PAIRING ot7 x reader
RATING Explicit. 18+.
GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.
SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?
WC 6k
WARNINGS AND TAGS reference to reader with she/her pronouns. kissing. food play. discussions of sexual boundaries/expectations. discussions of kink culture.
← || series m.list || →
AN: this chapter has been so long in the making and i couldn't have done it without the possums sprinting with me or without the support of @calixwrites @xjoonchildx @thatlongspringnight and @illneverrecover who helped me pull together the mess that is this chapter. thank you so much to them. if you enjoy this chapter, i'd love to hear from you!
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PERSEPHONE'S TABLE
“I’m in.”
Seven pairs of eyes widen as you stand in the door, your red dress flowing around you, hair a little ruffled from the wind, face stinging from the cold. You look like a spirit of winter, flown in from the storm.
“Are you okay—” Hoseok begins to say, but Jungkook quickly stands up to speak.
“Fuck yeah,” Jungkook interrupts, clapping his hands together. “I mean, I thought we were going to eat first,” he adds with a sigh, looking longingly at the food at the table. “But me too. I’m in.”
“There’s no doubt I’m in,” Jimin adds. “I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to get my hands on seven lovely people.”
A giggle escapes Yoongi, a sound so foreign that you have to double check it's him. “This is a lot easier than expected—” Easy is not the word you would use to describe the last 36 hours. “But I think it’s pretty obvious where I stand considering I suggested it. Namjoon?”
Namjoon looks a little flustered that he’s been called on, but nonetheless, nods. “I think… I thought it through—” His eyes flick up to yours. “And think this might be a good idea. After all…” When he begins to trail off, you nod encouragingly, goading him on. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. And more than that, being cramped up here with you lot—” someone snorts at the word cramped. “—has brought back things I thought were in the past.” Before you can linger on what that might mean, Namjoon is already spiraling off in another direction, “And I’ve read! I’ve read so many things about the multiplicity of romance and, ahem, sex, and how the capitalisticstructureofoursociety really reliesuponthetwofamilyunit to produce workers and continue the cycle of poverty, and polyamory—” his eyes widen at the word. Is what’s happening between all of you polyamory? That sounds so… official. “Or just sex, sex with multiple partners can be an active way of pushing against the patriarchy and impending capitalistic doomsday.” And then more quietly, as if he’s only just realized that he is in a room with seven people but needs to get the final word in: “Plus, the stigma against multipartner sex is historical, not biological.”
“Reading is nice,” Jimin says. “But you can’t have a book tell you what you ought to do in this situation.
Namjoon nods. “Yeah, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well. I do, um, want this.” And then a second time, but bolder: “I do. Really. It’s… important to me.”
Yoongi and Jimin nod eagerly. Taehyung seems contemplative as he reads Namjoon’s features carefully. Jin keeps glancing at the food. Jungkook, who looks a little nervous at first, whispers something to his neighbor, Jimin, a big dopey grin spreading across his face. Hoseok, however, holds a blank expression.
Taehyung looks to Jin. “Well, we’re both in, based on our discussion last night.”
Jin rolls his eyes. “Uh, yes, of course we’re in. But I just thought we would eat first before all of this.”
That’s seven yes’s. And one unanswered. Seven pairs of eyes turn their attention to the one man who has been silent since you entered the room: Hoseok.
The man stands there, hands in his pockets. Out of all of you, Hoseok has always been the one to laugh first, crack a joke first, get on the dance floor first. And yet in this moment, he’s the only one who holds back. The look on his face is one that you know well, if not frequently: that expression he gets when he’s entirely focused. To an outsider, it might look like anger. But to one who knows, they understand that his features are drawn close in perfect concentration, his eyes locking on the center of his attention, his mouth pursing into a set line. It was one of the many things that you loved about him, these moments of intense focus that sat so opposite to his usually playful mannerisms.
Shouldn’t it be you in his place, hesitating, worrying that this step is going to fuck everything and everyone over? Instead, it feels like the cold wind from outside has cleared out your insides and left you with nothing but want.
When Hoseok still hasn’t answered, Jimin pulls him aside to whisper something in his ear, his hand stroking over Hoseok’s back in a sign of comfort. You try to make out what he is saying with no luck.
“I can’t—” Hoseok says, looking directly at you, heartbreak written across his face. And he turns on his heel and steps out of the room.
You watch the house of cards you’d carefully built up in your mind tumble to the ground, unaware that failure was even an option. If all eight of you weren’t in, none of you were in. But you didn’t imagine it going this way. Not really. There was some part of you that thought it could just be this easy, really, this easy, that everyone would say yes and all of you would just fall into it in one swift, simple motion. That all the tension that’s been living in this house, strung between the lot of you would simply cease, like it was cut through with a hot knife.
A collective gasp shudders through the group. Your friends turn to one another, expressions of concern dancing across their features.
“What—” Jungkook begins, his brow furrowing as he watches Hoseok disappear. “Is he okay?” The others mumble in alarm.
“I’ll take care of it,” you say, though, truly you have no idea how you’ll take care of this.
You follow Hoseok out of the room, but he seems so lost in his thoughts that it’s not until you catch up to him as he’s crossing the glass bridge and reach for his shoulder that he stops.
At first he seems surprised that it’s you, but he wraps you up in a hug that shocks you. It’s not until a moment later that you wrap your arms around him too and squeeze back.
“What’s going on?” you murmur into his chest.
He’s quiet for a moment before answering, pulling back and swiping a hand through his hair.
“It’s just ridiculous. The whole thing’s ridiculous.”
Ridiculous? Just last night he had said it hadn’t been so wild of an idea.
“What? I thought you said—”
“I remember what I said and I just, I got to thinking today and I’m not going to make you do something horrific like this.”
“Horrific? What the hell do you mean?”
Horrific is the last word you would use to describe any of this.
“I’m not going to force you to become some sort of concubine to seven men,” he says.
You laugh, thinking he can’t be serious. But when you see the frown on his face, you quiet. He is serious.
“Is that what you think this is?” you ask softly.
“Of course that’s what this is—”
“No—”
“Of course that’s what this is!” He grabs your shoulders and stares into your eyes. “But the thing is, you don’t have to do it just because you think that they’re, what? Horny after all this time stuck in quarantine? Like you’re just supposed to go along with it, like some kind of sex slave or something, reduced to nothing but a set of holes to be used by seven horny men?! What are you going to do? Lay around the house all day just waiting… waiting to be….used? Like a sexual vending machine?”
“Hoseok.”
It’s clear he’s spent an absurd amount of time in his head, sinking deeper and deeper into his anxiety. And while the image he’s painted, well, it might not be the reality of the situation, it’s also not the worst idea he’s ever had. You, at the whim and will of seven beautiful men. Still, the man needs some course correction. He’s still gripping your shoulders, and you gently wrangle out of his grasp to step closer to him. You reach out and place a hand on his arm, trying to bring him back to you, to this, to reality.
“No, no.”
“No, really, they’ve pressured you into this and…” His brow furrows, as if he’s hearing his own words for the first time and speculating at their reality.
“Hoseok.” He finally stops, his lips setting into a firm line. “No one is pressuring me.”
He frowns at you, contemplating what you’ve said. Gaging whether to trust it or not.
“What’s really going on up here?” you say, tapping on his forehead. But when you begin to withdraw your hand, he grabs your wrist and presses your palm to his face.
You blink.
He’s warm beneath your touch, but you can feel a slight tremor when he speaks. But now, now, all there is are his eyes, brown and wide and searching.
“It’s happening so fast,” he says hurriedly, the words whispered into the ever narrowing space between you two. “I can’t keep up.”
“What’s happening so fast?”
“Everything. Everyone. I thought—I thought I had more time.”
“More time for what? Nothing’s ending tonight, Hoseok.” He flinches under the formal name as if he’s finally heard it, but it’s too late to correct. If anything, tonight feels like a grand beginning. For you, tonight is the opening of the door to a whole new world. But when he looks at you, you know what you’ve said isn’t true for him. Loss, heartbreak, flutters behind the warmth in his eyes. He’s losing something. Someone.
Still, he shakes himself out of his thoughts. His gaze comes back to you.
“You’re sure there’s no one, no expectations or anything, that others are putting on you—You’re sure this is something you want?”
“Of course I want you, Hoseok—”
“What?”
It’s only when it’s too late that you realize what you’ve said.
“You want me?”
“I want you…” You say slowly, like testing the words on your tongue.
“And you want the others.” He’s so quick to jump to the next thing. You just want to linger on what you’ve already said, how big it feels, hovering between you both.
“Can’t you just listen to what I’ve said?”
Sure, of course, it’s been a long time without sex. And even with the introduction of your nightly romps with Jungkook and Jimin — and your quiet moments with Namjoon — you’re still left wanting more. Your time with Jungkook and Jimin didn’t erase any of the rest of the longing that lived in your chest. If anything, it merely stoked the flame higher. A flame that yearned for Hoseok, too, with a particular kind of ache.
“Why don’t you believe me?”
Hoseok rubs the back of his neck.
“Why should I?”
He’s so thick, he’s so frustrating, you have no idea how you’re going to get through to him.
So instead, you reach up, press your hands to his cheeks, and kiss him.
It feels like a mistake the moment you’ve done it. It’s like walking across a bridge, without knowing that there’s an end in sight. You don’t know how he feels, and for all you know, he could be saying all this bullshit about you being a concubine because he just needs a way out, and it’s easier to turn it back on you than it is to look within. He’s always been this way. It’s been a long history of him keeping his emotions just beyond reach of you. Just beyond reach of himself, too. Even his thoughts, which felt less threatening to him than his own feelings, those too he kept caged up and hidden out of sight from you.
Hoseok is shocked, you can feel his shock shoot like ice through his body, like a bad memory,
All of a sudden it feels like that cab ride again, back in January, the silence sliding like a winter storm between you as you both stare out of opposite windows.
But his hands are gliding gently up your waist.
And he’s stepping closer.
It’s awkward, fumbling, like re-learning to walk.
But then the ice of his shock begins to melt as your lips meet his, sublimating into something explosive. Something that sings of fire ravaging through a frozen forest, flames licking at icicles, ice vaporizing beneath touch.
Your chest burns with desire larger than you know how to name, how to know. It burns like a winter sun, shining through the trees on a dark day. Like eyes, aching as they adjust to the light.
His hands fumble across your skin, he presses in closer.
The burn intensifies.
And so abruptly, you pull away, like you’ve been scalded. And force a soft smile to your face, despite the way you are quaking inside. And say:
“I wanted to do that. Does that say anything?”
He nods, swallowing quickly and tugs at the hem of his shirt. “Yes.”
Silence hangs between you as he searches your face, looking for an answer to a question you don’t know.
“Do you—did you… want? Want me to do that?” You stumble over the words.
He nods. “Yes. Yes, I—” He grips your hand in his and pulls you closer. “I did.” For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you again. Breath is the only thing that hangs between you. But then he says, “Are you sure this is something you want?” and nods back towards where the others are waiting.
“Yes,” you say.
He looks down and swings your hand back and forth, his gaze locked on your interlaced fingers.
“Alright,” he says.
Part of you wants to linger, wants to kiss him again and give it a real shot and make it right. Not some fumbling, half-burnt mess of a kiss. But you see the thoughts spinning in his mind and so you say: “I’ll give you a moment,” and step back. The walk back to the dining room blurs in the mess of your pounding heartbeat. The boys are waiting for you.
Most of them are ogling the food greedily, Jungkook is even licking something off of his pinky finger. The rest are kind of lounging around, the chairs scattered, and that same warm feeling from before cuts right through your chest and warms you from the inside out. Whatever that was, back in the hallway, this, here, is at least familiar.
Even as a blanket of tension hangs about, which is fair, considering Hoseok had just run out of the room, there is a groundedness to the group. They take turns glancing at the door, picking nervously at the food, and mumbling to one another. But beneath it all, familiarity. Even if Hoseok is missing.
Your fingers unconsciously drift up to your lips, tracing over the skin where his lips were just a moment ago.
Jimin’s eyes follow your movements, attempting to parse together what’s just happened. Your gaze catches his and you smile softly. He nods towards the hallway with a raised eyebrow and you shrug. I’ve done my best.
Though, you’re not sure that kissing the man who’s been swirling through your head all week was your best. Or in your best interest, let alone his.
Finally, Hoseok returns back to the group, face set and determined. For a just a second, his gaze flicks to you before he sets his face sternly and speaks:
He clears his throat. “Sorry about that.” And you know it’s an apology directly to you, though, in all honesty, you’re not exactly sure what for. “And, um, me too,” he states, his voice soft. “I’m in.”
A collective sigh echoes around the room, like a breath that’s been held has finally released.
“Well that’s settled, we can just get straight to it—” Jungkook says, slapping his thighs and standing up. He gazes around the group while everyone stares back in silence.
Oh. Oh!
Get straight into it meant nothing other than sex. It feels scandalizing in a sense, that the lot of you would just jump right in, no preamble, no introductions — though, in a way, you all have been playing around the edge of foreplay for days now.
And what would follow?
Touch. Kiss. Dampness gathering. Fingers swiped through slick, brought to greedy mouth.
What would the lean muscle in Jin’s shoulder feel like under your fingertips? Would the soft skin of Yoongi’s neck taste the same after all that time? Would Taehyung be the same kind of lover as before, quick-witted and starving for pleasure? And what about the others, the ones who you haven’t touched, haven’t seen bare, haven’t taken within you — what would they be like? Gentle? Greedy?
Who would taste you? Who would want to taste you?
Everyone in this room apparently, and the thought is confirmed by the hungry looks that are passed around the room.
Jin sighs. “Sit down, Jungkook.” JK looks at him with a confused face. “We need to have a conversation first, don’t we?”
Jungkook nods.
“We’ll eat and talk at the same time,” Jin says. “So much for a composed dinner.”
“Jin, you didn’t really believe you were going to get any kind of composure out of this lot, did you?” you chide.
You all gather around the table. Jin and Namjoon take either side of you, the two broad shouldered men squeezing you into your seat. Not that you mind.
The food is already prepped and waiting on the table, like some glorious feast. The table is heaping with food, rice piled high in what must be the house’s finest bowls, and brightly colored vegetables.
Plates are filled with the bounty that Jin and Yoongi had prepared during the day. The piles and piles of food almost seems like too much, but then again you know that nothing goes to waste with this eternally-hungry group. Your gaze roves over the feast: the table is laden with meats and noodles and variations of stir fried vegetables sat among beautiful arrays of autumn squash, both cooked and on display. And at the end of the table sat what you can only describe as an overfilled cream pie.
“Champagne?” Yoongi asks, and the room fills with enthusiastic agreement.
Yoongi stands at the head of the table, a stark reminder of where he sat just yesterday morning, sleepy and propositioning the rest of the group. It feels like it has been years since that moment.
When he twists the champagne bottle open with a dramatic pop!, it feels like a representation of tonight. The tension building, bubbling beneath the surface and ready to explode at any moment. Though as you watch him gracefully pour into several champagne flutes, laughing and chatting with his friends, you realize that even with your communal agreeal, the cork hasn’t loosened yet.
There is more to come. Abundance. Warmth. Like the food on the table. Like the men around you.
Hoseok, under Jin’s guidance, begins to carve the meat. The way he handles the knife, his knuckles tense, and you feel it in your core. As your cheeks warm at the thought, his graceful hands expertly carving, you glance back down at your empty plate, trying to shake your mind of the images that fly through.
Hoseok, his fingers dancing over your back. Hoseok, leaning over you as he slips his hands down your pants, gliding along the delicate skin before plunging—
“Can I get you something?” Hoseok’s voice breaks through your thoughts as he stares at you with a note of concern in his voice. That’s when you realize you’ve been spacing out, mouth hanging open, staring at him.
“Um, yes please.”
Your plate is passed around the table and quickly filled with the help of your friends.
“To… us.” Yoongi raises a glass and you all cheer, warmth spreading through the room as you all smile at one another, reaching across the table to toast each person individually.
“Hey, hey,” Jin says, when you clink his glass. “You know what it means if you don’t make eye contact when cheersing?”
“Hm?”
“It means seven years of bad sex.”
“Oh.”
He holds his glass up again, and you do it properly this time, a sly smile spilling over his lips as he lets his gaze linger on you.
“Though I wonder, if you’re septupling your sexual partners overnight if you might be able to make up for that bad luck in a seventh of the time.” He shrugs. “We’ll leave the math up to the fates.”
As you settle into dinner, a comfortable clatter of eating fills the room. Hums and cries of delight rise from the table as everyone exclaims at the deliciousness of the food.
“Thank you, Jin,” you say, reaching over to pat him on the leg. “And Yoongi,” you raise your glass to your friend at the head of the table.
As everyone settles into dinner, Namjoon is the first one to speak, getting straight to the point. “The first thing we should do,” Namjoon coughs, “Is address the elephant in the room.”
Jin nods. “We can’t keep secrets around each other — we should have privacy in our own lives, yes, absolutely — but this whole sneaking around thing is no good for any sense of trust in our relationship.”
Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. He knows. How could he not, when you nearly told him everything yesterday? You just thought you’d be able to tell everyone that you, Jungkook, and Jimin had been fucking on your terms, not like this. But too, there’s a kind of relief in it finally coming out.
Jungkook hangs his head but doesn’t say anything.
“Anyone?”
A long silence hangs over the group. Jimin catches your gaze from across the table.
“Jungkook? Anything you’d like to share with us?”
The young man’s head snaps up as he takes in the room around him and the weight of all of his friends’ eyes upon him. His body is tense, but he takes a deep breath, and on the exhale, his shoulders fall. “Fine. I admit it,” Jungkook grumbles at a barely audible level. “We’ve been fucking.”
The room explodes.
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fucking?”
Someone’s chair screeches backwards and a glass of wine tips over, staining the white table cloth. Hands dart out quickly to dab it up.
“I thought you were just planning a surprise party?” Someone says.
“I thought this was some kind of flashmob thing?” Hoseok says.
“Me too!” Namjoon chimes in. “That’s, that’s what we talked about.”
“Flashmob?” you snort.
“The sweat, I mean, come on!” Namjoon fades into silence as the realization dawns on him. “Oh. The sweat. The fuck?!”
“How could we not?” Jungkook continues. “Goddamn I hadn’t come in someone coming up on a year and here are two very very attractive—”
“Two?!” Namjoon exclaims.
“Two?!” Yoongi cries. “And you didn’t include me?? And who?”
“Well, we’re including you now!” Jungkook says back.
“Me,” Jimin says softly from his seat.
“Fair enough,” Yoongi says, sitting down again. Hoseok is quiet. Namjoon however, is still wildly flustered.
“And here I was thinking it was the right thing to hold back…” he grumbles.
“You were a perfect gentleman, Joon,” you reassure him. “It’s quite a flattering look on you.” He catches your gaze and flushes at the compliment, looking down at his hands.
“Still, I can’t believe I didn’t know.”
The room quiets as the knowledge and understanding settles on all of you.
You slip your hand underneath the table, letting your palm settle on his knee before gliding up to rest on his thigh. Namjoon looks shocked but composes himself and throws you a sheepish smile. After a moment, his hand drifts down and settles atop yours. Not holding it, just, just resting.
“If anyone cares to know, we were fucking,” Taehyung says, gesturing between himself and his boyfriend.
“Shut up Tae,” everyone echoes.
“But on a more serious note,” Jin cuts in. “Does that information change anything for anyone? That some of us have already been sleeping together?”
You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers to Yoongi. For a moment, you feel like it’s January again, his dark eyes shining at you from across a dark room, a secret shared between the both of you. But you tear your gaze away from him when his flickers up to you.
Everyone is looking at one another, reading for Jin’s question: does this change anything? Yoongi seems unfazed, but beneath it you know he’s curious. Jimin looks cool and collected, lounging on his chair, examining something on his palm. Namjoon looks a little nervous but reflective. Jungkook, waiting. Jin and Tae, playful as ever. And Hobi, well. He seems to be in complete and utter shock.
You wonder what kind of shock. If he’s still reeling from the information that you, Jimin, and Jungkook have been playing the beast with two, well, three backs. Perhaps he’s still processing this whole change in relationship between all of you. Or maybe he’s still in shock from the kiss. You stop yourself there. Either way, he doesn’t look too pleased, staring into his wine glass, unspoken words brewing behind his gaze.
So you give him a minute, shushing Jungkook by nudging him with your foot beneath the table when he starts to say something.
“I guess it doesn’t change anything,” Hoesok says, finally. “We all have pasts. We all have… needs.”
That’s the word. That’s what it feels like, wanting him. It feels like a need. His gaze catches yours and you smile reassuringly. You hope the layer of worry that hides beneath your smile doesn’t show through.
Lost in thought, you’re surprised when Namjoon interlaces your fingers beneath the table. He gives you a little squeeze, as if to say You alright? You squeeze back, throwing him a soft smile, a reply of Better, now.
“The next thing,” Yoongi cuts in. “Before we go any further with this—We need rules.”
“Rules?”
Namjoon’s grip on your hand tightens beneath the table.
“Expectations, understandings. Boundaries.”
“Well the most obvious one: is anyone straight?”
Silence settles in the room.
“Jungkook? I thought you were—”
“Uh no.” Jungkook says sheepishly. “Not, um, anymore.” Anymore? “Quarantine might have changed more than one thing.”
Some of your friends look surprised, while others just nod along, like they expected this the whole time. Taehyung is one of the former, taking the news sincerely and chewing over. But the conversation quickly moves on.
“No blanket consent statements,” Taehyung adds thoughtfully to the conversation.
Yoongi pouts. “Really? None?”
“Only if you’re the one giving them out,” Taehyung corrects. “I don’t know, it just seems too messy.”
“You’re right,” Yoongi says, though there’s a note of disappointment in his voice.
“Everything should be negotiated day-of, moment-of. With eight people, there’s too many moving parts.”
You all nod in agreement.
Yoongi takes a long drink of his wine and you watch as his throat moves as he gulps, and as a little bit of the red liquid dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. He swipes it away with his thumb, catches your glance and sends you a wink. You smile and look away quickly.
Jeez. How the hell are you supposed to be doing serious thinking right now when all of your friends somehow look like sex gods doing nothing more normal than eating their dinners?
“Any hard boundaries?” Jimin asks.
“Oh my god please no vore,” Jungkook blurts. Seven pairs of eyes blink back at him. “Please don’t eat me,” he adds softly.
“What kind of deep dark internet hole did you go down? ” Yoongi asks. “That’s even darker than where I go.” Hoseok leans over to Yoongi and you catch a whispered: Where do you go?
Jungkook flushes a deep shade of red before hiding his head in the crook of his arm.
“Quarantine was a long time,” he says, in place of explanation. “And reddit is a vast resource.”
The rest of you share some of your hard limits one by one. There’s the usual: no poop, no punching or kicking, nothing non-consensual. You insist on no anal fisting. There are a couple that surprise you though. When Jin states that he, under no circumstance, will engage in cock and ball torture, Jungkook pipes up and says he’s willing to try it. Hoseok shares that he has never bottomed, but when asked, he says he wouldn’t mind giving it a shot under the right kind of circumstances. Though someone reminds him that that’s a soft limit, the boys exchange glances, as if fighting over who will be the first to top their friend.
The reality is, that at the end of the conversation, there is a broad range of exploratory space between you and your friends. A space so large it nearly frightens you.
That’s when you notice across the table, a shining, waxy red fruit.
“Where on earth did you find pomegranate?” you ask Jin, bewildered.
“I knew it was your favorite.” Jin grins back at you, and Jungkook tosses the red fruit to you from across the table.
“Catch!”
You toss Jin a brilliant smile as the red fruit lands in your hands.
An imperial orb, Jimin had once described it as.
And holding it, you feel the weight of not only its flesh, but its significance. For a moment, the image of Persephone, reaching for the pomegranate flits across your memory. Reaching for the dangling fruit, it was the sweetness that had sealed her fate.
You dig your fingers into the hard skin of the vibrant fruit and—oh—it squirts out, staining the white table cloth and, you quickly realize, your neighbor.
Namjoon has already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, his chest smooth and shining in the candlelight. And now, pomegranate juice drips from his chin, rolling down his neck, about to stain that beautiful white shirt—
“Lick it up,” someone calls, probably Jimin, and before you know what you’re doing, you reach for the broad man, running your tongue first along the hard planes of his chest and trailing up, up, up to his neck. He shivers when your tongue traces his throat, the skin especially sensitive. You smile at that, and he looks down at you, brown eyes gleaming with amusement. And more.
“Me too,” Jin says, and you feel a hand on your back. With regret, you lift your lips from Namjoon’s neck and turn towards him.
Jin has smeared pomegranate across the cut of his chin, and it dribbles down his neck, already staining his collar. But you’re not one to refuse a beautiful man, and so with care—and leaving a hand on one of Namjoon’s thighs—you press your lips to Jin’s neck. The juice stains your lips, turning them a bloodied color.
You take your time kissing up the column of his throat, painting the smallest of caresses against the soft skin of his neck. Unlike Namjoon, he doesn’t tremble beneath your touch. Instead, his grip tightens around your waist, pulling you closer. You gasp when you are pressed skin to skin against his chest, your hands reaching to his collar for stability, nearly falling into his lap.
“You can use more than your lips, darling,” Jin murmurs in your ear. “I never did mind a little nibble.” And so with that, you skate your teeth along the hard edge of his jaw, drawing a sharp his from the tall man. You end it with a peck to the corner of his jaw.
When you look back at the table, everyone is staring at you, mouths hanging open.
“That was hot as fuck,” Jimin says, throwing a wink at you.
Jungkook, though, looks a little miffed. The table is dressed with both main courses, side dishes, and desserts, and as Jungkook reaches for a baklava, you realize just how delightful it is to eat sweets with the main course.
He frowns as he takes a bite, honey spilling down his lip. Jimin, next to him, leans over and swipes the golden liquid from the younger man’s pouting lip. Jungkook watches in awe as Jimin sucks the finger into his mouth, a sly grin spreading across his features.
“What else?” Yoongi asks, clearing his throat, and finally all sets of eyes are on him.
“No leaving anyone out,” Jungkook says a little too quickly, glancing at you, Namjoon and Jin. Namjoon beside you is a little stiff and breathing hard. His hand fumbles for you under the table, and finally falls on your knee. You smile up at him.
“How does that work? What does that look like?”
“Say, for example, someone wants to have sex with six out of the seven other people in this house? That just seems like a setup for drama,” Namjoon adds.
“Fair enough,” Jin echoes.
“So no more than five in a group.”
Five. Wow. Five still seems marginally larger than you know how to coordinate.
Jungkook chuckles nefariously. “That means that we could split up, hyungs, maknaes, and—” he waggles his eyebrows as a sign of what he means to fill in the blank with. Group sex, with different iterations of the group. Your stomach tightens in anticipation of the hundreds of different arrangements there might be.
Namjoon and Jin pressing you up against a shelf of books.
Jimin and Taehyung fucking you in the pool.
Yoongi, Jungkook, and Hobi having their way with you on the dinner table. You, spread out like some garnished and carefully prepared delight.
Frankly, the possibilities are endless. And you have a feeling that your day-to-day life might finally surpass the fantasies of your dreams, the ones that have come to haunt you with desire for months now.
Taehyung’s voice breaks through your reverie. “It feels a little unfair that she gets to sleep in Hobi’s bed every night,” he says quickly, his eyes flashing up towards you.
You bristle. “It’s my bed too!” you say before you can consider the implications of what he’s just said. Taehyung wants you in his bed. Again.
“You know what he means,” Jungkook corrects.
“I suppose I could see what he means by that,” Namjoon adds, just a little too casually. You raise an eyebrow at him. You hadn’t pegged him as the jealous type.
“I’ll choose where I sleep,” you say.
“Like a wandering bed ghost,” Yoongi cuts in.
You glare at him. “The other option is that I get my own room. Who’s willing to give theirs up?”
The room falls silent. One person raises their hand.
“Put your hand down, Namjoon,” you sigh. “I’ll be the wandering bed ghost of the Kim manor.”
“Do we have to do a seance to summon you?” Hoseok chirps.
You light up at his humor. It has felt like a long moment since he cracked any jokes.
“You’ll have to sing a mating call,” you joke back.
But the reality of your words finally hits you when no one laughs. Instead you find all of your friends staring back at you, a mixture of shy and blank and yearning expressions splayed across their faces.
In reality, you’ve all just agreed to add a big long mating dance to your friendship and there’s only one thing left to do: dance the dance of the beast with, well, eight backs.
🔆 if you enjoyed this, please consider telling me what you think by leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! i love chatting with you all!
🔆 want to read more stories?
I think about Sh a lot. This story is an escape - the magic in it is so complete and up until now it’s felt like being wrapped in a warm, cozy blanket but sitting with your feet dangling over the edge of the bed, knowing there probably isn’t a monster that’s going to get them, but maybe…
This chapter is feet on the floor. There might be grit on the floorboards, but they’re real and solid. No monsters.
While I was reading, I kept screenshotting my favorite bits to comment on specifically and then I realized I was just screenshotting all of it.
But just a few….
"And I've read! I've read so many things about the multiplicity of romance and, ahem, sex, and how thecapitalisticstructureofoursocietyreally reliesuponthetwofamilyunit to produce workers and continue the cycle of poverty, and polyamory.” his eyes widen at the word. Is what's happening between all of you polyamory? That sounds so…. official. "Or just sex, sex with multiple partners can be an active way of pushing against the patriarchy and impending capitalistic doomsday." And then more quietly, as if he's only just realized that he is in a room with seven people but needs to get the final word in: "Plus, the stigma against multipartner sex is historical, not biological."
I am love with this particular Namjoon.
"The sweat, I mean, come on!" Namjoon fades into silence as the realization dawns on him. "Oh. The sweat. The fuck?!"
"How could we not?" Jungkook continues.
"Goddamn I hadn't come in someone coming up on a year and here are two very very attractive-
"Two?!" Namjoon exclaims.
"Two?!" Yoongi cries. "And you didn't include me? And who?"
I mean deeply in love. And I love deputy shit-stirrer Yoongi.
And the kiss! Holy shit the kiss (ok, phone, you can stop autocorrecting that to “kids” any time now, please)! We knew that when it happened it would be special, and it left me wanting so much more for them. I can’t wait to see what kind of “more” there will be.
NSFW will be tagged as #lemon
sorta NSFW is #Lime
Weird fet shit/ extreme NSFW is #orange
reblog to spread awareness that we’re back on the citrus scale
Orange was originally like…a PG-13 warning. You would tag orange for fics that stopped at making out.
What you’re thinking of is “Grapefruit”.
The scale goes as such:
Orange (PG-13, basically making out like I said) - Lime (Non-explicit sexual actions, think an M rated fic instead of NC-17) - Lemon (explicit, graphic sex, the NC-17 fics) - Grapefruit (hardcore/weird stuff)
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (any gender)
Rating: teen
Genre: Idol!Au. Painful slice of life.
Words: 3.5k
Summary: One train, two broken hearts.
Warnings: a shitload of pining
AN: sequel to knockout, in which the reader is Taehyung. So many thanks to @reliablemitten and @thatlongspringnight for their feedback and love!
Berlin: wallflower | my love | hall pass | cactus | knockout | hedgehog | rack ‘em up
🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁
“So, where do you think this train is going?”
“I don’t. I’m waiting until I get there to find out.”
“You’re always an adventure, Tae.”
He smiles at you, but it’s the kind that doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know. I’ll be okay on my own.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I didn’t volunteer out of pity. I genuinely enjoy spending time with you.”
“Dunno why, though.”
“Are you fishing for compliments now?” you ask, hoping to at least get a genuine smile. It works.
“Always.”
“Fucking hell, man. You’re exhausting. How about a trade? Fair and even.”
He seems a little unsure, but nods in agreement. You begin: “Your shirt is pretty.”
“Hey! That’s not fair. You picked this one out.”
“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll try again. Um…you sang really well at the last show.”
“Thank you. Your voice is nice too. I overheard you singing the other day and it was lovely. Your turn.”
“Your eyes are kind.”
“Thank you. Your nose is cute.” He says it with a grin, and gives your nose a boop as punctuation.
“Hey!” You swat at him indignantly. “Cut it out! I’m not a little kid.”
“I know that. You’re the serious, all-business stylist expert and I have to do as you say.”
“That’s right, mister. And right now I say cheer up.”
“Yes, boss. Thank you, boss.”
“That’s better. What were you sad about anyway?”
“You’ll laugh at me if I tell you.”
“I promise I won’t. Pinky swear.” You hold out your hand, inviting him to loop his pinkie around yours. Instead, he takes your hand in his and gently strokes the back of it.
“You have pretty hands, you know?”
“Are we still playing the game?”
“No, that one was free.” His eyes are serious as he bends to kiss your hand, his soft lips brushing it ever so gently. “I appreciate you and thought you should know it.”
It takes your breath away. He’s always genuine, always real, but you get the sense that you don’t see the whole truth, the whole person. Somehow this feels a little closer to getting to see it.
“Taehyung. Why do I feel like you’re messing with me?”
“I promise I’m not.”
And that’s it. He doesn’t say anything else about it, just drops your hand and turns to look out the window at the rolling hills. It rained last night, and the greens outside are vibrant in a way that the city behind you with its gray buildings wasn’t. It feels like the minutes are going to slip away and you want to keep him talking.
“I think Jungkook is this close to finally making a move on that girl. You know, the one with the—” you pantomime an enormous bosom.
“I’m pretty sure he already did. Or she did. Either way.”
“You weren’t going to try, were you? I mean, she’s a sweetheart, but kind of a lot.”
“No, she’s not really my type. If anyone was going to it would be Jimin.” It’s not a lot, but more gossip than you usually get from them, and it takes you by surprise.
“I didn’t think she’d be his type either.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says, tight-lipped.
“Huh. I guess so. Anyway, I hope the two of them are happy. They’re cute.”
The world stretches outside and you’re trapped on a bench seat with this man who you wish you knew better. It’s been two years since you first met, a handful of conversations, an occasional round of drinks, and yet you feel like you’ve barely scratched the surface.
You’ve kept it friendly but professional. You’ve been busy proving yourself, showing everyone around you that you’re capable and talented and respectable. Sure, you’d found yourself in the occasional uncomfortable spot, cornered in a hotel room packed with too many people while a backup dancer got a little too close, but you were always able to laugh it off, insisting you were too focused on your career and weren’t interested in dating anyone.
All the while, you’ve been creating a rich imaginary life for the two of you. You’ve walked on the beach hand in hand. You’ve traveled to remote places. He’s taken your picture in front of the Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower, and the Grand Canyon, and each time he took your hand afterwards, leading you along with him. You went gladly. At night, in shared hotel room after shared hotel room on tour, you listen to the sound of your roommate breathing and imagine it’s him instead, close and intimate. You imagine kissing him awake in the morning, tracing his body with your hands as well as your eyes. Your heart breaks each time you imagine kissing him goodbye. Even in your dreams it never seems to last.
Over time, fantasy and reality bled together until you found yourself forgetting that the flesh and blood version of Taehyung – the one flapping oversized sleeves, or complaining about a tight waistband, or lost in thought and struggling to find the right words when you ask him a question – wasn’t the same man who featured so prominently in your fantastic adventures.
You’re reaching the point where you need to say something, either confess or say goodbye and move on and start a new chapter, putting this one behind you for good. The building urge to tell him has been slowly eating at you, infecting every facet of your life.
Now, you think. Take the leap now. This is as ready as you’re ever going to be.
“Taehyung. Can I tell you something?” Your mouth feels dry the second the words pass your lips.
“Hmm?”
“I — there’s no easy way so I’m just gonna say it. I’m a little bit in love with you. No. Not a little bit. A lot. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”
That one syllable takes all the air out, and you can’t hear anything else except the blood whooshing hard in your ears. “I’m sorry,” you say again.
“Oh, sweetie.” He wraps his arms around you. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry too,” he whispers.
You let him hold you, savoring his closeness in spite of what it means. That’s it, you think. You said it, and now the words are out there and you can’t put them back. In a way, it’s a relief to have done the thing you’ve been dreading. You wonder if you should quit your job when the tour is over, if it would be less painful to make a clean break and never see him again, at least not this close.
“Now we’re both sad. What can we do to make it better?”
“I don’t know,” you say. “Do you want me to get off at the next stop and just go back? I’ll understand if you don’t want me around.”
“But I do! I absolutely want you around!”
“Even after I said that?
“Actually, I think I have an idea.”
“I’m listening…”
“You might hate this. But what if we spend the day together and see what happens?”
“Why would I hate that?” You groan in frustration. “Fuck, I feel so awkward now. I don’t want a pity date.”
“Would you give me a pity date, though? I’m sad and don’t really want to be alone.”
He always surprises you. You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwined, and think it over. On one hand, he as much as said that you don’t have a prayer of anything coming of this. It’s one-sided, unrequited, DOA love. It hurts, well beyond the sharp sting of rejection. It hurts to have let go of a piece of yourself that you held close for so long, that precious spark of longing that you stoked – alone – all this time. On the other hand, he wants you. Needs you, even, and who are you to deny him the comfort of a familiar, friendly face when all he asks is to not be alone?
There’s no choice at all, really. Of course you’ll say yes.
It’s the beginning of the strangest date you’ve ever had: the one where consequences don’t matter and you throw caution to the wind. The one you’ll never talk about but also never forget.
“What’s something you want to do today?” he asks as the train begins to slow.
“For starters, lunch. I overslept and missed breakfast.”
“We can do that,” he agrees, and stands, swaying as the train grinds to a stop. He shoulders his backpack and you follow him off, not sure what station you’ll find yourself at.
It’s a small one, just one line, no connectors. The only people on the platform are an elderly woman in sturdy shoes and a teenaged boy with orange hair. Taehyung waves shyly to both of them, but only the old woman returns his wave.
The road away from the station is tidy, small square houses with neat gardens lining both sides. It’s only a few blocks to the little downtown area, if it can be called that, with houses interspersed with a hardware store, a post office, two coffee shops, and a cafe. A cluster of bells chime as you push open the cafe door, and you’re greeted by a man who seats you at one of three tables. He hands you each a menu. Taehyung spends a long time scrutinizing his while you watch him over the top of yours.
“Tae,” you say conspiratorially. “Let’s live a little. Let me order.”
You place your order by pointing at two random things on the menu, having no idea what either one of them is.
Snails. You ordered snails. The savory smell of garlic butter fills the small room as they are brought to your table, and Taehyung recoils in horror when he sees the plate of them presented, shells prettily arranged in their little divots.
“Oh fuuuuuuuck,” you say. “Okay. I’ll try them if you do.”
“No way.”
“Come on. Maybe it’ll cheer you up. Tasty twisty snails…” You pick up the comically tiny fork and prod gently at one of the snails, completely failing to spear it. “How are you supposed to eat these things?”
While you poke at the snail, the waiter brings over the second dish. It’s a plate of little pink lumps studded with bits of onion. They look like hedgehogs.
“Are they… raw?” he asks. “What meat is that? Is it chicken?”
“Pork? I have no idea, but I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I’m so sorry,” you say again, “but do you think we’d go to jail if we dashed?”
“Let’s find out.” He leans over to glance into the kitchen, and, apparently satisfied that the staff are nowhere to be seen, slides himself out of his seat. He jams his hands into his pockets and saunters toward the door. Looking back, he beckons you to join him as he reaches up to grab the bell and silence it. You slip out the door, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a giggle, and he follows after you. After a quick look around, you take off at a brisk walk and turn abruptly into an alley. At least you think it’s an alley. The cobblestones that line in are pitched so sharply that it might be part of an ancient sanitary system, but you push that thought aside as Taehyung follows you.
You exit on the other side of the block and, to your great relief, find a small stall in front of a market store selling grilled sausages. Taehyung muddles through the order, and the two of you are far happier, sausages in hand. They’re juicy and full of mild pieces of pepper and apple, perfect on a crisp fall day.
Taehyung seems to agree, visibly brightening as he chews on the last bite of his. “So that was lunch,” he says. “What now?”
“Should we be worried about the restaurant? I’m still not convinced they won’t call the cops on us.”
“I’m not sure this town has cops. It looks like something straight out of a storybook.”
“So there will be one cop, and he’ll be a kindly man with a gray mustache, and he’ll make sure all the kids can safely cross the street to go to school, and the bus driver will wave at him.”
“I’d like to live somewhere like that. I could be the bus driver.”
“Ok,” you say, “want to practice? You have to say ‘Good morning, Mr. Policeman! How is your wife on this beautiful sunny day?’”
“How are you so bright?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t think it’s worth it to dwell on the bad stuff. Life’s short, and all that. It’s not like I never get sad or anything.”
“You’re just good at hiding it?”
“Why does it sound like a bad thing when you put it that way? Look. I told you outright what was bothering me. I don’t know why, but I feel better now. Want to tell me what’s bothering you? I’m a good listener.”
“You are. You’re a sweetheart.”
You don’t want to push too hard, but you’re desperate to help. Gently, you place a hand over his where it rests on the low fence surrounding a tidy little cottage.
It looks like he’s chewing on his words before he finally says “Do you ever wish you were someone else?”
“Oh, sure. All the time!” You say helpfully. “But then I think about all the adventures I’ve already had and all the ones I’m going to have, and I think being me is pretty much okay.”
“What’s it like?”
It takes you by surprise. “Being me? I don’t think I know. I’ve never been anyone else so I don’t have a basis for comparison.”
“No, I mean what is it like to feel satisfied? I’m waiting for that.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m exactly satisfied,” you counter, trying not to let an edge of bitterness creep into your tone. “Satisfied implies done. Reached the summit. I’m not there yet.”
“What’s missing?” he asks, pushing away from the tidy cottage with its tidy fence and continuing down the road.
You jog a few paces to catch up. “You heard me, right? On the train? I think what’s missing is you. You’re my summit.”
“No offense, but I think that might be bullshit. How can a person be a summit?”
Your face is burning with humiliation but you press on like a fool. “I’m in love with you, you idiot. I have been since about a day after I met you.”
“Then it’s not love. You’re wrong. It’s a crush and that’s all.”
“How can you say that? You don’t know my feelings!” You’re swiftly moving from hurt to angry, still half-trotting to keep up with him. For a second you wonder if any of the locals are watching out their tidy little windows as you shriek in a language you seriously doubt any of them speak.
“Let me tell you what love is. Love is knowing someone at their worst and only wanting the best for them. Like there isn’t a world without them. Like you’ll break apart if you don’t tell them how you feel. Like there’s no such thing as time, just forever and never and always —“
You cut him short. “That sounds like a speech you’ve rehearsed. For someone else. Is there someone else?”
He wheels around to face you, eyes narrowed. “Oh no, we’re not going down that path.” He snaps his fingers. “New topic!”
You stand there with your mouth hanging open.
“What’s your favorite place to go on vacation?”
“You don’t get to do that!” you yell indignantly. “Just because someone called you on your shit — that’s right, your shit. Bullshit. Just because I called you on it and you don’t like it, doesn’t mean you can blithely weasel out of talking about it. Fuck that. Fuck you.”
You can’t just leave it; you have to keep picking and picking, tearing open something ugly in your heart. He’s so close now, inches from you, slipping away. You’ve always been good at reading people, or maybe that’s just your vivid imagination filling in the blanks with something pretty. There’s nothing pretty about him now; the set of his jaw is sheer fury but the look in his eyes is something else — something that looks a lot more like fear.
And it all comes flooding in. All the longing glances, all the whispered secrets, all the purposeful space, charged and bright. It was hiding in every strained laugh, too long and too loud at a bad joke. It was right below the surface, obvious and cruel, making itself known every time he lingered just a little too long, looking withdrawn and pensive. You don’t want to make it real by giving it a name —
The whole time you’ve been watching, oblivious, it’s been right there. You should know, after all. It’s in you too, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own personal torment and longing to even see it.
Your next words are quiet. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Taehyung’s chin wobbles just a little, an opening for you to slip through as you feel your anger slide away, dissolving and evaporating.
“Does he know?”
A nearly imperceptible nod. You’re going to have to pull it out of him, piece by jagged piece, extracting the hurt and the heartache. If you pull enough, you think, maybe you can take it from him, shoulder the burden yourself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t want it either.”
It lies there between you, this ugly, unwanted thing. Neither one of you particularly wants to pick it up, but you both reach for it, fumbling.
“So we have—” you begin.
“I never meant—”
“You first,” you breathe, urging him on, giving him an opening to tell you he never meant to let you know. To let anyone know. How he planned to keep it inside until it ate away at him, festering and rotting, spoiling the beautiful pieces.
“I never meant for it to be love.”
Now it’s your turn to whisper an “Oh.”
“It was an accident, I swear,” he continues, words tumbling out now that he’s started. “It’s incompatible — impossible. It’s just — we were such good friends and I always called it admiration but it was love. Maybe since the very beginning. And it’s too much and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t be — you didn’t ask to be burdened with this.”
It would take so little, you think, to close the distance and take him in your arms and kiss away the inevitable tears. To ease the ache with your words or your body, even temporarily.
“And last night —”
He stops short, his words hanging in the air.
“You told him?” you supply.
“He knew. I don’t know if he knew all along and was just hoping I’d never say anything, or if it was something he’d known for a while. It doesn’t matter. What were you going to say?”
“When?”
“Back then. When we both talked at the same time. You said ‘So we have’ and I talked over you.”
“Just ‘so we have something in common.’ It’s stupid.”
“Why are you making this about you?”
“I never said I was! Just — I might be the best one to understand what it’s like for you.”
“I’m going to go,” he says abruptly, and starts to walk up the street, further away from the station.
“Where are you going? The train’s the other way! Don’t you have to get back soon? Where are you taking me?” You’re helpless to stop the flood of questions, desperate to fill the space, to keep the situation under control.
“I’m not taking you anywhere. I said I was going to go, not that you needed to trail along with me and keep badgering me. Just leave it — leave me — ”
“No! I will not just leave you. You’re going to have to work harder than that to get rid of me. Let’s turn around, get on the train, go back to normal. I’ll be professional. I won’t talk about it again if you don’t want to. Won’t say anything about it.” You catch up to him and grab his arm, hoping to steer him back to something normal.
You don’t know how things went so sideways.
He shakes you off. “Please just leave,” he says.
You watch him walk away and try to figure out who to call, what you would even say. Who should be on the other end of the line when you say “the love of my life is running away because he’s in love with someone else and I feel responsible but also fuck him”?
She’s undoubtedly asleep, but you call your sister. She picks up, voice slurred and muffled, background noises overwhelming her worried “hello?”
pairing: hoseok x reader (no pronouns are used)
genre: friends to lovers, fluff, minimal angst
rating: sfw, just some improper thoughts
warnings: i think there’s some cursing and an absurd amount of simping for hobi.
word count: 4.4k
summary: you think about jung hoseok a lot. especially when it snows.
This is for @btswritingcafe secret santa event.
a/n1: thank you so much to @kkulfm. without you this story wouldn’t be what it is. thank you for asking all the right questions. And thank you so much to @calixwrites for beta-reading and making this so much better, i appreciate you a lot!
a/n2: hi @sunshinejunghoseokie ! it’s me, your secret santa, candy cane! I hope you like it! I included three of your prompts, they are bolded.
a/n3: yes, this is my second hobi-christmas fic.
masterlist // ao3
“It’s almost Christmas, and temperatures are sinking. Get yourself a warm coat and a hot drink. My grandma even tells me that it’ll snow, and my grandma is never wrong. So get yourself that one special person, because you know what they say. They say to watch snow falling with someone is a sign of love….and I couldn’t agree more. This is Kim Taehyung signing off. Till next time on the Kim-Files when Kim Namjoon will probably tell you how mint chocolate lattes are a crime against humanity. Stay warm and Merry Christmas. I’ll see you off with Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby.”
The song starts playing softly, as you watch the landscape rush by. With every passing second the train brings you closer and closer to home and you can’t help the smile that grows on your face listening to your favourite local radio show.
Snow. It might snow for Christmas. The thought alone makes you giddy with joy.
Im going to be stubborn and give you my previous answer.
27. favorite fanfic author of the year
I know it isn’t nice to play favorites, but @wwilloww. In addition to the gorgeous fic, they were one of the few constants this year and made me feel like such a welcome part of the writing process.
Jungkook. Hands down. I love writing him as a little scattered, breathless with enthusiasm. He’s easy to slip into as a character, and I never have an urge to edit his dialogue after I have it on the page because I like that it sometimes ends up a little messy.
23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t
Taehyung in Berlin. Photobooth 3. The summer counselor au from Bingo with Hoseok as a rudely hot dance instructor who might be taking his job a little too seriously.
