively, knocking the toe of his boot into the front of the wooden stage, head tilted upward with his eyes never leaving Jimin's face. Around him, hands reach out with money, and some even toss notes to the stage, but Jimin ignores all of it. 

Go in slow, but I want you to pipe it And I think I kinda like ya Up against the wall, we don't need a title

But Jimin does take the wad of notes that stick out from between Yoongi's fingers, tugging them right out of his weak grasp, and he snakes his hand under the robe and tucks it into the side of his little pink briefs, making Yoongi breathe out a soft chuckle. 

Beside him, the guy who seems intent on getting Jimin's attention mutters, "Who the fuck is this guy?" just loud enough that Yoongi can hear him, and pride begins to burn behind his ribs. 

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title

Gently, Jimin reaches out toward Yoongi's head, eyes widening and brows slightly lifting as if asking for permission, and Yoongi nods while letting out a shaky breath. Fingers delicately push into his hair, tugging on strands as Jimin takes a handful and releases it, pulling away while dragging his fingertips against Yoongi's cheek. Even the gentlest touch feels electric, and Yoongi sways slightly forward when Jimin's hand drops away. 

Boy, I always like to show Get a little bit, come a little close, now

Arousal builds, and Yoongi feels a bit ashamed considering he and Jimin are friends, and Jimin is hardly touching him in a way that should warrant blood rushing to his dick. But Jimin looks like pure sin wrapped in inviting pink, and the way he stares at Yoongi is playful in a way he has never seen him look. 

Take it home on your camera phone Get a little bad, watch me blow it down

Jimin sinks to his knees, still taller than Yoongi but closer to eye level. With one hand, Jimin reaches for Yoongi's drink, then he has a sip of it and sets it down on the stage. Yoongi's hand stays in the same shape as if the glass had never been removed, and he is not sure what is sexier, the fact that Jimin takes the glass straight from his hand, or that he doesn't even flinch after essentially drinking carbonated whiskey.

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh

With a smirk, Jimin slinks to the very edge of the stage, knees practically bumping into Yoongi's hips. He slips his microphone into Yoongi's hand and lifts it until Yoongi has it in front of his face, as if he is supposed to sing the next line, and then he drapes his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, leans in, and continues. 

Yeah, I said it… Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh 

From this close, Yoongi can see a dusting of shimmery pink on Jimin's eyelids, which are lined in black. His lips are glossy, he smells like strawberries, and Yoongi feels stunned in place, questioning whether or not all of this is a dream. Could his friends have slipped something in the weed? Could he be hallucinating?

Jimin sings higher, each word more inviting than the last. 

You can be rough, boy, but you won't

One of Jimin's hands slides into Yoongi's hair, and starting from the nape of his neck, he takes a handful. Everyone in the bar fades away; as far as Yoongi is concerned, the only two people in the room are himself and the beauty before him. 

Yoongi wonders if this is how Jimin's performances typically go. Does he always pick someone from the audience to tease? Is he always this handsy?

Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'

With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher. 

Jimin continues singing—

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it…

—but he seems less focused on sounding good for the audience and more interested in gently tugging Yoongi's hair and making him gradually fall apart. Soon, he is no longer singing at all, and he releases Yoongi's hair and drags his hand around his neck, past his throat and chin, then up and away, making Yoongi lean forward as if pulled by an invisible string. 

Yoongi wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Jimin seems to follow the movement before gently tugging his microphone out of Yoongi's tight, sweaty grasp and getting to his feet. Only then, does Yoongi realize the music is fading out. Jimin does a cute little twirl and opens his arms wide, bowing as the audience erupts into cheers, leaving Yoongi too stunned to clap. 

The emcee returns to the stage to announce an intermission, and the house lights come on, brightening the space. The crowd thins, and Yoongi heavy-blinks as he takes in his surroundings and allows his soul to return to his body while Jimin prances away, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Yoongi before slipping behind the black curtain. 

Two large, warm hands crash into Yoongi's shoulders, and he jumps, sucks in a gasp, and turns to find Namjoon staring at him with a wide smile. 

"So?" he has the audacity to ask, and all Yoongi can do is scoff and shake his head incredulously. 

"So, what?" Yoongi responds, attempting to play it cool despite the way his heart hammers in his chest. 

"Was it life-changing?" Taehyung asks, and Yoongi turns to regard him before remembering his drink is still on the stage and spinning around to retrieve it. When he turns back to his friends, he finds five sets of eager eyes watching him, as well as the stares of strangers, and he ducks his head and gulps down half of his drink. 

"It was…" Yoongi begins, trailing off as he attempts to summarize what he just witnessed, blinking through mental image after mental image. "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile, which he covers by slamming back the rest of his drink. 

"It sure was!" Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Jimin never comes to the edge of the stage like that. People always try to entice him, but he always plays hard to get."

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, letting the words sink in. 

"Another?" Jeongguk calls, holding an empty glass, and everyone nods. Hoseok and Taehyung finish their drinks in a gulp while they all turn and make their way to the end of the bar. 

As they stand and wait, Yoongi takes a look around the space. Everything is black and chrome and nothing too remarkable, but the place seems to have a chill vibe. And he is grateful to not be the only person wearing denim and a band tee – dressed like a scrub, as Seokjin so elegantly put it.

Taehyung and Jeongguk get drinks, then slink away from the bar to stand off to the side. Then Hoseok and Seokjin order, and finally, Namjoon. Yoongi steps up to the counter and decides to order the same thing he had before – whiskey and soda water. 

From beside him, a sweet, familiar voice shouts, "Make that two, please!"

The smell of strawberry perfume hits Yoongi's nose, and he turns to his left to find Jimin smiling widely at him. He wears a white tee tucked into tight, black leather pants, and a black leather bomber jacket with a feathery design embroidered in red and silver beads on the shoulders. 

Now that Jimin has touched him – tugged at his hair while looming over like a salacious little threat – Yoongi allows himself to stare a little without feeling the nervous urge to flit his gaze away. The longer he looks at Jimin, the wider Jimin's smile grows. 

"Hi, hyung," Jimin says, taking a step closer. 

"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed. 

Two glasses thunk against the bar top, and Yoongi turns with a gasp, fishing for his wallet. 

"On the house," the bartender says, nodding at Jimin. 

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, "okay."

"I got the tip," Jimin says beside him, leaning into his personal space to hand a folded wad of notes to the bartender. Jimin adds, "Though, technically, you are paying for it, hyung," close to Yoongi's ear. 

"Taehyung is paying for it, actually," Yoongi responds with a smirk, turning to Jimin whose mouth falls agape, scandalized. Yoongi feels the need to defend himself, adding, "Hey, I didn't know what was going on, otherwise I would have come prepared!"

Yoongi picks up both drinks and hands one to Jimin, who responds, "Fair," through laughter as he grabs Yoongi by the bicep and pulls him away from the bar. 

Even through his denim sleeve, Yoongi feels a spark of electricity where Jimin touches him. He notices that Jimin has pulled him in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends and decides not to question it. When they find themselves against the wall in a somewhat dimly lit corner, Jimin's hand stays on Yoongi's arm, giving him a tentative squeeze, and Yoongi looks down at Jimin's hand and smiles before meeting his eye. 

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."

Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

Yoongi has a sip of his drink, then he hums as he nods and says, "I did like the show. Your voice is really beautiful."

"Just my voice?" Jimin asks, stepping so close, their shoulders touch. 

A chuckle rocks through Yoongi, and he tips his head toward Jimin, who takes a drink with wide, curious eyes. "Not just your voice, no. Everything about you is beautiful."

"Awe, hyung!" Jimin shouts, shoving playfully at Yoongi's shoulder and sending him crashing lightly into the wall. 

"Wow," Yoongi responds, snickering. "Last time I compliment a guy."

Jimin places his hand over the spot he shoved and rubs over it, radiating warmth through denim and cotton. He opens his mouth to respond when a small group of men approaches to tell Jimin he did a great job, and Yoongi recognizes one of their voices as the guy who stood beside him during the performance. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow as the man makes eye contact with him, lifting his free hand to place over Jimin's hand, which continues to mindlessly rub over his chest, just below his clavicle. 

"Thanks for coming to the show," Jimin mutters politely, turning back to Yoongi. 

The group hovers behind Jimin and Yoongi does his best to ignore them, but it feels awkward to have an audience now that Jimin is no longer performing. 

"We should finish these drinks and get out of here," Yoongi suggests loud enough for the others to hear him, letting his gaze lift to the group to see if they have. 

Jimin chuckles. "Hyung, are you being possessive right now?"

"Maybe," Yoongi responds, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to stay while that desperate pack ogles you, by all means—"

Jimin slides his hand from Yoongi's weak grasp to give him another smack, this time on the arm. 

"God, you're hot when you're jealous," Jimin says, making Yoongi blush, "but I should stay until the end to support the other performers. There are only four more."

Yoongi nods and accepts Jimin's terms. He wants to clarify that his offer for Jimin to leave with him afterwards is genuine, but the house lights dim, and music plays through the speakers, signaling the return of the show. 

Jimin takes Yoongi's hand and pulls him toward the front of the stage, to where the rest of their friends have congregated. Namjoon looks down at their linked hands, then to Yoongi, and he winks, making Yoongi roll his eyes despite how nice it feels to be holding Jimin's hand in public. 

The rest of the show goes by in a haze. Yoongi is hardly aware of the performers, hearing a hint of a song here and seeing a whoosh of brightly colored fabric there. All he can focus on is Jimin’s hand in his, Jimin’s voice singing and cheering, Jimin's warmth emitting in welcoming bursts beside him. 

Whenever Jimin slips his hand away to clap for each performer, Yoongi follows suit, robotically tapping his fingertips to his glass. And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.

Once the house lights come on again, signaling the end of the show, Yoongi downs the rest of his drink. He feels sluggish and heavy, stumbling slightly when Jimin yanks him over to their friends. He wonders if they will want to keep drinking, whether they will want to go to a new bar. He thinks he would be alright with going to another bar; he parked his car somewhere it can be left overnight. 

“Wanna get out of here, hyung?” Jimin asks sweetly in his ear, and Yoongi decides all at once that another bar is out of the question. 

“Yes,” Yoongi responds, turning to Jimin with a wide smile that may very well look too eager for his own good. 

Jimin chuckles, finishes his drink, and says, “Good,” before leading the way to the bar where their friends are gathering with empty glasses. 

Yoongi considers how to break the news; Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning. 

“We’re gonna get out of here!” Jimin announces, gracefully stealing the words from his mouth before he can even begin to formulate them. 

Jimin begins to hug everyone before they have a chance to oppose, smacking kisses against their cheeks and thanking them for coming to watch him perform. Most of them seem too dazed to argue.

Yoongi waves to everyone, noticing as they all make some sort of wink or eyebrow waggle at him, then he turns wordlessly and allows himself to get dragged by the wrist through the space, past patrons who attempt to talk to Jimin, and out into the cool night air. 

Jimin slides his arm into the crook of Yoongi’s elbow and pulls him along the sidewalk. “I live close,” he says before Yoongi has a chance to ask where they are going. Not that he would protest against being taken anywhere Jimin wanted. 

“Did you like the performance?” Jimin asks, bumping his hip against Yoongi as they walk. 

“I told you I did,” Yoongi teases, turning to find Jimin smiling while looking ahead. 

Jimin’s side profile is all firm lines and glitter, softened when he turns to Yoongi with wide, round eyes and pillow lips. He is stunning, and Yoongi is relieved to be able to stare unabashedly. 

“You told me I was beautiful,” Jimin clarifies, raising his eyebrows before looking ahead. 

“You are,” Yoongi mutters, remembering the performance. “And your singing was really beautiful. And the…stripping…” he trails off, feeling nervous about his choice of words. 

But Jimin does not miss a beat. “You liked watching me strip, hmm?”

“Of course I did,” Yoongi mutters, blushing. 

He is tugged around a corner to the right where the streetlights are fewer and the world feels darker, quieter. 

“And my dancing?” Jimin asks, walking impossibly closer – the two of them somehow managing to not trip over one another. 

“I liked your dancing,” Yoongi responds softly, clearing his throat to speak louder. “Hoseok mentioned you never come to the edge of the stage like that.”

Jimin chuckles, and Yoongi glances to the side, catching his eye before they both look ahead. 

“I don’t. That was just for you. I had a couple surprises just for you.”

Yoongi hums questionably, and Jimin says, "There's still one more surprise, in fact."

“Wow,” Yoongi rasps, smiling, “guess I’m pretty special.”

Jimin stops in his tracks and turns, pulling Yoongi gently away from the sidewalk, onto a grassy area near where tall bushes line the outside of an apartment building. It is even darker, and even quieter, without another soul around as far as Yoongi can tell, and he allows Jimin to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close enough that their lips nearly touch. 

“You are special,” Jimin responds with a smile, fingertips playing with Yoongi’s hair. “And you look so cute with your hair half up and your eyes covered in Taehyung’s favorite blue glitter. How could I keep my hands off you?”

“Your admirers seemed pretty jealous,” Yoongi teases as he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close. 

“Let them be,” Jimin mutters softly, ghosting warm breath over Yoongi’s lips, which he wets with the tip of his tongue in anticipation. “The only admirer I care about is you.”

Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy. But Jimin slots their lips together tentatively, hands cradling Yoongi’s neck and back, and Yoongi sinks into the feeling with a sigh, then gently sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as his pulse quickens. 

Jimin’s mouth is warm and soft beyond Yoongi’s wildest dreams. Yoongi rubs his hands over Jimin’s lower back and tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, licking over Jimin’s bottom lip until it falls open with a gasp, granting Yoongi entrance. 

With a slow graze of his tongue over Jimin’s, he feels Jimin tense and shiver in his hold, letting out a soft whine that has arousal crashing through Yoongi. Jimin whimpers, and all Yoongi can think about is the man on stage in his tight little briefs, and his trim, flexible body grinding and swaying so invitingly. 

Jimin breaks from the kiss, panting as he tips his mouth away but presses their foreheads together. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Jimin smiling. 

“Let’s go inside,” Jimin mutters, sounding breathless, and he releases Yoongi from his hold and leads him up the short set of steps into the building they were just in front of. 

“Couldn’t wait two more minutes to get me inside?” Yoongi chides as Jimin tugs him by the wrist down a short hallway, to a door on the right. 

Jimin punches in the door code and steps inside the apartment, switching on a bright overhead light that makes the two of them squint. When Yoongi steps in and closes the door, Jimin has his hands on him, pressing him against the wall. 

“Are you always such a brat?” Jimin groans, crowding Yoongi’s space. 

Yoongi assists Jimin in being close by wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like to tease you,” he rasps, chuckling as Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You were teasing me earlier,” Yoongi adds, sliding one hand up, over the scratchy embroidery of Jimin’s jacket until his hand is on the back of Jimin’s neck. “With your dancing…and your singing…and your hair-pulling.”

“I was being extra sexy once I saw you standing there,” Jimin says sweetly as he slots a leg between Yoongi’s thighs.

“Is that so?” Yoongi asks, tipping his head back against the wall so he can actually see the beauty before him. 

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip and nods his head. “I don’t usually grind on the floor as much. And the little splits I did to take off my shoes was improvised.”

“I might need to see those moves again,” Yoongi mutters, closing the gap between their lips with a soft, chaste kiss.

Jimin sighs and sinks into Yoongi, stomach and chest flush with his. “I have a lot of moves I can show you, hyung,” he responds as he sucks Yoongi’s lip into his mouth hard enough to make Yoongi whimper. 

“So show me,” Yoongi practically whines as he licks eagerly over Jimin’s lips. 

Jimin heaves a breath and takes a step back, grabbing Yoongi’s hands as they slowly slide from their grasp, walking backward through his tidy apartment, smiling as he mutters, “I’ll show you.”

Abruptly, Jimin stops and shouts, “Wait!” shoving Yoongi backward. Yoongi is confused and cocks his head, allowing himself to be moved, fingers still laced with Jimin’s. 

“We have to take our boots off, silly,” Jimin says, unlinking their hands and pressing Yoongi against the wall once more. He leans against Yoongi's chest as he lifts each foot to slide out of his black Chelsea boots and socks, stepping a bit shorter than before. 

Once Jimin’s feet are free, he prances away with a giggle, and Yoongi opens his mouth to call after him, but shakes his head and chuckles instead as he bends and unties his boots, toeing out of each one. The sound of a faucet running cues Yoongi to where to go, and he walks through the living room, to the right, and finds Jimin standing in a small kitchen, drinking from a glass of water. 

“Thirsty, hyung?” Jimin asks, holding out the glass. 

Yoongi takes it and has a drink, then sets it on the counter, and says, “I’m not too thirsty…but I am quite hungry,” watching as Jimin begins to look around with a frown. 

“I don’t have much,” he says, “what are you hungry for?”

Yoongi wraps his hands around Jimin’s waist, rubbing both palms over his leather-clad ass. 

“You,” he rasps, earning him a groan and a weak smack on the arm. He pouts and adds, “Pretty please?” while batting his eyelashes, and Jimin takes his hand, leading him away. 

“Are we leaving every light in your apartment on?” Yoongi asks while Jimin drags him into a short hallway. 

With a huff, Jimin turns on the hallway light, then reaches into a semi-open door right in front of them and turns the light on, revealing a bathroom. 

“There!” Jimin says with an incredulous glare. “Are you happy, hyung?”

“No,” Yoongi grumbles. “Feels like a waste of electricity.”

“You’re infuriating,” Jimin complains as he shuts off the bathroom and hallway lights. He playfully shoves Yoongi away to storm off to the kitchen and living room, and Yoongi laughs to himself, over the moon with how easy Jimin is to rile up. 

When Jimin returns, he grips onto the sleeve of Yoongi's jacket and yanks him roughly down to the end of the short hallway, into a dark room. Yoongi is still laughing, muttering, "Whoa, easy, tiger," as he is pressed into another wall, body against body, with warm breath wafting over his face. 

"You'll just have to fuck me in the dark since you're so god damn annoying," Jimin huffs as two hands slide up Yoongi's neck, into his hair and grip tightly.

Yoongi reaches into Jimin's jacket, pushing material away as he grabs him by the waist. Then he twists the two of them, grinning to himself when Jimin huffs out a surprised, "Oof," from the impact of his back being pressed into the wall. 

He leans forward, grazing his nose against Jimin's nose as he says, "So you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

"I thought that was a given," Jimin responds, voice less confident than before – trembling, even.

Yoongi hums and noses at Jimin some more, flicking his tongue out and pleased when it grazes over soft lips. "Didn't want to assume," he responds lowly, licking over Jimin's lips once more. "I'm down for anything you want, pretty."

It feels almost frantic the way Jimin's lips crash into his, mouth kissing and nipping while hands shove away Yoongi's denim jacket, sending it to the floor in a heavy lump of fabric. Jimin's hands yank at Yoongi's shirt, pulling it untucked from his jeans, and Yoongi reaches down, gently taking him by the wrists to stop him. 

"Wanna see you," Yoongi says. "I take back what I said about the lights; turn them all on so I don't miss anything."

Jimin chuckles and pulls his hands away, then a rustling of fabric is followed by the bright flashlight of Jimin's phone coming on. 

"Compromise?" he suggests with a smile that Yoongi barely sees behind the bright white glow. "There's a lamp beside my bed. Be a good boy and turn it on for me?"

Despite the somewhat indignant scoff that rolls through Yoongi's chest and throat, he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed. He watches his step, maneuvering around discarded clothing items in the white glow before reaching the bed and finding the lamp. 

It takes a few moments of him rubbing his hand over the post and then down to where a cord sticks out, but he finds the little plastic switch and presses it on. A soft, golden light fills the space, and when he spins back around, Jimin is in the center of the room with his jacket draped down past his shoulders. 

Jimin begins to saunter over, and Yoongi's brain kicks into gear, going haywire over what he should do – join Jimin and undress him, or sit down and find out whether Jimin feels like putting on another show for him. He opts to sit, but when he turns to make sure the bed is close enough, his knees bump into it, knocking him off balance, and he more or less crashes onto his butt against the mattress. 

"So eager," Jimin teases as he rubs his hands over his neck, up into his light pink hair, and back down. 

"For you?" Yoongi responds, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Jimin, feeling zero embarrassment over his floundering. "Absolutely."

"What are you so eager for?" Jimin asks with a grin that grows into something as beautiful as it is dangerous. 

"You," Yoongi responds without thinking. "All of you."

Jimin giggles. "Be more specific, hyung."

"I want to watch you strip again," Yoongi says, swallowing a lump of excitement that builds and builds in his throat, threatening to suffocate. "I want to worship you."

With another giggle, Jimin begins to thumb through his phone. The sound of a bluetooth speaker connecting somewhere to the right chimes through the room, and Yoongi turns to glance around, noticing a desk, a dresser, and an open closet door. Garments are strewn about – mostly shirts, it seems – and the dresser appears to be covered in various makeup items, beauty tools, and accessories. 

Over the speaker, a sexy R&B track begins to play, and Yoongi turns his attention back to Jimin, who tosses his phone over to the bed, to the right of Yoongi, and begins to sway his hips. Earlier, when Jimin was on stage, Yoongi was awestruck and struggled to fully comprehend what was happening. Especially with others around him cheering and shouting for Jimin, it took time for everything to settle over him.

But sitting in this dim room, just the two of them, knowing the type of body that Jimin has under all that leather and cotton, Yoongi's desire and anticipation reach new heights, and he leans back with his palms spread against Jimin's pink and orange floral comforter while butterflies kick up in his stomach. He almost feels the urge to pinch himself, worried once more that he might be dreaming.

Jimin lets the jacket fall to his wrists, then he lifts one hand slowly, dragging the material upward with his wrist until it slides free and falls. He lifts his other hand straight out and tilts his wrist until the material slides and crumples to the floor, and although it is just outerwear and Jimin is still fully clothed, the seductive movements have Yoongi sitting wide-eyed and mouth agape – entranced.

Yoongi barely registers the song that is playing, but he does not need to. Jimin's shoulders and hips amplify its tune, turning it into something tangible – something he could reach out and feel. Slowly, Jimin turns, and, with his fingertips dancing over the material of his t-shirt, he begins to untuck it little by little. 

White cotton drags over muscular shoulders with every movement, while black leather hugs his ass and thighs tightly. Then Jimin does a cute turn and sways down, bending his knees before swishing back up while lifting his shirt over his tummy and up, up, almost to his chest before spinning again and looking over his shoulder, pretending to be shy. 

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, absolutely charmed by Jimin's little show, still toeing the line between playful and sexy as the shirt lifts over his head completely and Jimin tosses it over his shoulder, straight at Yoongi's face. Yoongi barely lifts his hands, allowing the fabric to gently clobber him in a wave of warm strawberry, and when it falls to his lap, he lazily takes it in one hand and holds onto it. 

"Still wearing those cute hearts?" Yoongi asks, and when Jimin mock-pouts and says, "Sorry, hyung, I took them off," he feels the tiniest tinge of sadness. 

"What a shame," Yoongi responds, wetting his lips as Jimin turns and saunters closer, hands rubbing over his nipples, keeping them covered. "They were cute."

"You're cute, hyung. But no touching unless I say you can," Jimin instructs softly but firmly, nibbling his bottom lip while slotting one leg between Yoongi's thighs and lifting his other knee to the bed. 

Yoongi tips his head back, leaning to give Jimin space as he rolls and grinds his hips, rubbing his hands up, over his neck, and into his hair, and then down, over his nipples and abdominals. Jimin is delicate hills and valleys of taut muscle and soft skin, and all Yoongi can do is stare at the beauty before him while swallowing the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, threatening to drool past his lips. 

"Like what you see, hyung?" Jimin asks, making Yoongi chuckle. 

Yoongi has to find his voice, softly clearing his throat. "You know I do."

With a deep, inviting hum, Jimin presses his thigh between Yoongi's legs, applying just enough pressure to make the air get trapped in his lungs. Arousal simmers through Yoongi, and he gasps, which becomes a soft chuckle when he notices the playful look on Jimin's face. 

"Evil," Yoongi groans when Jimin's leg grazes over him again, feeling blood rush straight to his dick. 

"What's the matter, hyung?" Jimin sing-songs as he takes a step back, spins around, and lowers his ass to Yoongi's lap. 

With both hands planted on Yoongi's knees, Jimin rolls his hips in circles and grinds them forward and back, and Yoongi squeezes the comforter in both palms as he groans from the pressure, fighting how badly he wants to touch. 

The song switches to something else sultry and unfamiliar, and Jimin reaches back with one arm that drapes over Yoongi's shoulder, resting his head on his other shoulder while his hips lift and fall in quick but soft movements that graze over Yoongi's crotch. 

"You're good at this," Yoongi mutters, dazed, hardly sounding like himself. 

Jimin hums in agreement and says, "I'm good at a lot of things."

A particularly firm press of Jimin's ass against Yoongi's constricted dick has his eyes fluttering closed, and he practically whines, "Show me everything."

Jimin sits up, taking away the arm around Yoongi's shoulder, then glances back with a mischievous smile, still moving his hips in inviting circles. Yoongi can hear the slow drag of a zipper, each tooth releasing as Jimin's arms make small movements in front of him. And then he lifts his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooks his thumbs under the black leather to slowly push the garment down.

The movement is agonizingly slow, only revealing an inch before he pulls back up and begins to drag down little by little, exposing pinkish-white satin briefs. Yoongi wants to grab onto the pockets and yank the material to the floor, losing all sense of sitting like a good boy. 

"You're killing me," he grumbles, fisting the blanket tight. 

With a giggle, Jimin stands, pushes the pants all the way to his thighs, and then sits again, grinding down on Yoongi's lap. The delicate curve of Jimin's waist into soft hips and a round, perfect ass has Yoongi reeling; the fact that he has Jimin all alone, and he is teasing him like this, is still a bit hard to comprehend. And, to make matters worse – or better – sticking out from under Jimin's satin panties are white lace garters connected to white mesh thigh-high stockings. 

Yoongi groans, eager to show his appreciation while feeling at a loss for words, earning a light giggle in response. 

"How badly do you want to touch me?" Jimin teases, glancing over his shoulder. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, raising his eyebrows while Jimin continues to watch him. "Oh, I'm going to fucking ruin you the second you give me permission to."

It is subtle the way Jimin's eyes widen and all mirth melts from his features – it only lasts a split second. But Yoongi clocks it, and he smirks, feeling victorious. 

Jimin turns and stands, bending himself in half while pushing his pants down to his ankles, and Yoongi watches as more drool pools under his tongue, gaze drifting down to where Jimin peeks from around his ankles to smile before slowly standing back up. He steps from the crumpled leather and then kicks the garment away before turning to Yoongi with his cock straining hard in those tight little briefs as he straddles his lap. 

"How was this performance, hyung?" Jimin asks, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's shoulders to play with his hair. 

At some point, the song had changed, but Yoongi barely registers the downtempo beat, staring at Jimin, who giggles and wiggles his hips back and forth in a quick, playful movement. He lifts his right hand and then drops it back to the blanket with a groan, rolling his head back and taking a quick moment to close his eyes. 

"It was more of a tease than the first one," Yoongi grumbles, tracing the soft lines of Jimin's neck and shoulders with his eyes before looking at his face. "But it was great, all the same; I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Jimin reaches down and palms over Yoongi's dick, which sits bunched up at an uncomfortable angle under restrictive denim, making him gasp from the pressure-ache that tears through him. 

"I can tell how thoroughly you enjoyed it, hyung."

At this, Yoongi chuckles, biting the inside of his mouth and biding his time for when it is his turn to be a menace.

"Did you notice my final surprise?" Jimin asks.

"The garters and stockings?" Yoongi asks, eyes drifting downward. 

"Not that," Jimin responds, and Yoongi cocks his head, unsure what he means.

"No…" he mutters. 

Jimin stares incredulously, heavy-blinking in disbelief. "What, really?" he practically shouts. "My ass was right in your face, how did you miss it?"

"I mean…your ass is…surprisingly perfect," Yoongi tries.

With a playful huff, Jimin rolls his eyes, grabs Yoongi's right hand, and wraps it around him, making Yoongi cup one of his cheeks. 

"You can touch only with this hand," Jimin says with an insistent gaze, "and only on my butt."

The material of these briefs is thin and smooth, gliding softly under Yoongi's palm. It takes Yoongi a moment of rubbing over the soft flesh, squeezing gently, and mapping its shape before his fingertips brush over something hard, making Jimin suck in a sudden gasp of air. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks, grazing his fingertips against the spot with more purpose, making Jimin squirm. "What have we here?"

Jimin whimpers as Yoongi presses against the hard, round surprise before taking a handful to squeeze and spread, turning his sounds into soft moans. 

"Were you wearing this plug during the performance?" Yoongi asks, head tipped back to watch as Jimin's lips tremble and search for what to say.

"Yes," he finally sighs, lolling his head back with a moan when Yoongi passes his fingers firmly over it again. 

"You performed wearing an anal plug?" Yoongi asks again, watching as Jimin's cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

Jimin leans forward and presses his forehead against Yoongi's, nodding while whimpering a broken, "Uh-huh."

"While dancing and singing and tugging on my hair?" Yoongi continues, "While those eager boys stood and watched you flirt with me, you wore this, hoping I would bring you back here and find it."

"Yes, hyung," Jimin moans, and god if Yoongi had not already been fighting back the urge to absolutely destroy this pretty man in the most delicious ways possible, he would be now.

"You wanted me to find this plug, hmm?" Yoongi presses and rubs over it, squeezing and spanking while his other hand grips onto the blanket for dear life. "Wanted me to bend you over and pull it out…stretch you further on my cock…didn't you?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, hips rolling lazily into Yoongi's touch.

Without another word, Yoongi slides his hand away and anchors himself back against the bed. Jimin scrambles, sitting back with his eyes bulging wide, making Yoongi chuckle.

"So naughty," Yoongi teases, voice full of mirth and sparking a petulant fire in Jimin's eyes.

"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, lifting a hand to smack Yoongi on the chest, which Yoongi catches despite not being given instruction to touch, just yet. Jimin looks incensed and gasps, eyes going between Yoongi's hand and his face.

"It's my turn," Yoongi rasps, biting back a grin. "Let me touch you."

Jimin blinks at him, clearly still processing the teasing, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, impatient. 

"Fine," Jimin huffs brattily, yanking his hand from Yoongi's grasp and sliding from Yoongi's lap to take his place beside him on the bed. "It's your turn to strip, hyung. Give me a good show."

Yoongi stands, walks a couple paces into the room, and turns, letting the movement flow with the beat of whatever song is playing – something a little quicker-paced but still sexy enough to dance to. He rubs his hands over his neck, down his pecs, and over his tummy, watching as Jimin rests back on his palms with his thighs slightly spread, intently following every movement. 

Then Yoongi grips onto the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head, messing up his hair in the process. He flings the garment at Jimin with maybe just a little too much force, and it hits him in the chest, falling to his lap.

"Wh—hyung!" Jimin shouts, tossing the shirt aside as Yoongi quickly undoes his belt and fly and shoves his jeans to the floor, stepping out of one side and then the other, and then reaching down to yank away his socks. 

"This is the worst strip tease I have ever seen!" Jimin shouts despite his eyes roving over Yoongi's body with a hunger that says otherwise. 

Yoongi approaches in two swift strides and bends to take Jimin by the backs of his knees. He lifts and spreads Jimin's legs, sending his back crashing against the bed, scrambling and squealing while Yoongi leans forward, legs draped over his hips, and grins. 

"What did I tell you I was going to do, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sternly, caging Jimin in with his hands against the bed while Jimin's frantic movements cause their clothed cocks to rub against one another in an addictive jolt of energy. 

"R-ruin me," Jimin pants as his flailing slows to a stop.

Yoongi grins. "That's right. I am going to absolutely ruin you. Now be good for me and get on your hands and knees."

It appears to take about two seconds for Jimin to process Yoongi's words before he crawls back on his elbows, getting fully onto the bed, and turning to position himself on his hands and knees while Yoongi sinks down to the floor. Jimin moves toward the center of the bed when Yoongi stops him.

"Ah, ah, come back here, pretty." He pats the mattress as if calling over a puppy. "Want you right here."

Jimin crawls backward with a somewhat dazed, borderline humiliated look on his face, and Yoongi waits patiently until Jimin is settled on the edge of the bed with his ankles hanging near Yoongi's head. 

"Perfect," Yoongi groans as he sits high, reaches for the waistline of Jimin's pretty satin briefs, and pulls, uncovering his prize in all its soft yet muscular glory. 

Yoongi practically moans at the sight of Jimin stretched around a metal toy with a light pink rhinestone in the center, and he wastes no time reaching two handfuls of soft flesh to squeeze firmly in his palms. He spreads his hands wide to graze his thumbs over the toy, then uses one hand to begin slowly tugging on it while keeping Jimin spread. 

"God, look at you," Yoongi groans as Jimin's pucker tenses and relaxes with each movement. "Is this what you wanted? When you invited me to come watch you perform, did you picture me bending you over and playing with your ass afterward?"

"Yes," Jimin whines, sending a shiver down Yoongi's spine.

Yoongi uses his palm to gently strike Jimin's ass. The sound cracks through the room, punctuated by a moan, and Jimin shutters as he relaxes. 

"What did you imagine, exactly?" Yoongi asks, hearing a dazed, "What?" come from Jimin. 

"When you nestled this pretty little toy inside yourself tonight," Yoongi clarifies, rubbing over the reddened mark of his hand. "What were you imagining I would do to you?"

"I thought you would want to f-fuck me," Jimin says, sounding somewhat bashful. How cute. 

Yoongi rubs over Jimin's ass with both hands, then taps the tip of his index finger over the end of the toy, making Jimin tremble. "Is that all?"

"N-no," Jimin whimpers.

"Awe, is pretty Jimin too shy to dirty talk to his hyung now that he has me right where he wants me?"

All he hears in response is a low whine, and Yoongi chuckles, smacking and squeezing Jimin's ass just enough to make his legs quake. He wonders if Jimin likes becoming pliant and malleable in someone else's hands. 

"I can tell you what I imagine," Yoongi offers, sitting back before getting onto his feet to rub over Jimin's back and bend over him, draping himself to speak low into Jimin's ear. 

Jimin nods. 

"What I've imagined since the day we met—" Yoongi reaches with one hand to Jimin's chin and lifts his head up, then presses two fingers into his warm, wet mouth, "—is watching these sinful fucking lips wrap around my cock."

Jimin sucks on Yoongi's fingers, stirring a fire in his belly, and Yoongi nuzzles their cheeks together, pulling away as Jimin releases him with a pop. 

"And what I've imagined since that little performance of yours tonight—" Yoongi gently grips Jimin's chin and pulls him so that he is held in place, back arched and neck craned, looking him in the eye, "—is the sight of you riding me…using me to make yourself cum…squeezing me so nice and tight…all while tugging on my hair."

Jimin's eyes blow wide, and he gasps, staring at Yoongi as if he has just personally hung every star in the night sky. Reverent. 

"Would you like that, pretty?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin nods.

Yoongi grins. "Use your words, baby."

Brighter and wider, Jimin's eyes turn to heavenly disks, and Yoongi makes a mental note to call him baby a lot more. 

"Yes, hyung," Jimin mutters sweetly.

"Say my name. Tell me what you need."

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin responds. "I need…you. Anything you want, please."

With a soft kiss against Jimin's cheek, Yoongi lowers Jimin down, continuing to drape himself over his body, keeping his weight from pressing on him too much. 

"Do you like to be more in control," Yoongi asks, dancing fingertips in Jimin's pink hair, "or do you like to submit?"

Jimin's voice has a slight tremble when he says, "Submit."

"Do you like it rough or soft?"

"Both."

Yoongi groans, pleased with that answer. "Do you have a safe word, baby?"

"S-strawberry."

"Strawberry, of course," Yoongi says, grinning. "Good. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

Yoongi feels Jimin's body relax beneath him as he sighs, "Please, Yoongi," in a voice fit for an angel.

Eager to learn all the pretty ways Jimin can sing, Yoongi gets back onto his feet, running his fingertips over the length of Jimin's back before dropping to his knees. He spreads Jimin wide, leans forward, and licks from just beneath the end of the plug to just above it, tasting cold metal and zirconia with a sticky-sweet hint of lube. 

Jimin moans low and arches his back, pressing his ass against Yoongi's face, and Yoongi chuckles as he grips tightly to both cheeks and licks again and again, straight lines and rounded ones, tasting and teasing.

"Do you get really sensitive?" Yoongi asks as he rests his cheek against the soft curve of Jimin's ass and takes the end of the toy between his fingers, tugging it ever so slightly – just enough to make Jimin whine. 

Jimin mutters a pitchy, "Uh-huh."

"Words, baby," Yoongi instructs with a somewhat stronger tug. 

Jimin sobs as he says, "Yes, Yoongi!"

"Good," Yoongi groans as he nuzzles against Jimin and nips gently at his skin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together."

With a firm tug, Yoongi begins to pull the toy, taking it nice and slow while Jimin's hole stretches around the bulb. Jimin sobs with shaking legs, and Yoongi lifts his head and drops a dab of spit as he pushes the toy back in and gives it another tug. 

Back and forth, he tugs and presses, with more spit and kisses against Jimin's soft skin, again and again, until finally Jimin opens wide and releases the plug with a soft wail. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, licking over Jimin's rim with a firm twist of his tongue, making him moan. "So good for me."

Yoongi stands on somewhat shaky legs – knees, and calves tired from being bunched up on the floor – and he moves to the bedside table, grabs a tissue from a small box, and places it down to rest the plug onto. "You got lube in here?" he asks, tapping his fingernails against the small door on the front of the table. 

"No, on top," Jimin responds, and Yoongi glances around, then finds the bottle wedged behind the tissue box. 

"Is this the lube you used earlier?" Yoongi asks as he returns and takes in the sight of Jimin on his knees with his face pressed against his floral comforter.

"Don't pick on me," Jimin pouts, frowning, making Yoongi chuckle fondly.

"Not picking on you, baby," Yoongi responds, patting the center of the bed, closer to the pillow. "Come up here."

With a whimper and even deeper pout, Jimin anchors himself on his hands, and – like a doe learning to walk for the first time – fumbles and sways with forward momentum until he slams his chest down onto a pillow and wraps his arms around it. 

Yoongi gets onto the bed and crawls on his knees behind Jimin. The satin briefs are still around Jimin's legs, keeping him from spreading his knees too far, and Yoongi leaves them in place, curious how Jimin might enjoy a little movement restriction.

With his thumb, Yoongi flips open the lid of the lube bottle, then he squirts a generous amount onto his index and middle fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb through the sticky substance to warm it just a little. Then he rubs the slicked tips of his fingers over Jimin's hole, watching the way he trembles from even the slightest of touches. 

Slowly, Yoongi presses the tip of his middle finger in, testing how far the toy has stretched him. Although Jimin moans, his voice is steady as Yoongi pushes all the way to his knuckle and twists. The muscle does not squeeze too tight, so he pulls out and gently slides in another.

With his index finger added, Jimin squeezes him with a deep whimper and then relaxes. Yoongi takes it slow, rubbing his palm soothingly over Jimin's ass and thigh, pulling his fingers back and pressing them forward little by little. 

"Let me know if you need me to slow down or stop, pretty," Yoongi says as he watches his fingertips get swallowed. 

"Don't stop," Jimin whimpers, "give me more."

"More?" Yoongi teases, drawing the word out nice and long. 

"Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi twists his fingers as he pushes and pulls, listening to Jimin's deep voice become high-pitched and raspy. Satisfied with how Jimin feels around him – swallowing eagerly but not with a death grip – Yoongi adds his ring finger. 

Jimin trembles and bleats broken syllables as Yoongi presses three fingers into him. He twists slowly and dribbles spit onto Jimin's rim, giving himself a little more slide, working himself a little deeper. And Jimin takes him so well until he gets to his knuckles and the stretch feels too tight.

"Fuck," Jimin gasps, legs quaking. "Feels s-so good, but it—'s too much."

"I got you, baby," Yoongi says softly, planting kisses over Jimin's ass and upper thigh as he slides his fingers out and pauses. "Call your safe word if you want a break."

"No," Jimin pants. "I don't want a break, your fingers are just…they're too good."

Yoongi chuckles, slowly pressing his fingers back in, stopping before the knuckles, as he says, "Just breathe for me," with his lips dragging over Jimin's soft skin. 

Labored, panicked breaths make Yoongi smile and shake his head, and he slowly pulls out as he clarifies, "Breathe slowly, Jiminah. Don't make yourself dizzy; I don't need you passing out on me."

An impatient groan muffled by a blanket makes Yoongi sit up high on his knees and angle his body to get a look at Jimin, whose face is squished cutely into the bed with flushed cheeks and a frown in his brow. 

"Ya, what is it?" Yoongi teases, using his lubed fingers to give Jimin's ass a little smack, smiling at how the man cries and quakes. 

"Wanna ride you," Jimin groans indignantly. 

Yoongi wants to rile Jimin up so badly. He considers tickling the man until he crashes to the bed laughing – and probably throwing a tantrum. He wants to threaten not to let Jimin do anything he wants, just so he can be pouty and bratty and make Yoongi put him in his place a little – gently and sweetly, of course. He has to hold his tongue to not chide the poor guy for how grumpy and impatient he is, even as Yoongi stretches him. 

But he does not. Instead, Yoongi rubs both hands over Jimin's ass, spreading and squeezing while settling back down again. "I thought you wanted to be submissive," he asks, with only a hint of mirth.

"I do," Jimin responds, pout still evident in his tone. "I want to do both. I can't make up my mind."

"You can do both," Yoongi insists with a smirk, reaching for the lube bottle to slick his fingers back up. "I would love it if you rode me, baby. But if you can't take three knuckles, you sure as hell can't take my cock. So why don't you be a good boy and breathe nice and slow while I stretch you open, yeah?"

The breathy way in which Jimin mutters, "Yeah," tells Yoongi his message has been received loud and clear. The prospect alone of Jimin riding him has him very eager to get the other nice and ready. 

Yoongi slathers his three fingers in lube and begins to press them in. Jimin still huffs his exhales, but he is breathing less like a man who might be dying, for which Yoongi is grateful. It takes plenty of twisting and coaxing to slowly get the muscles to open for him, but Yoongi is patient, kissing and sucking on Jimin's skin while watching his fingers get swallowed. 

When Yoongi finally does finger Jimin past the knuckle – accompanied by a pitchy squeal and Jimin begging, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop," – he stops, letting Jimin adjust to the stretch. 

"That's it," Yoongi praises, rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and thigh while his fingers stay nestled deep inside him. "I knew you could take me. Just had to be a little patient."

"I've fantasized about how your knobby knuckles would feel but fuck, they are so big," Jimin whines, making Yoongi laugh. 

He squeezes Jimin's ass in his palm, then slowly begins to pull his fingers out, watching as Jimin opens wide to accommodate him once more. "You've fantasized about my fingers, huh?"

"H-hyung," Jimin groans, sounding embarrassed.

"Say my name, pretty," Yoongi sweetly commands as he twists his fingers out and begins to plunge them back in, meeting far less resistance. 

"Y-Yoongi," Jimin sobs, trembling as Yoongi twists – pulling out and pushing back in. 

The sight of his fingers getting swallowed whole has Yoongi's jaw hanging slack, drool pooling beneath his tongue. Jimin is an absolute vision, and the more his light-dusky pucker becomes flushed and reddened with pleasure, the hungrier Yoongi is to give and give and give. Anything to paint him prettily with bliss. Anything to hear the sweet, broken sounds he makes. 

"What is it, baby," Yoongi asks, twist-pulling and plunging deep. 

Jimin hiccups and Yoongi rotates his torso to lean just enough to see Jimin's fist grasping at the comforter. "N-need you."

"I'm here," Yoongi coos while rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and lower back, fingertips mapping and memorizing. "You're almost ready for me."

Yoongi pulls out, then uses the index fingers of both hands hooked into Jimin's rim to open him nice and wide. Jimin sobs as Yoongi stretches him, slowly plunging his fingers in and out in a push and pull, watching as the welcoming rings of muscle tense and relax. 

"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Jimin groans, as he sinks a little further forward, pushing his ass ever so slightly higher. 

"Admiring you, baby," Yoongi says, sitting high on his knees to dribble a dollop of spit into Jimin's hole to squelch between his two fingers. "You have no idea how fucking perfect you are."  

Jimin hiccups as he moans, and Yoongi slowly pulls out, one finger and then the other, watching as his pucker tightens and tightens.

"Alright, baby," Yoongi says as he sits back on his knees and open-palm kneads at Jimin's fleshy thighs, feeling supple skin, rough lace, and soft mesh against his palms. "Wanna be a good boy and show hyung how you ride cock?"

A pitchy, garbled, "Uh-huh," leaves Jimin's mouth in a rush as he pushes himself on shaking limbs until he is seated on his knees. Yoongi slides off the bed and walks toward the head, moving pillows and the comforter out of the way, revealing a pretty green floral sheet. He pushes his dark briefs down to the floor, stepping out of each side as he places his knees onto the bed, knee-walks the center, and then sits, spreading his thighs while Jimin grabs the bottle of lube and hobbles close. 

Without preamble, Jimin cages Yoongi's hips between his arms and licks a slow stripe up the underside of his aching, neglected cock, sending a thrill of pleasure shooting through him that has a moan storming from his lungs. Yoongi's head thumps against the headboard as he sinks against the cool, wooden surface, and he lifts his hands to gently take Jimin by the hair and chin. 

"Hyung tastes so good," Jimin coos sweetly, glancing up through his eyelashes while poking out his pretty pink tongue to lap at the dribble of precum at his tip. 

Yoongi was not planning on getting his dick sucked – he was dead set on Jimin's pleasure first and foremost, eager to give absolutely anything to him that he wants. But if what Jimin wants is to put those pretty lips to use, Yoongi would not dare say no. 

"Is that so?" Yoongi urges, eager to press Jimin to say more – hopeful that he will turn shy and sweet like before.

Jimin nods, blinking with a lust-drunk haze in his eyes before looking down into Yoongi's trimmed dark pubes as he says, "Salty-sweet…so yummy…"

"It's all yours, baby," Yoongi says as he drags his trimmed, blunt fingernails along the sharp lines of Jimin's jaw. "Anything you want, it's yours."

Jimin lets his tongue hang long, blinking upward while drool pools and dribbles onto Yoongi's tip, dripping down to disappear from view. "Want to make a mess," he slurs, barely pulling his tongue back enough to speak clearly. 

"Yeah?" Yoongi urges, "you wanna make a mess of me, baby?"

Jimin nods, curving his lips upward, saliva pooling and dripping. Yoongi fights the urge to beg him to do more – wants Jimin to go at his own pace and enjoy himself, even if it means Yoongi vibrates with nerves and anticipation, bordering on impatience and flat-out desperation. 

Luckily, Jimin does not make him wait long. With a deep, eager groan, Jimin sucks Yoongi's tip into his mouth without using his hands, then curves his back and neck, doing his best to swallow him down. Pleasure quakes through Yoongi, and he sinks further into the bed, dragging his head back against the headboard while he moans deep and appreciative. 

He tips his head to the side to watch Jimin's spit-slick petal lips drag along his length. Jimin hums and moans, which vibrates just enough to make Yoongi shiver, sucking his cheeks and swishing his tongue in a hypnotic dance. 

Slowly, Yoongi climbs to the precipice of bliss, further each time Jimin takes him a little deeper and swallows a little harder. Then Jimin changes position, sitting higher on his knees, and he takes Yoongi into his throat and swallows hard, sending a heavy wave of euphoria crashing inside him. Yoongi's fingers, which had been loosely holding onto Jimin's hair and face, grip onto Jimin's hair, and he tugs gently without pulling too hard. 

"Shit, baby, that's it," Yoongi whines, voice coming out pitchy and breathy. "Won't last if you keep swallowing me like that."

Jimin hums and swallows harder, holding Yoongi in his throat long enough to make Yoongi begin to spiral; long enough for Jimin to come up for air with a heavy gasp. Spit hangs from Jimin's lips and tongue in thick strings, and when he blinks, mascara leaves little black streaks on his face. 

"Pretty, messy baby," Yoongi praises with a smile that feels crooked and heavy. He knows he must look absolutely fucked out, and the way Jimin's eyes shimmer has affection blooming deep behind his ribs. 

Jimin grins, then sinks back down, sucking and swallowing eagerly while setting a quick pace bobbing his head. The faint pass of Jimin's teeth along Yoongi's length sends a tickle up his spine that has his back arching, and with each upward stroke of his lips, spit collects and trickles, coating his balls and dribbling over his asshole. 

Yoongi is close, and he grips Jimin's hair a little tighter, guiding his head a little deeper. He whimpers broken pleas for Jimin to keep going that hardly sound like words – whisps of sounds flitting into the air as he struggles to keep his bearings. Jimin's mouth is better than Yoongi could have possibly anticipated, and he submits fully to letting Jimin send him straight into the clouds. He wants to cum down that pretty throat so badly. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, finally finding his voice. "Gonna cum, baby. Will you swallow for me?"

Jimin seems to try to nod, muttering some kind of response that amounts to consonants and sputtered drool, and Yoongi loosens his grip on Jimin's hair, letting his hands slide and fall away to fist at the sheet, instead. It only takes three more passes of those perfect fucking lips to make Yoongi absolutely dissolve.

"Gonna c—" is all he chokes out before painting Jimin's tongue and throat. 

Jimin gags slightly but continues to suck and swallow, humming and moaning between Yoongi's sharp, raspy sounds of pleasure. His orgasm flows through him hot and quick, erupting and intoxicating. Only once he is trembling from overstimulation does Jimin release his cock, licking once more from base to tip with his mouth hanging agape. 

Streaks of viscous white streak Jimin's tongue, and Yoongi takes him by the jaw and gently lifts, urging Jimin to sit up and crash into him. Yoongi licks into Jimin's mouth, tasting his own heady release, and Jimin melts forward, laying his torso heavily against Yoongi while very slowly crawling up into a seated position on his lap. 

"Was that what you were imagining, hyung?" Jimin asks against his mouth, making Yoongi chuckle.

"Better," he rasps. "I could never have imagined anything feeling that good, Jiminah."

Jimin blushes as he asks, "Did you like how my lips looked?" and Yoongi raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. "Wrapped around you," Jimin continues, nibbling on his plush, kiss-swollen bottom lip. 

"You know I did." Yoongi leans in to place a soft kiss against Jimin's lips, deciding instead to suck them into his mouth, one after the other, making him giggle. "You looked and felt like heaven, baby."

Jimin leans back into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his neck and gently tugging at his hair. They kiss, lick, suck, and nip in unhurried movements, tasting and teasing while Yoongi's dick recovers and begins to harden once more. Sticky-cool saliva transfers from Jimin's chin to Yoongi's, aiding in the mess that was promised, and Yoongi slowly sucks at Jimin's tongue tip, making him drool even more. 

Time grinds to a halt, suspended and of no use to them. Yoongi passes his hands over Jimin's shoulders, down the slopes of his back and hips and ass – anywhere he can reach. Occasionally, Jimin shivers and sighs, and Yoongi cannot help but smile, endeared and eager to know every single sensitive spot he may have. 

One of Jimin's hands leaves Yoongi's hair and travels down, tickling as his fingernails delicately scrape down his pec, across his ribs, to his hip. When Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi's growing erection, engulfing him in pleasure and warmth, Yoongi gasps, rolling his eyes back and nodding as he mutters, "Almost ready for you."

Jimin releases Yoongi and reaches for the lube before using both hands to slick him up. Yoongi is grateful that Jimin does not warm it in his hands, hissing with delight at the cold touch. Jimin giggles deviously, chewing on his lip, and Yoongi gazes down at his cock between two slender, pretty hands before returning his attention to Jimin's face. 

"Now are you ready, hyung?" Jimin asks as he sits high on his knees and positions himself over Yoongi's tip. 

Yoongi uses both hands to steady Jimin's thighs, dancing his fingertips over the stockings, then gripping gently while Jimin reaches up to the top of the headboard and leans his chest close to Yoongi's face. 

"I don't think I could ever fully be ready for someone as perfect as you fucking me, Jiminah," Yoongi confesses with a smile, tilting his head until his tongue is able to flit out and drag over a dusky, pert nipple. "You'll just have to give it to me; force me to be ready. Don't hold back."

"As you wish, hyung," Jimin responds sweetly as he begins to sink down. 

The tip of Yoongi's cock breaches Jimin's hole with a shutter and whimper from both men in tandem. Yoongi grips Jimin's hips bruisingly, expecting Jimin to stop and adjust, but Jimin keeps lowering, down, down, down until he is fully seated and choking pretty, broken sobs. 

Yoongi is overwhelmed with pleasure, squeezed with blissful tight warmth, and he quakes with each gentle squeeze of muscle around him. His breath feels heavy in his lungs, and as he lets out a groaned exhale, he releases his grip on Jimin's thighs and rests his head back in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, teetering on the brink of total mental collapse.

"Hol—" is all Yoongi manages to moan as Jimin lifts and drops, slamming his ass against Yoongi's thighs, letting out a dulcet whimper that is rivaled by Jimin's pitchier one. 

"Big," Jimin mutters as he picks up a dizzying pace of slowly lifting before forcefully dropping, spearing himself so nice and deep, Yoongi feels like he may be carving the poor guy open. 

Jimin is magnificent with his head tilted back and lips hung wide, whimpering as he rises and drops and rises and drops. Somehow exactly as Yoongi imagined, yet so much more. His cock glistens hard against his tummy, dribbling with precum and so neglected, bouncing against his abs with each drop, leaving a little splatter behind.

"I won't last," Yoongi admits, feeling the blissful, agonizing squeeze that is only intensified as Jimin's muscles flutter with pleasure. "I usually have more—ahh—s-stamina, but you feel so g-good."

"Awe, hyungie," Jimin purrs, tilting his head forward and opening his dreamy, lust-lidded eyes. "That's ok. I just hope you can keep going…ruin me like you promised."

"I can," Yoongi croaks. It will be much easier to stave off his orgasm when he is in full control; like this, he doesn't stand a chance. 

"There's always tomorrow, too," Jimin mutters half-dazed, and Yoongi smirks at the prospect of Jimin wanting him after tonight. 

Yoongi rubs his hands up Jimin's hips, along the delicate curve of his waist and the white lace garter, and further, palming over pecs. As Jimin lifts and drops, Yoongi almost feels overwhelmed by the arousal that pools and pools, warm and aching in his center, tingling to his limbs, filling him with desire. He wants to grab Jimin tight and fuck up into him, but Jimin feels and looks so amazing he lets him take his time. 

With a grin that morphs into a bite of his lower lip, Jimin lifts his hips and swivels them, whorling around Yoongi's tip and tugging up, making him gasp and groan. Yoongi rubs his hands down to Jimin's waist and gently holds, helping keep him steady while the dancer twists and swishes, creating dizzying patterns to the song Yoongi barely hears over the pounding of his heart. 

"God, your body…" Yoongi mutters, eyes heavy as he watches muscle tense and soften. 

"You like how I feel, hyung?" Jimin mutters as he swirls up. 

Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin begins to bounce his ass up and down to the beat of the background song, just fucking himself on Yoongi's tip – teasing in a most delightful way. 

"How you feel…" Yoongi mutters, head rolling back against the headboard, looking down his nose at the beauty above him. "How you look, how you sound…you're fucking perfect, baby."

Jimin smiles and runs his hands over Yoongi's neck, then uses one hand to leverage himself on Yoongi's shoulder while the other takes a handful of hair and grips tight. 

"You're just saying that because I'm fucking you," Jimin teases through gasps and whimpers, gaze turning sharp while he begins to drop his hips back down and spear himself deep.

Even with a cock buried inside him, Jimin is a brat. Yoongi finds it way too endearing, though he is eager to flip the pretty dancer over and fuck him so good he can no longer talk back. He rolls his eyes, moaning as Jimin rides him a little steadier, trying to ignore how rapidly his pleasure builds.

"True," Yoongi mutters, playing along. If Jimin wants to be petulant, two can play this game.

"Ah—" Jimin moans, "I knew it. Just using me for my perfect ass."

Yoongi's hands slide over the soft, inviting curves of Jimin's hips and ass, and he takes two splayed handfuls and gives him a squeeze, moaning, "Exactly."

With his palms gripping tight, Yoongi assists Jimin in his movements, lifting and dropping him in a nice steady rhythm. Rather than attempt to stave his high, he chases it now, eager to change positions and give Jimin more. 

Jimin whimpers and sobs, breath coming out punchy and ragged while his tip leaks precum. 

"Are you close, baby?" Yoongi asks, receiving only a whimpered, "Uh-huh," in response. 

"What did I say about using your words?" Yoongi insists through grit teeth, finding it harder to steady his breathing and speak clearly. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin moans, sending a chill down Yoongi's spine at the sound of his name. "I'm so close."

Yoongi pulls one hand away, lifts it to his mouth, and spits into his palm. He stares up at Jimin as he wraps his hand around Jimin's cock head and squeezes just enough to elicit a moan and shiver from him, then he begins to stroke nice and slow, collecting dribbled precum on his palm.

"Hyung," Jimin whimpers, body tensing and relaxing over and over. 

"Say my name, baby," Yoongi instructs with a smirk, watching Jimin's lips tremble and form unvoiced syllables. 

Jimin leans forward and takes two handfuls of Yoongi's hair as he lifts and slams his ass with purpose. Each breath Yoongi pants hits Jimin's chest, creating a pocket of sticky warmth between them. 

"Yoongi," Jimin whines as his grip tightens, tugging on Yoongi's scalp and making him hiss. 

"Yes, baby?"

Jimin's voice cracks, barely croaking out the words, "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, Jiminah," Yoongi moans, feeling his own high reach its peak. "Cum all over this cock, baby, let me feel you."

Jimin's muscles squeeze and release– frenzied and dizzying as his rhythm falters. Rather than lift, he grinds, burying Yoongi so deep, the air feels trapped in Yoongi's chest. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi wheezes through grit teeth, stroking Jimin at an angle that has him gently punching his fist against both their tummies. "Use my cock to get yourself off. Fuck, you feel so good."

Jimin's back arches and his body quakes as he cums. Yoongi squeezes at his tip, urging more and more release to coat his fist sticky-white, digging his heels into the mattress as he fucks his hips upward, just enough to get Jimin bouncing and moaning. Jimin squeezes him so tight, pushing him right over the edge. 

"Gonna cum, baby," Yoongi groans as every nerve prickles tingly and hot, ready to burst. 

"Fill me, Yoongi," Jimin sobs as he bounces in quick, shallow movements. "Make me messy."

The squeeze of Jimin's muscles, and fucked out, eager sound of his voice has Yoongi's orgasm hitting hard. He releases Jimin's cock, gripping onto his thighs with both hands as his body trembles roughly with pleasure. Yoongi barely makes a sound, rasping around heaving breaths as his eyes squeeze momentarily tight, attempting to relax as his orgasm pulses through him in tremendous bursts, making him see stars. 

"That's it, hyung," Jimin whimpers, leaning all the way forward, draping himself over Yoongi's shoulders. "Feels so good."

Yoongi sits back, catching his breath as his cock softens, running his clean palm up Jimin's back while the cum-covered hand falls to the side. Jimin's muscles continue to flutter, and he nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, leaving lazy, wet kisses against the skin and filling Yoongi with butterflies. 

The music continues to play, changing from one sexy beat to another. A female artist sings, but Yoongi is unable to make out what she is saying. His pulse thumps in his ears and throat, forcing each breath out in a lively beat of his own. 

"It feels nice to just…sit here and hold you," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's skin. 

"I would hug you back but one of my hands is covered in your cum."

Jimin hums in understanding, adding, "You got it on my thigh," with a familiar bratty tone. 

"You wanted to be messy," Yoongi grumbles with a smile, feeling absolutely smitten. 

Jimin groans, "I did," as he slowly begins to sit up, taking the warmth of his body away. 

Yoongi shivers as the sweat that covers him turns cold. He tips his head back and looks up as Jimin settles on his lap, cock-warming him while sitting tall, smiling sweetly. 

"I guess since you got what you wanted, you don't need me anymore," Jimin teases with a smirk and a lift of one eyebrow as he reaches out and undoes what is left of the bun in Yoongi's hair, tossing his trusty hair tie aside. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lolls his head back, trying not to smile as he mutters, "Really, Jiminah?"

With wide, playful eyes, Jimin nods, sliding his ass up, up, up until Yoongi's soft, cum-covered cock falls away, making him shudder. 

"You had a taste of my perfect ass, so—"

"Oh, I had a taste, alright," Yoongi interrupts with a grin, sitting up and causing Jimin to move slightly backward. "You think I'm gonna just leave now? Never to see you again?"

Jimin's playful demeanor begins to crumble as Yoongi lifts his soiled hand and begins to lick at what is left of Jimin's heady, salty-sweet release. 

"Uh, I—" Jimin says, lips forming around syllables he never voices. 

"What about promising me tomorrow? Hmm?" Yoongi asks before dragging his tongue over his knuckles, cleaning the remnants of Jimin's cum.

Now that his hand is far less messy, Yoongi grips onto Jimin's waist nice and tight and lift-pushes the dancer onto his back. Jimin yelps as he hits the pretty green sheet, pink hair sweat-stuck together in little spikes, fanning messily around his beautiful face. 

"I'm not finished with you yet," Yoongi says as he gets onto his knees and towers over Jimin. "Weren't you just whining about me ruining you moments ago?"

Jimin giggles softly, reaching his arms to wrap around Yoongi's neck. Yoongi gently takes Jimin by the wrists and pushes his arms to the mattress, pressing his weight down, watching with delight as Jimin gasps and shivers beneath him. 

"You really think I could only do this once?" Yoongi teases as he leans forward, crowding Jimin's space. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I'll be craving you, Jiminah."

"I-is that so?" Jimin breathes, head tilting as if offering the expanse of his neck to Yoongi – an invitation Yoongi takes as he drags his lips over salt-slick skin. 

"That is so."

"Are you sure you can keep going?" Jimin asks sweetly. "You just came twice."

"I could fuck you all night, baby," Yoongi insists, licking and nipping until Jimin gasps. "Just need a moment to get hard again. Why? Can you keep going?"

Each breath that puffs from Jimin's lips sounds heavy. "I can, but…I might get overstimulated."

"I know," Yoongi groans with a smile. "I watched you fall apart on my fingers, remember?"

"I might get…really…lost," Jimin admits.

Yoongi releases Jimin's hands and moves them to the mattress so he can press more weight down and angle himself upward just enough to look Jimin in the eyes. 

"Like, subspace?" Yoongi asks, watching Jimin's eyes widen. 

"Maybe," Jimin mutters. "I just get really…floaty. Like my soul and body are disconnected…held together by pleasure."

Yoongi nods in understanding. "Do you want to hold off, then? Wait until we're more comfortable with each other before you go there with me?"

The smile that tugs on Jimin's lips is sweet, and his eyes sparkle as he says, "I have a feeling you will take good care of me, hyung."

Affection bursts warm in Yoongi's chest. "Of course, I will. But I still understand if that's something you want to build up to."

Jimin shakes his head and nibbles on his lip. "I trust you. I'll call my safe word if I need to."

"You don't go non-verbal at all?"

Jimin pinches his brow and shakes his head. "No."

"Alright," Yoongi agrees, eager to keep going as long as Jimin feels safe. 

Jimin leans forward, groaning as his chin juts out, puckering for a kiss, making Yoongi chuckle softly. Yoongi closes the gap and presses further, allowing Jimin to lie comfortably, and he licks and sucks at Jimin's soft, sinful mouth. 

"Sorry for ruining the mood with talking," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's lips.

Yoongi hums as he licks into Jimin's warm, petal mouth, opening him wide; making space. Jimin tastes so delicately sweet yet heady, and Yoongi has no choice but to chase every nuanced flavor, eager to discover more. Jimin's hums and groans are music to Yoongi's ears, and he swallows each sound with ease. 

Rather than lifting his head, Yoongi simply stops kissing, letting his lips rest on Jimin, who smiles. Yoongi wishes he could adequately communicate just how important every little thing Jimin thinks, feels, and needs is, to him. 

"Discussing boundaries is never a mood killer," Yoongi insists against his lips. "I never want you to hold anything back."

"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mutters, leaving pecks of soft kisses along Yoongi's mouth and chin.

"Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum, Jiminah. You deserve to be cared for."

The way Jimin squeals and wiggles beneath him makes his smile go lopsided. Yoongi lifts his head just enough to watch Jimin's cheeks flush, taking in the beauty of his shimmery and black makeup smudged around his eyes. 

"Shut up," Jimin groans.

"Shut me up," Yoongi challenges with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Jimin tilts his chin up once more, chasing a kiss. As Yoongi leans down, giving into his desire, one warm hand wraps around his half-hard cock, making him shiver and groan; this certainly is one way to get him to stop talking. 

"Want you again, Yoongi," Jimin pleads into Yoongi's open mouth, tugging on his cock. "Need you."

"You have me, baby," Yoongi practically moans, licking against Jimin's lips as his arousal simmers and warms him. "Turn over, on your stomach."

Jimin nods as he deepens the kiss, licking eagerly into Yoongi's mouth, sighing as Yoongi pushes and pulls with his tongue. When Jimin breaks the kiss, fingertips dig into Yoongi's neck and shoulder, and both men are panting, thickening the air between them with moist warmth. 

Jimin begins to wiggle around onto his side, then his stomach, and Yoongi stays where he is, caging him in with his arms and lifting his knees one after the other to accommodate Jimin's legs. Once Jimin is settled, Yoongi leans forward and presses his lips to the back of Jimin's neck, nipping and swirling his tongue as Jimin moans, back bowing delicately – trembling.

Yoongi kisses down the curve of Jimin's spine, crawling backward onto his knees. He sucks marks at the top of Jimin's ass, nipping and licking over dewy-smooth skin and lifting his hands to cup and squeeze. As he sits up, he kneads gently into Jimin's perfect, pillowy flesh, spreading him wide. Jimin's puffy rim glistens with leaked cum, and Yoongi wets his lips as he runs two fingertips over the mess before pressing deep inside. 

Jimin moans loudly, broken and debauched, as Yoongi fingers his tight asshole, feeling his own cum squelch, icky and enticing. He looks around for the bottle of lube and leans back, allowing his fingers to be slowly released as he reaches for it with his free hand. 

"You sure you can keep going?" Yoongi asks as he flicks the lube bottle open with his thumb, caressing the soft swell of Jimin's ass and thigh. 

"I'm not fragile, hyung," Jimin whimpers with his hands beside his head, clutching onto the comforter that has been bunched up and pushed out of the way. 

"Never said you were," Yoongi smiles fondly, squirting lube into his palm and working it over his cock, hissing from the sensation on his tender skin. "Just don't want to push you too far."

Jimin groans a pitchy sound that Yoongi assumes is impatience. "We already discussed this. My safe word is strawberry, hyung. Please fuck me."

Yoongi rubs his lubed hand sloppily over Jimin's hole, nibbling his lip as Jimin bucks and trembles against him. "Say that last part again."

There is a second of hesitation, followed by a soft sigh that makes Yoongi grin. He opens his mouth to ask again nicely, but Jimin beats him to it, muttering, "Please fuck me, Yoongi."

Jimin spreads his thighs flat against the bed and extends his legs straight, laying in a perfect split, and Yoongi gasps at the sight of him. He leans forward to accommodate the new height, gripping onto his length with one hand and Jimin's hip with the other. With a devious giggle, Jimin begins to bounce his ass, clapping his cheeks softly in a show that has Yoongi absolutely reeling. 

Without a moment more to spare, Yoongi leans forward on his knees and lines himself up with Jimin's rim, using his non-sticky hand to guide one of Jimin's hips. "You're a fucking menace," he groans as he presses in, in, in, spearing Jimin open as they whine and moan in tandem, feeling pleasure burst through his limbs like rays of warm, alluring light. 

"Squeezing me, baby," Yoongi rasps as he slowly slides out, giving Jimin no time to adjust. He places both hands on Jimin's hips and begins to rock his body, fucking into Jimin without moving his own hips. The delicate, elongated stretch of Jimin's mesh clad legs, right down to the tips of his pretty little toes has Yoongi torn between wanting to cherish him like something delicate or completely wreck him. 

"Such a slutty little dancer and you're all mine," Yoongi teases as he continues to rock Jimin's hips against him, watching his puffy rim swallow him whole. "What would your admirers think if they knew you wore a plug on stage while you were doing the splits to tease me?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, burying his face down into the comforter. 

Yoongi slides his hands to the bed and leans forward, slowly thrusting his hips up and down while walking his hands up to Jimin's armpits, hovering nice and close. The scent of strawberry mixed with a faint, sweaty musk is sticky-sweet enticing, and Yoongi lets his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath in. 

"You even performed for all of our friends wearing a toy," Yoongi rasps beside Jimin's ear. "What would they think of you?"

"Stop," Jimin whines, dragging the word long and whiny. 

Yoongi nuzzles his face against Jimin's nape, nipping at short pink hairs. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, baby," he mutters sweetly, smiling at the sound of Jimin cooing happily. 

"Mmm, I like it," Jimin admits with a groan, making Yoongi nuzzle harder, grinning at the thought of Jimin feeling shy.

The smacking of skin is heard in lewd, rhythmic bursts. Yoongi fucks Jimin nice and steady, listening for the strained "Ah!" that punctuates each thrust, huffing small sounds of his own. 

Yoongi begins to sit back, careful not to let his hips lose too much rhythm. Once on his knees, Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with both hands and leans his weight into him, fucking him much faster. Jimin jiggles hypnotically, and Yoongi gives him light spanks to each cheek, unable to resist playing with him; delighted by the sound of him squealing. 

"Hyung, I want to cum again," Jimin cries, gripping the floral blanket tight. 

Yoongi wants to watch him cum – wants to touch and tease his cock while praising him and making him sob. As he slowly pulls out, Jimin trembles and groans in protest. Yoongi gives his ass a couple of light taps and mutters, "On your back." 

"Hyung" Jimin complains, elongating the word, making Yoongi smirk. 

Jimin crawls slightly forward and bends at the knees, then flops onto his side, huffing dramatically as if he cannot be bothered to move a single inch more. 

"I know, I know," Yoongi mutters, grabbing Jimin by the hips and pulling him the rest of the way onto his back. Jimin squeals and laughs, spreading his legs wide while watching with eager, mascara-smudged eyes as Yoongi continues to position him right where he wants him. 

"Sorry I can't choose between wanting to see your ass and wanting to see your face," Yoongi grumbles defensively while pumping his cock and reaching for the bottle of lube. He squirts some directly onto his shaft – cool liquid on warm skin – and he smears it in one stroke.

"Wow, and they say chivalry is dead," Jimin teases, lifting his eyebrows playfully with a grin. 

Yoongi slides his length into Jimin's tight warmth in one swift movement, and Jimin's grin falls agape as his back arches. He lets out a deep, pleased moan that Yoongi mirrors with a slow intake of air, filling his lungs. The curve of Jimin's neck, along his chest, and down to his tummy bows delicately taut, and Yoongi maps each inch with his eyes, stunned by his beauty. 

When Jimin settles slowly onto his back, Yoongi reaches forward and slots two fingers into Jimin's mouth. Jimin clamps his lips closed and gently sucks as Yoongi begins to set a steady pace with his hips. 

"Good boy," he praises, and Jimin's eyes blow wide. "So fucking good for me. So pretty and tight and perfect."

Jimin anchors himself onto his elbows, muttering something that sounds like a question, and Yoongi nods, smiling sweetly down at Jimin, watching his hard, leaking cock slap his tummy with each thrust. 

"Perfect, pretty Jiminah. And you're all mine."

More sounds are uttered around Yoongi's fingers as Jimin's eyes roll and his head bobs with the rocking of their bodies. Yoongi reaches between them and rolls his palm over the tip of Jimin's cock, eliciting his eyes to open big and round. 

Already, Jimin looks dazed, back draped slightly with his head held up only enough to suck on Yoongi's fingertips, supported against his elbows. Jimin's fingers slowly dance over the material of his green floral sheet, legs flayed lazily around Yoongi's hips. 

Yoongi slowly tugs at Jimin's length, making him whimper and sputter incoherently. Jimin rocks his hips and squeezes around Yoongi in a rhythm matching Yoongi's thrusts – must be chasing his own high. Seeing Jimin looking dazed and eager to cum again, stuffed with fingers and cock, Yoongi's mind races as he attempts to sort out how he got so fucking lucky.

"'S good," Jimin whines, dropping his head back and letting Yoongi's drool-slick fingers drag over his chin. 

Yoongi continues his pace – a deliberate roll of hips – letting his fingers slowly fall past Jimin's chin, to his chest, tracing curves and dips until finally taking hold of him around the ribs. Gradually, Jimin's arms give way, and he lies back – head first, then shoulders, sinking deeper against green flowers with his eyes hazy and wide. 

"Are you floaty, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sweetly, wetting his salty-dry lips. 

Jimin hums and crooks a lazy smile, lifting his hands slowly to rub over his pecs and tummy. Yoongi follows the movements, feeling affection swirl and swell behind his ribs. At this pace, he thinks he could fuck Jimin for an eternity if he tried; his pleasure simmers just below the surface nice and steady, with no risk of boiling over too soon. 

"Ah—Yoongi," Jimin gasps, chest heaving and falling. "I'm—"

Yoongi rolls his palm over Jimin's tip and gives him a firm enough squeeze to make him sob. 

"Gonna cum, pretty?" he asks. 

Wide-eyed and mouth droopy-round, Jimin nods. His lips form shapes unvoiced, and Yoongi continues to roll and squeeze, languidly syncopating his quicker thrusts. 

"Cum for me, baby. Get nice and messy."

Jimin's eyes flutter, and his back arches slowly, head and heels digging into the mattress. "Please, please, please," he mutters softly like a prayer, palms flaying and squeezing above his ribs. 

"Relax and let go," Yoongi urges sweetly. "Let yourself float."

As if reacting on command, Jimin's body goes rigid and taut before quaking and sinking – thunder growling from his depths and dispersing out. He spurts tiny piles of cum onto Yoongi's fingers and palm, mouth forming softly-uttered stormy sounds. Even in the throes of incomprehensible bliss, every little thing Jimin does is eloquent; a performer and a muse. 

"Harder," Jimin groans, taking Yoongi by surprise. "P-please, Yoongi, need you."

Yoongi grips Jimin's hips with both hands, smearing cum on his sweat-slick, goosebumped skin. He picks up a pace that has Jimin's legs lifting and stretching, and Yoongi slings both calves against his shoulders before leaning in and taking hold of his hips once more. 

Jimin wails, eyes squeezed as if pained, licking and biting at his reddened lower lip. His arms lift and fall around his head, and he grips onto the bunched-up pink and orange comforter.

"This how you want it?" Yoongi asks, feeling his high build and build, impossible to hold at bay.

"Mmm, 's good," Jimin slurs, opening his eyes wide and smiling before his face falls back into a state of lazy bliss. 

Yoongi would love for Jimin to cum once more but has no idea whether he can. His cock is limp and resting against his patch of cutely trimmed pubic hair, jostling with each slam of Yoongi's hips against his thighs. 

"Not gonna last at this pace," Yoongi warns through grit teeth, his high climbing fast toward its breaking point. 

"Fill me," Jimin mutters dazedly. "Make me messy."

"Say my name," Yoongi rasps as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping harshly to Jimin's soft hips. 

"Yoo—" Jimin sighs, bowing his back. "Yoongi. Please, Yoongi."

Pleasure courses through Yoongi, flowing like lava in his bloodstream. He keeps his pace steady, holding back from slamming too fast or too deep. Cum and lube squelch around his cock, and the thought of watching it drip from Jimin's used, puffy hole is just the push he needs to reach orgasm. 

"Fuck, Jiminah," Yoongi groans, dragging blunt fingernails in streaks along Jimin's sides. "I'm—ahh, fuck!"

Yoongi's body tenses and releases in waves of pleasure – white-hot and overwhelming. He quakes as he spurts his cum into Jimin's begging, fluttering hole, babbling nonsense, attempting to praise, failing around each syllable. Jimin sobs and squeezes, trying but failing to reach for Yoongi. 

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans forward, hands slipping and crashing into the mattress, dripping sweat from his forehead to Jimin's chest. Now that he is within reach, Jimin reaches and clings, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders and yanking down until Yoongi gives in and falls forward. Pleasure continues to tremble through him – chest heaving and jumpy as he does his best to settle and relax. 

"Holy shit," he mutters into Jimin's clavicle, covering his face in sweat. "That was—"

"Amazing," Jimin coos. 

Yoongi smiles and nods, kissing anywhere his lips reach in slow movements. "Amazing."

Where they lay in the center of the bed, Yoongi is unable to stretch his legs far before hitting the headboard, so they stay in a ball while he catches his breath and litters Jimin's shoulder, neck, and chin with affection. It takes time, but Jimin begins to come back to earth, clinging a little more purposefully. 

"You made me messy," he mutters with more clarity than Yoongi has heard for a while. 

"Lemme see," Yoongi says as he sits up, groaning from his soft cock sliding from where it was nestled nice and warm. 

Jimin groans shyly, covering his face with his hands as Yoongi sits up and lifts his spread legs. He puts up a tiny amount of resistance, but Yoongi holds firmly, nibbling his lip, trusting Jimin to use his safe word if he really does not want to be teased. 

Dropping a leg to the side, Yoongi uses his thumb to press pearly liquid back into Jimin's puckered hole, grinning like an idiot when Jimin whimpers, legs shaking. 

"Messy baby," Yoongi teases, earning his arm a light smack from Jimin's foot. 

Yoongi pulls his fingers away and watches as Jimin tenses, causing the cum to dribble back out. He rubs his hands over Jimin's shins and calves, watching as Jimin heavy-blinks at the ceiling. 

"Shower?"

Jimin's gaze finds Yoongi's, and he smiles, then nods. "Carry me?" he asks with a cute bat of his lashes that makes Yoongi's heart go haywire.

And although Yoongi makes a show of rolling his eyes and being indignant, he gets up and stretches, then turns his back to Jimin and taps his shoulder. 

"Get on."

"Ooh, piggyback?" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi turns his head in time to see Jimin sit high on his knees and fling himself over Yoongi's shoulders. 

Yoongi links his arms around sweaty thighs and has to bend and hop a few times to get Jimin in place – a mildly humiliating task while nude – then he is off, kicking discarded clothing items along the way. 

"We should take a bath," Jimin mutters into Yoongi's shoulder. 

Yoongi hums and nods, turning left into the hallway and again into the bathroom. "Anything you want."

Although Yoongi would love to dote on Jimin hand and foot, he is grateful when Jimin slides off his back and begins the bath, finding sweetly-scented bubble products to squeeze into the stream and controlling the temperature. Jimin slides out of the lace garter and mesh stockings, and sinks into the tub when the water is barely a few inches high. Yoongi presses a kiss on his forehead before leaving to fetch a glass of cool water from the kitchen, lingering just a moment to take in the sunflower pan holders and mismatched cooking utensils. 

Yoongi returns with the glass to his lips, taking slow, steady sips and smiling over the rim. 

"Sit up and drink this," he instructs a sleepy Jimin, whose cheeks are pinkened from the warm water. 

Once the bath is full, Yoongi slots himself behind Jimin, fitting perfectly with his legs outstretched. He rubs Jimin's shoulders and litters him with kisses. And when the water cools, he insists they shower off, helping Jimin finger the cum from his ass while licking deep into his mouth. 

"I could get used to this," Jimin groans as Yoongi wraps a towel tightly around his hips and uses another to squeeze the remaining water from his hair. 

"Good," Yoongi responds against his lips, finding it impossible to spend too many minutes without touching and kissing. "Want you to get used to this."

"Stay the night," Jimin whines, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's middle and walking him backward out of the bathroom. 

Yoongi smiles and nips at petal lips. "That was the plan."

"Stay tomorrow night, too," Jimin groans as they hobble out into the hallway, bumping Yoongi's elbow against the doorframe enough to make him hiss. 

"Won't you get tired of me?" Yoongi barely utters slightly pained against Jimin's soft, greedy mouth.

Jimin releases their hug and pulls Yoongi by the hand back to bed. He has a pep in his step as he gathers his phone – shutting off the music, finally – and finds the lube bottle tangled in the blanket. 

"Doubtful," Jimin finally says as he crawls into bed and plops down, yanking Yoongi's hand until he sits and lays beside him. 

"Alright," Yoongi grins, wrapping himself around Jimin and pulling him close, chest to chest, on their sides. His hair is still damp, but he is unconcerned when Jimin beckons so adamantly. With a gentle teasing tone, he says, "I'll cancel all my foreseeable plans and live only to serve you."

Jimin smiles and hums, saying, "Good," into Yoongi's mouth. 

In a tangle of tongues and limbs, Yoongi sighs and sinks, unable to hold back the affection that overflows from him. He thinks he could also get used to this. 

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