pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook
summary: when you finally get your crushâs number, you expect the start of an epic love storyâ not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy youâve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy⌠at least until he finds out that the person heâs been helping date another guy is you, the girl heâs been obsessed with for the last two years.
genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but itâs mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.
authors note: a lot of grammar mistakes cause iâm too lazy to edit them out>_<. a little plot twist there, next chapter the crash out of the century will arrived
chapter index | previous â next.
â chapter six: my name is jungkook
lowkey insane amount of chats. anyway the secret is out heheheh what do u think??
Summary: an anthology of Jisung not knowing what to do with his feelings for you and Minho.
Warnings: han jisung is whipped, but so are you and minho so it's okay, switch!jisung, sub!minho, dom!reader, penetration (minho!receiving), hyung kink, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, swearing
w.c.: 15.0K
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This fic appeared out of nowhere. I had other fics I wanted to work on, and yet here we areâŚinspiration struck, and too many words later, this fic spouted out from under my fingers. Very strongly just Minsung at the start (I promise reader joins eventually!!!! I just love me some exposition). Angsty with a happy ending (it gets happy eventually I swear), because I like my Minsung with a side of unrequited (but not actually unrequited) love. I haven't been able to write recently so I'm sorry if this is a bit rusty!!!! Thank you all for supporting me still despite me not writing for a while, it really means a lot <3
(p.s. this is not even a little bit proofread at all,,,we're freeballing it tonight I'm sleepy and I want to post this right now, not tomorrow so please excuse any grammar errors I promise I tried)
It starts small.
A seed, planted deep in his chest. A nagging feeling, more like an itch than anything else. It flares when Minho's around. Jisung thinks nothing of it, thinks that it's just another manifestation of the fondness he feels around his hyung. He's known Minho was special to him since day one, after all. He could feel it in his bones that, no matter how his career went, no matter whether they made the group or not, that he and Minho's fates were intertwined.
It might just be because Jisung's a hopeless romantic, the kind of guy who apologizes when he breaks a tree branch or stops to smell the air just before the rain falls because it reminds him of home. He knows what it's like to believe in some sort of thing bigger than himself, because he likes that idea that this life he was given was with purpose. That his place next to Minho had a rhyme and a reason, woven into the very fabric of the universe.
So he ignores the itch at first. Let's the dull throb ofâŚwhatever tug at his chest when Minho gets that big smile on his face, ignores the twisting feeling when his laughter breaks through the fog in Jisung's head and reminds him that he's still alive.Â
The hardest part is that it doesn't blossom overnight. There's no fireworks, no explosions, no grand sign from the universe that something is shifting.
It's a subtle feeling that grows over the years. Everything about Minho is water on the soil - his laugh, his smile, his energy, the way his fingers find Jisung's when he needs it the most - and slowly, something starts to flower in his heart. It's a single blossom, weak against the wind and the weather, and Jisung almost laughs when he realizes what's growing.
It should be obvious, because Minho's his sun. His guiding force, the person he writes songs about, the person he turns to when he needs to remember what it feels like to breathe the fresh summer air. Because that's what Minho is - a breath of fresh air, nestled between the cracks of Seoul's concrete jungle. A warm ray of sunshine on his skin when the cloud over his head makes everything dark and cold. He finds a fond smile tugging across his face when Stay makes comments about how "every Han Jisung girl has a Minho girl on her side", because he hopes it's true. Hopes dearly that everyone out there has their Minho, the person who they know they can rely on.Â
So the flower blooms bigger and bigger, until Jisung wakes one morning with warmth on his cheek and a blossom filling his chest. He presses his fingers to the skin there, feels the beat of his heart, feels the rise and fall of his chest as he calms his breathing. Feels the way the petals curl inside of him, reaching for something he knows he can't have.
What a fool I would be to let that grow, he thinks, and crushes it under his heel. The stem is frail, and the petals dye the sole of his shoe a brilliant red, but wear will fade the color in time. He holds his head high and lets the feeling fade, lets the crushed remains of the flower sink into the hole in his chest and pretends it's fine. Because it is. Sure, maybe his songs are a little sadder, maybe the bridge takes a minor key, but the songs are good, so it's worth it. The emptiness is filled only with fuel, and he fills the space with creativity, because it's all he knows how to do. He writes, he dances, he sings, and he produces until there's no space left for anything to grow anymore.
âŚthe unfortunate thing about a crushed flower, though, is that it's surprisingly resilient. Its seeds spread the second its guts are splayed across the floor, life blooming straight from the jaws of death. They grow in the cracks of a sidewalk, pressing through layers of asphalt and concrete, a reminder that life always triumphs. Jisung thinks it's poetic, the kind of thing that he would pen a love song about, if not for the fact that it's happening in his own chest. He feels like a sidewalk, split open, a crack deepening further and further inside of him and letting things slip through when they're supposed to be buried.
The breaking point is silly, really, because it's not really a breaking point at all.Â
They're filming for a CODE episode, the kind of thing where the day stretches on and on like a yawning cavern and somehow they only manage to get maybe an hour of usable content. Mostly the fault of Seungmin and Changbin today, the latter of which can't help but give in to the younger's whims, causing chaos the whole filming session. Jisung has money on the two of them being together under wraps against Felix, who is convinced that Changbin and Hyunjin are hooking up instead. Watching the two of them now solidifies Jisung's bet, because you'd have to be an oblivious idiot to miss the way that Seungmin melts when Changbin grabs him, manhandling him into his lap to "subdue the puppy" (or so he says. Jisung thinks it's to hide the half-chub he surely must be spouting after his potentially-secret boyfriend has been teasing him all day).Â
The theme for today is romance, so he's sure that at least some of the footage of the two messing around will make it into the video, but it doesn't make him any less crazy. There's pink flower blossoms draped across the room, roses in pretty vases on corner tables, and a bunch of "romance games" for them to play. The lengths the company thinks they have to go for fanservice is crazy, Jisung thinks, when Changbin and Seungmin are right there, already giving them what they want. He knows the internet thinks he and Minho are the same, but Jisung just thinks that they're being the same as they've always been.
When staff finally gets everyone wrangled together enough to actually play another game, Jisung settles in across from Minho on the floor. They're guided to sit in a circle, the cameras getting rearranged so that everyone's face is in at least one shot, and he starts making faces at Jeongin (who's next to Minho) just to get a rise out of him. Jeongin's nose scrunches cutely, faux disdain written across his face, and Jisung giggles to himself, pleased. It's the little things, the little joys he gives to his members, that gets him through long days like this.
He only half-listens to staff instructions - the advantage of being the silly one is that he can mess up the rules and it looks like it's on purpose - until they're placing a pretty glass bottle in the center of the circle, and Jisung blinks.Â
"I feel like a teenager again," Chan waxes sarcastically, eyes gleaming, "Do people even actually play spin the bottle?"
"Well, you were a teenager a really long time ago," Seungmin butts in, giving Chan a cheshire grin when he squawks indignantly, "Channie-hyung is so old, it only makes sense that his memory's going. I didn't realize dinosaurs even knew what spin the bottle is!"
"Kim Seungmin, be nice to your hyung!" Chan exclaims, and then points a finger at him, "That's it, it's decided! You go first."
Seungmin grumbles as Jeongin points and laughs, cackling at his misery.
He's not laughing for long, because Seungmin's spinning the bottle, and horror washes over his face when the top of the bottle slows to a stop on him.Â
Are they really going to kiss on camera? Jisung wonders idly, wishing he had paid just a bit more attention earlier, that's wild, even for the company.
Jeongin is passed a box of Pepero, which he takes begrudgingly, and it clicks into place in Jisung's head that they're playing some hybrid of the two games. Thank god Chan hadn't volunteered him to go first.
Jeongin takes the bread part into his mouth and refuses to make eye contact with Seungmin as he leans in. The two of them are terrible sports, and Seungmin gets nowhere near Jeongin's lips before they're both pulling away, stiff and awkward.Â
It's decided that everyone will go at least once, and Jisung realizes with a pout that he's going last, which means he's just going to sit here and watch everyone else almost kiss while his anxiety crawls up up up until he's practically shaking when it's his turn. Minho sends him a worried look, and Jisung hopes the smile he shoots him back is blinding and bright and not as strained and forced as it feels.Â
Jisung is fine as the game goes on, enjoying watching the way his friends push and tease each other. When it's Minho's turn, though, something shifts in Jisung. His fingers itch to reach out and stop the bottle so that it lands on him, jolting at his side as the bottle spins and spins. He could play it off easily as a bit, knows that an exaggerated pout and a lot of whining can go a long way for him, but he stops himself. Why on Earth does he care who Minho plays with? It's just a game, a stupid childish one at that, so it shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter, he thinks, correcting his inner monologue. It doesn't matter at all.
Which is why there definitely isn't something bitter settling in Jisung's chest when the bottle lands on a too eager Chan, who's always just a little too touchy with Minho in the first place.
Jisung shakes himself out of it again. Chan is just as touchy with him, too, and Jisung revels in it. It doesn't matter, doesn't matter, doesn't matter-
Which is why his heart definitely doesn't drop to his ass when Chan and Minho's lips brush. It's a barely there touch, the moment lasting for barely a breath, but Jisung catches the way all the cameras zoom in, hears the way that everyone else oohs and aahs at them, poking fun. It's what Jisung should be doing. He realizes that he's probably been oddly quiet this episode, which would explain the worried look Minho sent him earlier, but he doesn't care. Not when there's a faint pink to Minho's ears, not when there's a bashful smile tugging at his lips, not when Chan looks so self-satisfied that Jisung thinks he might just rip his head off.
Woah. He needs to take a breath. Needs to get his shit together before the cameras catch him fuming, before Jisung does something stupid and loses his job forever. He really likes this job, after all.
He doesn't even realize they've made it to his turn, too focused on counting his breathing until it's steady and laughing when cued by the laughter of his members to realize they've made it through everyone else's turn. Everything is Minho Minho Minho, his heart thumping to the rhythm of his name on Jisung's tongue, and he blinks, wide-eyed, when Seungmin nudges him.
"Are you going to spin the bottle, or are you going to keep gawking at nothing?" He prompts, mean little puppy smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Seungmin's fingers brush his thigh, squeezing once, a grounding thing he does when he's worried but doesn't want to say it. The cameras will catch it as a tease, another thing to prod at Jisung, but he knows it's not. His feelings must be written all across his face for Seungmin, who often gets lost in his character when filming, to catch that Jisung is off.
"I'm going, I'm going," he huffs, leaning forward to reach for the bottle, "I was just thinking."
"There's a first time for everything," Changbin says, laughing when Jisung picks up the bottle and mimes hitting him with it, "Yah, alright, I'm sorry, hyung's sorry. Just spin the bottle already, huh?"
"Fine." Jisung says with a pout, slipping easily into his screen character, because he has to, or else he's going to lose it.
He makes eye contact with Minho as he spins the bottle, and there'sâŚsomething, there. Jisung can't read it, but there's something. Concern, maybe? Minho can read Jisung even on his worst days, when Jisung is a closed book that refuses to open, so surely that must be it. Jisung leans back and lets the bottle spin, muttering some nonsense to fill the space because he has to be the funny one, has to be normal, has to be-
A hand reaches for the bottle and stops it.Â
Jisung looks up, and Minho's looking down at his hand holding the bottle, almost like he can't believe it himself. Like the impulse that Jisung felt earlier had been passed on to him tenfold, so strong that even formidable Lee Minho couldn't control it. Jisung watches in real time the shift into character, the way Minho's face slips into something more playful, the way his little bunny teeth peek out as he grins coyishly at Jisung.
"C'mon Jisungie, don't you want to play with hyung?" Minho teases, grin stretching impossibly wider, "Hyung promises he's not up to something."
"We definitely believe you when you say it like that." Jeongin murmurs, and Felix giggles at the way Minho fakes innocence, blinking up at them through his lashes.
"I'm completely innocent," Minho says, amusement laced in his tone, "No one has ever been more innocent than me."
Someone passes Minho the Pepero box, and Jisung's vision tunnels. The blossom is there again, he can feel the roots wiggling through the concrete slats and reaching towards the sun. His fingers reach to rip it out, to yank until the flower crumples under his grasp, but then Minho is waggling his eyebrows with the Pepero between his teeth and Jisung is drifting across the circle like a moth to a flame. It's embarrassing, and he hopes the cameras miss the way his whole face softens as he gets closer to Minho.
"Those two." He hears someone say exasperatedly (Chan? Felix?), but he can't focus on them.
Minho grins around the Pepero, the candy held delicately between his teeth, and Jisung starts to bite. It's easy, and Jisung is comfortable with Minho, so he presses into his space without a second thought. One of his hands comes to cradle Minho's head, toying with the hair at the base of his neck. The other slips to his shoulder, steadying himself. He's so close now. Just a little more and I'll pull away, at least, that's what he tells himself, but it seems Minho has different plans. Because just as Jisung gets near the end of the chocolate, just when he's about to pull away, Minho's hands drift upwards, too quick for Jisung to catch until it's too late.
Minho presses his fingers into Jisung's side harshly, and Jisung, stupid stupid Jisung, falls forward in surprise.
The result is so much worse than a usual Pepero "kiss", because that's just the barest brush of feeling. This is a real kiss, the contact solid and full. Jisung's lips on Minho's, and Minho's lips on Jisung's.Â
It's like he's hit with a rainstorm. It's no longer just a flower in his chest, it's a full bush, bristles and thorns and brambles tearing through his fragile heart as they explode inside of him. He pulls back with a gasp, and he realizes that there's no Pepero even left at all. He doesn't even know if he ate it, if Minho ate it, if maybe it's somewhere on the floor with the pieces of his heart.
"Minho-hyung," he wails instead, trying to hide the way that he surely must be bright red, "You cheater! That's against the rules, you pabo."
Jisung puts on his best pout and prays. Prays that they cut this part out, prays that the kiss was an accident, prays that the way that Minho's fingers are still loosely around his hips doesn't mean anything at all. He prays and prays and prays and the garden in his chest grows and grows and grows.Â
He tells himself he'll cut it short again. Tells himself that he'll prune it eventually, because he knows Minho didn't mean it. Knows deep in his heart that his fate may be intertwined with Minho's, but it's not like that.Â
It's only further reinforced that his garden must go when you show up.
It's late when Minho comes to his door. It's been years now, of moving and living around each other, and Jisung is endlessly grateful to have ended up paired up with Minho in their current dorms. He's never craved a space for himself - the silence of an empty house far worse than having to share his life with someone - and the duo dorm situation was made even better by the fact that he gets to live with his Minho hyung.
It's not abnormal for Minho to come by his room at night, to crawl into his bed and grab Jisung and hold him close, so close that Jisung's little garden grows a little bigger under the warmth of its Minho-shaped sun. What is abnormal is that fact that he knocked, a hesitant sound, like he's not even sure if he wants to come in himself.
"...yeah?" Jisung calls out, disbelief catching in his tone.
"Can IâŚcan I come in?" Minho's voice echoes, muffled through the door.
"Obviously?" Jisung calls back, "When are you ever not allowed to come in?"
Jisung doesn't miss the way that hurt seeps into his own tone, making him feel immature. He has no right to be mad at Minho for not just barging in (honestly, he should be grateful that Minho's developed the sense to warn him before coming in) but it makes something weird settle in his gut. What could possibly be wrong that Minho is knocking, especially at this hour?
"Okay."
It takes a little too long for Minho to open the door, and Jisung studies him from his bed, curious. The low light of his lamp casts shadows across Minho's face, makes the sharp angles of his face even sharper, accentuates just how handsome Minho is, barefaced and soft.Â
Minho pads over quietly, settles into the sheets next to Jisung. Instead of laying down like normal, he stays sitting, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. Alarms ring again in Jisung's head, but he keeps quiet, lets Minho move at his own pace. He knows his hyung is like a cat, easily startled and spooked away from opening up. Jisung isn't patient about many things, but if the roots in his chest are any indication, Jisung is endlessly patient about Minho.
"...I've started talking to someone."
Jisung blinks. Blinks again. Mulls the words over in his head. Nothing clicks. Why should Jisung care if Minho made a new friend? Why was Minho being weird, when he was doing such a normal thing?
"I'm not your keeper, hyung, you don't have to tell me every time you talk to someone new," Jisung says, wiggling up to sit next to Minho, pressing his thigh lightly to his hyung's, "Not that I mind you telling me! I'm glad you trust me with your everyday life, hyung. But seriously, I think it'd be weird if I cared who you talk to, huh?"
Minho flinches and curls in on himself, swallowing hard. Jisung wants to lean in and bite his Adam's apple, wants to curl himself around Minho until they fuse into one.
"No, Jisung, you don't get it," Minho says again, firmer this time, "I started talking to someone."
And just as quickly as Jisung felt the warmth of the sun, it's stolen away from him in a breath.Â
He thinks he's drowning. And floating. And doing nothing and everything all at once. The feeling that sweeps him is overwhelming in its force, a tsunami and an earthquake and a tornado and everything everything everything until Jisung is nothing but dust in the wind.
"...oh." He responds lamely, because he doesn't know how else to respond, without opening the garden gates to Minho.
"Oh? That's all you have to say?" Minho teases, though Jisung can hear the vulnerability behind it, "No 'I'm happy for you hyung'? No 'who is it, hyung'? C'mon jagiya, I expected better from you."
"I'm happy for you, hyung," Jisung grits out, robotic, still spinning-drowning-floating, "Who is it?"
Minho says your name, and Jisung parrots it, feels the weight of it on his tongue. He wonders in that moment if he can ever meet someone with your name again without the bitter taste of bile filling his mouth like it is right now. Wonders if Minho can read the sourness on his face, if he can taste it in his words.
Minho opens up easily, like he can't feel the way that Jisung's gone stiff next to him. He tells Jisung how you met (in the cat cafe Minho's been wanting to go to), how you're just the sweetest, how you remember the little things without Minho even having to say a word. How you read him so easily, how everything is so easy around you, how he's sure that Jisung would love you.Â
The brambles in his chest get sharper, meaner, a blooming red warmth bleeding into Jisung's chest. He's going to throw up and cry and scream all at once as he watches Minho's face get soft and shy, talking about how he's going to ask you out soon.
"Sungie, how would you want to be asked out?" Minho asks, sincerity in his voice, pretty eyes glistening in the low light as he turns to look up at Jisung.
Jisung thinks for a moment, lets himself dream. Imagines him and Minho, somewhere warm, somwhere comfortable. Curled up in the comfort of Minho's bed, a Ghibli movie that Jisung insisted on watching playing on his computer in front of them. Fingers loosely tangled under the blanket, skin pressed to exposed skin like a secret. Minho's voice, soft and nervous, telling Jisung he wants to ask him something. The music building in the background as Minho leans close, tells him he loves him-
"I'd want it to be personal," Jisung admits, voice sounding just as broken as he feels, "Somewhere where we both feel safe. Curled up in your bed, or under the stars, or tucked away in some private little place where it feels like it's just us. And then I'd just want you to be honest. Tell me straight up how you feel, seal the deal with a kiss, you know, the whole nine yards."
Minho watches him with the kind of scrutinty that makes Jisung shrink. Why does he feel like he's the one under the microscope, when he should be grilling Minho about his mystery talking stage? Why does it feel like that answer wasn't what Minho wanted?
"You really don't care? That I'm talking to someone?" Minho asks, quiet, lip catching between his teeth in a way that makes Jisung want to lean forward and soothe the skin with his tongue.
"Why would I, hyung?" Jisung chokes out, vines and thorns filling his lungs, "I want you to be happy. If they make you happy, then I'm happy."
His mouth tastes like copper and bile, and for some reason his little garden just keeps to grow. He shouldn't want Minho anymore - he can't want Minho anymore - and yet that feeling continues to grow. He still leans towards his sun, because he can't help himself, and he craves whatever warmth he can get.
He meets you for the first time and it just makes the space in his chest fill even more.
Because you are perfect for Minho. You know how to match his witty sarcasm, you don't let his digs get to you, you tease him back so easily that Jisung wonders how there ever was in Minho before you. The two of you are made for each other, your own fates woven together in the universe just as Minho's and Jisung's, and Jisung doesn't even have it in him to feel jealousy.
The worst part is that you're endlessly sweet to him, too.
"Jisung, right? I've heard so much about you," you had told him, bringing him into a hug like it was only natural, "You're the soulmate, yeah?"
And it's just so easy from there on out. Minho had been right that night, because Jisung did love you. It was begrudgingly at first - Jisung didn't want to like you, not when you stole his Minho away from him - but soon something else began to grow in his chest, another delicate flower, the kind that has to strain just to catch the sunlight. But it leans around the overgrowth in his heart somehow, gets just enough sun to push through the weeds and the thorns.Â
People started asking Jisung where you and Minho were, because they assumed he would just know. It had always been Minho and Jisung, and somehow now it had become Minho and Jisung and you overnight. He always felt bad that he was around all the time, but the two of you were almost insistent that he comes along to things. Howl's is re-running in the theater downtown? You already got three tickets for Friday night without even asking if he's free. The cat cafe is doing a crossover deal with the boba store next door? Minho's waking him up at an ungodly hour in the morning and telling him to get dressed and get ready to go, loser. Minho wants feedback on choreography? You and Jisung are holed up with him in a practice room until the sun's peeking over the horizon, despite the fact that Minho should really be asking Hyunjin or Felix these questions, not the two of you. Amongst all of it, Minho still calls him jagiya, like it's a completely normal thing to call your roommate in front of your partner.Â
Jisung stopped calling him it back.Â
The second flower becomes its own bush soon too. Jisung's given up on pruning the feelings in his heart, given up on trying to tame whatever desire curls in his chest because it's all forbidden anyways. He can't have Minho, he can't have you, but he can want. So he wants and wants and wants, until there's a whole ecosystem making home in his chest and his stomach. Butterflies swirl in his stomach, birds sing love songs in his ears, and the brambles close tighter and tighter around his heart.
Being between the two of you becomes habit, a new normal that Jisung wasn't prepared for. The two of you curl around him when you're watching a movie on the couch like it's second nature, like it's only natural that you're sandwiching your boyfriend's best friend between you on your date. Minho's breath is warm on the back of his neck, and you're splayed across Jisung's lap, toying with the string of his hoodie absentmindedly - really, how was he ever supposed to control his beating heart when the two of you just add fuel to the fire? Or water to the soil, he supposes, the vines curling tighter around his heart when you snort at something on screen and he feels it move through the three of you.
A second breaking point is reached when Chan, his sweet, perfect hyung, pulls him aside to talk one day in the studio.
"Dude, I'm so happy for you and Minho, but you guys need to be a little moreâŚsubtle," Chan tells him, refusing to let Jisung open his notebook until they've 'had a little talk', "Seriously, we can't keep cover for you guys anymore. Minho got caught with their tongue down his throat the other day in a dance studio, do you know how much paperwork I had to do after that? I'm so happy for you guys - really, I am! - but you guys literally have your own dorm to doâŚthose kinds of things in."
"Like Seungmin and Changbin weren't down each other's throats yesterday after recording," Jisung deadpans, "And dude, what in the world are you talking about? Why are you talking to me about what they get up to?"
"Because you are their boyfriend?" Chan says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "And somehow you've managed to avoid getting caught by staff so. You must be doing something right, and I need you to get the other two to uhhhhâŚ'lock in', I guess?"
Jisung blue screens, staring at Chan with his mouth wide open. His jaw might as well actually be on the floor. Pollen explodes in his chest, greedy flowers spreading more and more and more, and Jisung thinks he must be dreaming.Â
Chan looks at him nervously, scratching at his neck, "Sorry, I should've worded that better, Sung-ah. But if your partners don't stop making out all over the god damn building, I'm going to start making you guys do all the paperwork."
"They're not- we're not-" Jisung stammers, looking at Chan with wide eyes, "Channie-hyung, what?"
Chan looks just as confused as Jisung feels. He squints at Jisung like he's the crazy one, like he's the one who just said that he's dating his best friend and said best friend's partner, not Chan. Chan's mouth works itself into a confused little line, and then Chan speaks slowly, like he's talking to a spooked beast.
"I'm asking the three of you to please stop beingâŚso public about your guys' relationship," Chan says, trailing off like it's a question, not a statement, "...please? We are idols, after all."
"Hyung that's not- hyung, I'm not questioning you because of that." Jisung replies, still reeling.
"What else could you possibly be questioning?" Chan says, a confused laugh slipping out of his mouth, "Jisung-ah, are you okay?"
"Hyung, I'm not with them."Â
Silence catches in the air, swells, fills the space until it's almost suffocating. It fills his lungs until he's taking quick little gasping breaths, just enough air to survive but not so much that it fills his lungs, puts pressure on the tangle of thorns buried in his chest.Â
"...are you being serious?" Chan splits the silence in to, sliding his chair closer to Jisung so that he can press a hand to Jisung's arm, "You guys aren't- you arent�"
Jisung shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Chan at least has the decency to look embarrassed.
"Shit, I'm sorryâŚI just thoughtâŚ" He trails off, studying Jisung's face carefully, "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but when did you and Minho-yahâŚbreak up? Hyung's always here for you, you don't have to deal with this alone anymore."
Jisung can't stop the tears this time. They freefall down his cheeks, dig rivers into his skin, burning hot as they warm his face. He doesn't even know why he's crying, why he's so surprised that Chan thought he and Minho were together, why the fact that everyone thought so and it still wasn't true hurt so much more than these past months have. Chan is such a good hyung, pulling him closer without making him say a word. He cradles Jisung to his chest, lets Jisung cling to him like a second skin until his hoodie is covered in tears and snot, and carefully picks him up when Jisung's sobs start to become weak little hiccups instead. Brings them both to the couch and holds him impossibly close, lets Jisung shake in his arms and doesn't say a word. It's the softness that Jisung's been missing, that he hasn't been allowing himself to have from Minho, that breaks him. The little thread that's been holding him together, that's kept the jungle in his chest from swallowing him whole, snaps all together in the safety of Chan's embrace.
Because Chan is right. Some little part of Jisung knows that. He knows that it's Minho and Jisung and you, not Minho and you, and that it feels so right to him. He knows that if he were to butt out of your relationship, if he were to give the two of you space and withdraw, that you would both pull him right back in. It's not an unfair assumption for Chan to make, and that's what makes this so much worse.
"Minho-hyung and I were never together in the first place," Jisung murmurs into Chan's hoodie, once words are something he can access again, "I thought you all knew that."
Chan stays silent, letting Jisung fill the space, and Jisung's endlessly grateful for his perfect, patient hyung, who really had better things to do than comfort him right now. The world is on Chan's shoulders, and yet he still finds space for Jisung's love life problems to rest there, too.Â
"I know we all joked about it a lot, about hyung and I," Jisung says, voice wobbling a bit as he continues, "But that's all it's ever been. Jokes. Minho-hyung came and talked to me about asking them out months ago, and that's as involved in their relationship as I've been."
He doesn't acknowledge the bitterness seeping through his tone, or the way that the two of you tote him around like he's your dog or something. Is that what he is to the two of you? A little parasite that the two of you can't help but love? Something they keep around out of pity, or maybe for your own sick amusement?
Chan butts in before Jisung can spiral too far, squeezing him a little tighter, "I'm sorry I assumed. I justâŚ"
He pauses, rolls his tongue in his mouth, like he's not sure he's allowed to speak his mind. Jisung pulls back to peer up at him, and Chan's forehead is creased and his eyes are avoidant, like he's considering saying something he's not supposed to.
"It's okay hyung, I won't be offended by whatever you're going to say." Jisung tells him, even though he's definitely lying. He will be offended, or hurt, or embarrassed, or whatever Chan's worried about. He just won't do it in front of Chan.
Chan sends him a look, like he knows Jisung's a big fat liar, but continues on anyways, hesitance laced through his tone.Â
"Minho said somethingâŚa year or so ago, I think, that made me think that the two of you were together, is all," Chan says, voice tight like he's spilling a secret, "And you're soâŚclose to both of them. I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, but Felix has money on you being the one to ask both of them out."
"What was your money on, hyung-ah?" Jisung says, because his coping mechanism will always, always be humor, and there is something at least slightly amusing about watching the tips of Chan's ears go red and his eyes go a little wide.
"Jisung, I would never-"
"Hyung."
Chan's lip catches between his teeth and his eyes look anywhere but Jisung's. "...I had money on you asking Minho out."
Jisung cackles (can Chan tell it's a little hollow? He hopes not) and Chan has the decency to look a little embarrassed.
"Minho didn't make a move for years, I assumed you were the one who reached the breaking point and just told him!" Chan defended, frowning when Jisung starts to giggle, "Or wrote him a song and did some cheesy little guitar thing for him. We both know Minho's a bit of a secret romantic, and it's no secret that you are. Stop laughing at me, Han Jisung!"
Jisung can't. His giggles explode into real laughter, shaking him and Chan until he can't breathe. He can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe until the laughter turns into hiccuping sobs all over again, because it hurts.Â
Chan's little confession opens a jar of "what if"s that Jisung's kept tightly closed in the back of his mind, buried under his other responsibilities so he couldn't touch it. But Chan has wrangled it out, because Jisung is a romantic, a hopeless one at that, and he's pictured it a million times.
He tells Minho he does care that he's asking someone out. He pulls him close and tells him that he's in love with him, that he can't let Minho ask someone else out because he should be asking Jisung instead. Minho looks up at him with those pretty, sparkling eyes, lips parted, and breathlessly tells Jisung to kiss him. Jisung reels back, blinks at him like he's crazy, pinches himself for good measure (and to hear Minho's pretty, exasperated laugh), and then swoops in. Fireworks, butterflies, an entire god damn fourth of July burns inside of him. Minho's lips are softer than he could ever imagine, and he tastes so sweet against Jisung. Minho's little rabbit fingers curl into Jisung's shirt and pull him closer, and Jisung melts into him. His own hands find Minho's hips, and then his tongue is brushing Minho's lip, and-
Jisung smacks his cheeks a few times, snapping himself back into reality. He's in Chan's lap, in the studio, and very much still single. No amount of daydreaming, no matter how vivid it feels, will change that fact. He's also pretty sure he's going to have to buy Chan a new hoodie with how much snot and tears are now embedded into the shoulder and the chest of it.Â
The studio session is cancelled for the day as Chan brings him back to his dorm. Jisung insists that he can go back to his own dorm, that he's perfectly fine, thank you, but Chan refuses to let him go. He keeps some sort of contact with Jisung the whole way home - a hand on his shoulder, a pinky linked through his, a thigh pressed against his in the car - and Jisung lets himself float, knowing that Chan has him tethered. He hopes this doesn't mean Chan's going to have to push himself tomorrow, to make up for the work lost today. He hopes, as Chan punches in the code, that he hasn't just become another burden on another person today, another weight that someone feels obligated to lug around out of the kindness of their heart.Â
Jeongin's in the kitchen when the two of them press in, and he greets them kindly, not making a single comment on the obvious snot-tear smear on Chan's hoodie or the way that Jisung's eyes are red-red-red and puffy. He just pours Jisung a cup of tea, fresh from a kettle he must've been brewing, and tells the two of them sweetly that he'll be in his room if they need him. He grabs his own mug and pads off quietly, not without another small, kind smile back to the two of them.
He sleeps in Chan's bed that night, held close to his hyung, who helps him in the only way he knows how. He doesn't breathe a word of it after Jisung leaves the next morning, so Jisung's back to tending his overgrown, weed-filled garden alone. He doesn't water it - doesn't have to, when the two of you are around all the time to do it for him - and still it tears open his chest. He spends his days feeling raw and red, his heart an open wound that bleeds and bleeds everyday but still fails to kill him. His songs get sadder and sadder, until Changbin (who hasn't asked, but can certainly tell that something's up) tells him that he's banned from song-writing until, quote, "he stops writing K-dramas and starts writing music we can actually play without getting sent to a therapist, man". He's sure Changbin's just trying to help, trying to get him to stop hyperfixating on the pain so he can move on, but no songwriting means he has nothing to hide behind.Â
It means that he's about to reach his third and final breaking point, almost a full, painful month after Chan cornered him in the studio.
It starts like every other night for Jisung - his glasses are askew on his face, his guitar is perched across his lap, and his fingers are calloused and raw from playing for hours. His stubbornness has had him drowning in playing his guitar lately (writing songs on his guitar is technically not the songwriting Changbin banned him from, Jisung reasons with himself), his bedroom door closed and the only light illuminating his sorrow from the LED lights lining the perimeter of the room. They've been set to a melancholy blue, a deep, dark color that makes him feel like he's underwater. Everything has been muffled lately, like the music in an underwater stage of the video games Jisung can't even convince himself to pick up anymore these days. The world around him warps and bends, a blurring whirlpool that's pulling him under until all he can taste is saltwater on his tongue. There's no one left to save him, not when he refuses to be saved.Â
He tastes it now, his mouth full of saltwater, as he plucks aimlessly at his guitar again. He feels the chords under his skin, the vibration of the guitar against him strong enough for him to feel in his bones, but he can't hear it. His fingers move on autopilot - a I-V-vi-IV chord structure, like a true yearning artist (he hopes Noah Kahan is proud) - and words pour out of his mouth, a broken warble that doesn't reach his own ears. He doesn't even know if he's singing in tune. He distantly finds that he doesn't have it in him to care anymore.Â
The sound fills the room, bouncing off the walls, and Jisung feels his voice getting louder and louder, sadder and sadder, until he's in a chamber of his own wallowing. He opens his chest and lets the flowers bloom and grow out of it, wrapping around his waist and his throat and all the way down his fingers until they're the one playing the song, not him. There's fruit growing on the bushes in his garden, glistening and red, but they're wrapped in thorns. Jisung's fingers bleed as he reaches and stretches for them, so hungry for even a taste that he ignores the pain, the way that his own feelings are tearing him apart, for even a chance to feel the sweetness on his tongue, to drown out the saltwater that fills his mouth. He wants and wants and wants and wants and-
And his bedroom door is creaking open without his permission, and the hallway light is blinding, and Jisung wonders if there's an angel leaning through the door, if this is finally the end for him. The light halos around their head, and Jisung thinks it's the most beautiful thing that his eyes have ever seen, and then they're pressing into the room, and oh, there's two of them, pretty and soft and worry crinkled in their eyes.
His fingers stop, his voice cracks and breaks, and he lets the two of you guide him out of the room. You take his guitar gently out of his hands, putting it back on its stand as Minho guides him to stand. No words are spoken, not out of awkwardness, but out of the fact that the three of you don't really need words. He knows what this is, and so do the two of you.
There's fairy lights neatly strung up around the living room, his favorite blanket on the couch, the stupid dinosaur squishmallow that Jisung had been eyeing everytime you guys go to the store perched on top of the blanket, and his favorite snacks are in bowls across the coffee table. The TV is already pulled up to Grave of the Fireflies, a box of tissues sitting on the side table, and Jisung thinks quietly he might already need them.
Because the two of you don't even know. You don't even know how much he needed this. How much he wishes he didn't. How much the two of you haunt every moment of his every day. The shadows in his room look like you, the clouds spell Minho's name, the wind whispers in the tone of your voices, and his dreams are plagued with phantoms in the shape of you and Minho, swirling around him and taunting him.
You don't know that you're the cause of Jisung's pain, and his saving grace from it. You soothe the very wound that you cut into him, and he can't help but lean into your blade, even when it burns, because in this moment, everything feels lighter. He feels like he can hear again - the whir of the A/C, the low sound of the movie trailer that started auto-playing, the way that Minho's breathing is just a little faster than normal because he's worried, the way you pad back down the hallway to join the two of them in the living room - and that's what crushes him.
He tastes the salt on his tongue again, and he doesn't even realize it's real until Minho's letting out a soft little "Oh, bug" from next to him and wiping the tears from his cheeks with the gentlest of touches. You slip past the two of them to sit on the couch, sliding under the blanket and patting the space next to you expectantly.Â
Jisung lets himself be led to the couch, lets the blanket be draped over him, lets the stuffed dinosaur get passed into his arms, lets the two of you sandwich him between you like it's second nature, lets you curl up into his shoulder, lets Minho's fingers lace through his. He lets the tears keep flowing, lets you softly dab them away with a tissue, he lets the two of you do whatever you want to him, because a part of him knows that it's his place. That, even if it's not your truth, that his truth is that he belongs to the two of you, through and through.
"Minho," you murmur, with a meaning that Jisung can't read, "Minho, I know we said tonight, but-"
"No," he interjects, voice sharp but still kind, "It has to be tonight."
Silence opens its jaws and swallows the room whole, letting the three of you settle in its gut until Jisung feels like he's going to snap. His tongue is his own again, a steady weight in his mouth that he can finally, finally control, and he speaks up before he can stop himself.
"Please don't speak around me in codes, I don't think I can take that tonight," Jisung says wetly, letting himself look at both of you weakly, "I'm just - actually, can I go first? Before the two of you try and speak in riddles I don't understand again like I'm some stupid baby?"
"We don't think you're a stupid baby," you say quietly, hurt in your tone, just as Minho says:
"Hey, only I'm allowed to call you stupid, jagi."
"Stop calling me that!" Jisung snaps, wiggling his way out from between you both and finding his feet again, "Can the two of you stop? Can't you see that you're the reason I'm acting like this?"
He accompanies the statement with an accusatory jab of his finger in your direction, and the two of you both look up at him with wide eyes. There's a pain in both of your faces, though Minho's face hardens back into something neutral quickly. Jisung knows it's a defense mechanism, knows it's the only one that Minho has, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Your face crumples as Jisung's curls into something angry and broken, your lower lip caught between your teeth and your fingers awkwardly fiddling in your lap, and the vines tighten around his lungs. He thinks he's going to choke if he doesn't spit it out right now, so he does. Everything that he's been holding in for months (or for years, in regards to Minho) comes spewing out of his mouth, red-hot and angry. He feels like a trainee again, tongue sharp and mean, his emotions too big for someone who feels so small to keep inside.
"It's not fair, okay?" he sobs out, swallowing his tears before they trip up his words, "It's not fair. Do you know how hard it is to watch the person you're in love with fall in love with someone else? Do you know how hard it is to fall for them, too? To watch the two of you fall in love like some sort of drama leads and I'm here on the outside, left to rot? I tried to accept that I'm just the funny side character, the comic relief friend who never gets to find love of his own because that's not what he's here for, but I can't anymore. Hyung, I've been in love with you for years, for probably longer than I even knew myself, and I can't keep pretending I'm not."
He takes a deep, shaking breath, giving both of you a glare that neither of you deserve, before continuing, "So leave me out of it. I'm happy for you both, because I love you both. There, I said it: I love you both. I love you both so much that it's consuming me whole. And I know there's no place for it here, that I'm just your stupid little best friend that you tote around like a god damn chihuahua in a purse, so the 'pity Han Jisung' party can end, alright? I don't want to be in the middle of whatever the hell this is anymore. I'm done. Leave me out of your relationship, leave me out of your stupid fucking drama love, and leave me the fuck alone. I'm tired. Tired, tired, tired. Tired of this, tired of my feelings, tired of you. I'm going to go back to my room, and the two of you are going to leave me alone. Got it?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, just turns around and storms off, ignoring your voices and slamming his door behind him and, for the first time in his many years of living with Minho, locking the door. The click! echoes in his room like an execution bell. Here marks the end of Han Jisung, it rings, fool who fell in love with his best friends.
He finds his noise-cancelling headphones, pulls them on, and blares the playlist that he pretends isn't about the two of you loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. It doesn't really work, but he tries to pretend it does as he crawls into his bed and cries. The tears are silent, the sobs shaking his body quietly but never letting any sound escape him. His chest is wide open and bleeding and he's let himself bare it to the two of you. Chan was right - Jisung did snap and confess, though it didn't quite go the way it probably did in their heads. He wonders if Felix and Chan should both get their money anyways, wonders if anyone had any bets on them not being together. The thought has his chest feeling tighter, and Jisung lets the pressure crack his ribs and enclose his lungs, until he feels like he's barely got any room left to breathe.
He doesn't hear the knocking on the door, doesn't hear your voices calling his name, doesn't hear the way that someone's fiddling with the lock until it's too late, and light is spilling into his room from the hallway again.
He rolls over and sits up to hiss something angry out again, to spit venom on the two of you so you just leave him alone, but he can't when he sees your faces.Â
There's tear tracks on your cheeks, and there's snot on the sleeve of the hoodie you're wearing. Your eyes are puffy, and you're sniffling like you're trying to hold the tears back. They keep falling anyways, silently, just like Jisung's, and his ribs crack for a different reason now. He realizes that hoodie you're wearing is his, and the pressure in his chest makes his lip wobble.
What really breaks him is Minho's face. There's a panic there, a wildness in his eyes that Jisung has never seen before. There's a bent bobby pin pressed tightly between his fingers (did Minho pick the lock?), and Minho, strong, steel-faced Minho, has tear tracks on his cheeks too, glistening in the low light of Jisung's room like a confession. He's heaving, big, heavy breaths wracking his whole body, and there's a tremble to him that makes Jisung want to pull him close and remind him to breathe, jagi, breathe.Â
"Jagiya, my jagiya," Minho says, bobby pin dropped and forgotten as he crosses the room in three big strides, "My Jisung, my soulmate, my everything."
He pulls Jisung in before he can even say a word, before he can unpack a single thing that Minho just said, and squeezes him so tight that Jisung thinks he might pop like a balloon.Â
Minho's arms feel like coming home, like the sun on his skin again after a long, grey winter, like the smell of homemade cooking after tour. Jisung knows he shouldn't, knows that Minho's only here because he was worried, because Jisung is a burden that he thinks he must carry, but he lets Minho embrace him anyways, because he's greedy. His own arms come to wrap around Minho tightly because he can't help himself, can't help but crave what he's been denying himself for so long.
He doesn't hear you coming, just feels you drape yourself across his back, feels your warmth against his skin and your face buried in his shoulder. Everything clicks back into place, and Jisung feels complete. He tastes the sweetness on his tongue that he's been reaching for, like fresh-picked strawberries on a hot summer day. It's cruel, how he can only feel himself when he's surrounded by the two of you. But if the two of you are willing to give him what he wants, if only for a moment in time, Jisung isn't going to complain.
"...did you really think that we didn't want you?" Minho says quietly, when the silence has settled for a beat too long to be comfortable, his words muffled against the fabric of Jisung's too-big hoodie.
Jisung freezes, a mouse in the coils of a snake, trapped between the two of you with no way to escape. Words fail him, and you must be able to tell, because you speak up too, pulling your face off of him in a way that has your breath tickling his ear.
"Jisung, why do you think that we invite you everywhere? That we take you on our dates, that we refuse to go to places without you, that we cuddle with you on the couch during movie nights?" You ask, like it's crazy that Jisung would ever consider a world where he wasn't important to you both.
"...because I'm your best friend, and you feel bad for my single ass?" He responds, though it sounds stupid, even to him.
"Pabo," Minho breathes, "We love you too. So much more than you could ever know."
"Did you know that when he asked if I wanted to go out on a date with him, that he said we couldn't officially start dating until I was 'Han Jisung approved?'" you say with a little laugh, one that Jisung feels all the way through his whole body, "We didn't officially start dating until after that first time we met. You've always been the most important person in his life, and you become one of the most important people in my life, too. We've been trying to ask you out for like, months now. Someone kept pussying out, though, so-"
"Hey!" Minho whines, popping his chin up on Jisung's shoulder to pout at you, "You could've asked him out too, you know-"
"You said you wanted to do it, I didn't want to steal your thunder!" You retorted, leaning around to stick your tongue out at Minho, "Plus, you've known him for longer, it's only fair-"
"It's not fair, you just didn't want to do it yourself-"
"You guys love me?" Jisung interrupts, his brain finally catching up, "Oh my god. You guys actually love me?"
The two of you stop bickering, and the sudden weight of both of your eyes on him makes him want to shrink into a little ball and cease existing.Â
"Obviously."
"Duh."
The two of you say it at the same time, like he's the idiot for not knowing, and Jisung laughs. He laughs and laughs until he's out of breath. The two of you must think he's a madman, but you let him get it out, let him catch his breath and speak again without interjecting. The way the two of you leave space for his emotions has Jisung feeling all sorts of ways, but it's not the time for him to lament or wax poetry about how much he appreciates how the two of you treat him.
Right now, he's going to get Chan and Felix that god damn money, please and thank you.
"Go out with me," Jisung says, voice far more steady and confident than he feels, "Both of you. I'm in love with you, and you're in love with me, and I was the one who had the balls to say anything in the first place, so I get to ask you both out, actually."
"Yeah, I suppose that's fair," you say jokingly, though you sound out of breath, "Obviously, we say yes."
"Hey now, don't speak for me," Minho says, and you raise an eyebrow at him, "Okay, well, obviously the answer is yes, I just wanted to say it too. Yes, Han Jisung, we'll go out with you."
"Always stealing my thunder." You joke, before curling around Jisung to press a quick kiss to his lips.
Before Jisung can whine about being left out (despite being sandwiched between you two), Minho pulls away and looks him once in the eyes before leaning in and capturing his lips in a kiss.
Jisung had been right - fireworks explode behind his eyes, and the thorns stabbing his heart retract to let it beat freely again. Minho tastes like the strawberry chapstick he pretends to hate, and his lips are so soft that Jisung wants to glue himself to Minho's lips forever, to kiss him and kiss him and then kiss him again until the end of time.Â
And he would, had he not felt you shifting around him, felt the bed dip in front of him and Minho. He feels Minho pull away, whining at the loss of his lips, but they're quickly replaced by yours, and oh, you're so much more aggressive than Minho. There's no doubt who's dominating the kiss, your mouth rough and fast against his, and when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, he lets you in willingly. Minho's now pressed between you both, and Jisung feels him squirm a bit. If Jisung opened his eyes he would catch the way your hand finds the back of Minho's throat and gives him a warning squeeze. Instead, he feels Minho go slack against him, a quiet sound escaping his throat, and it's almost too much for Jisung.
He hasn't touched another person since he realized his feelings for Minho. Well, he had tried, once, with a kind hyung with pretty eyes and an even prettier mouth, but he had barely let the hyung put his cock in his mouth before Jisung had to pull away, apologizing over and over as the hyung assured him it was "fine" if he "wasn't in the mood". Jisung didn't have the heart to tell him that he was picturing someone else and was feeling guilty, so he had just apologized again and bolted. A celibacy created by his own mind was torture, and it also meant that Jisung hadn't been touched in so long.
Which is why, when Minho's hand shifts to where Jisung's already straining against his sweatpants, Jisung lets out an embarrassingly loud whimper into your mouth and bucks up his hips so hard that it nearly knocks you and Minho back. Had it not been for your steadying hand against Minho's back, it probably would've, but Jisung doesn't need to know that. He pulls back from your mouth, face red and eyes bashful, but you don't let him get far, your free hand coming around to cup his chin before he can curl away from you.
"Don't be embarrassed, jagiya," you coo, delighted in the way the petname makes him shiver in your hold, "Let us show you just how much we love you."
Minho nods eagerly, looking up at Jisung with pretty, blown-out eyes, pupils swallowing his irises already, and Jisung shakes off your grip to grab the collar of Minho's shirt and pull him into a bruising kiss. Minho makes a surprised sound and you let out a breathless chuckle at the way he instantly melts against Jisung, already pliant and soft and Jisung and you haven't even done anything yet, not really.Â
You shift to properly press against Minho's back, snaking a hand around his front to paw at his crotch. He's already hard, which is to be expected from your sensitive baby, and Jisung swallows the sound he makes as you apply just the right amount of pressure to tease him. Enough for him to feel, but not nearly enough for him to properly get off. The touch is just to work him up and you both know it, to get him needy and desperate so that he begs all pretty. This might be to show Jisung how much you both love him, but a part of you wants to show off Minho a little bit too, to show Jisung what he gets to have whenever he wants now.
Jisung pulls back and presses a hand to Minho's chest to keep him from chasing after him, drawing another long whine out of Minho. Minho looks a mess already, cheeks and ears a blooming bright pink, hair ruffled and out of place, and his eyes already starting to glaze over.
"Look at you," Jisung says, awe tingeing his voice, "Even prettier than I could ever imagine."
"Isn't he?" You coo, voice endlessly fond, "He'll be so good for us, won't you, baby?"
The English petname sounds good on your tongue, and both Minho and Jisung shiver when you say it. You grin, so saccharine sweet that it's almost a little mean, and Minho nods quickly, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
"I will, I'll be so good for you both." He whimpers, and Jisung curses quietly, already overwhelmed by how easily his hyung folded under no pressure.
"Is he always so easy?" Jisung asks, which he would feel bad for asking if Minho didn't whine all pretty when he did.
"Mhm," you hum, still palming Minho ever-so slowly, "Isn't that right, Min? Just so easy for us, aren't you? Why don't you tell him what you did earlier, hm?"
Minho flushes impossibly redder, the blush spreading all the way down his neck and past the collar of his shirt, head tipping back to rest on your shoulder. He shakes his head twice, embarrassed, and you squeeze his cock in retaliation.
"C'mon now, tell Sungie what you did," you say, though it sounds far more like a command than a statement, "Tell him how naughty and dirty his hyung is."
"Yeah, Minho-hyung, you said you would be good," Jisung says, feeling bold and he presses forward into Minho's space, fingers dancing up his thigh, "Won't you be good for us?"
Minho, clearly not expecting Jisung to be so forward, moans out loud, eyes rolling back a bit before shyly staring up at Jisung.
"Hyung, uhmâŚ" Minho trails off, clearly embarrassed, but presses on when Jisung's fingers dig into his thigh, "Hyung opened himself up earlier, because-hngh-because he was hoping you wouldâŚhopingyouwouldfillhimuplater."
He says it so fast Jisung almost misses it, so fast it almost felt like he imagined it.
"I don't think he heard you Min, I think you need to say it again," you say, pressing a kiss to the exposed column of Minho's throat, "Right, Sungie?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jisung agrees, even though he certainly heard it, "Hyung's not being very good right now."
"'m sorry, sorry Sungie," Minho pants out, hips bucking up as you increase the pressure on his clothed cock, "I-ahn! I opened myself up earlier, b-because I was hoping you might-hah, shit-might fuck me later."
"Good boy." Jisung coos, hands sliding up to grip at Minho's hips as he leans forward and kisses Minho as a reward.
You weren't expecting Jisung to so easily take a dominant role with Minho, but you're certainly not complaining, loving the way that Jisung keeps Minho's hips from bucking into your touch as he presses his tongue into Minho's mouth. You watch with lidded eyes as they make out in front of you, Minho's back pressed to your chest and his cock pulsing under your hand.
You realize that the focus has been on Minho's pleasure, not Jisung's like it was supposed to be, and quickly search to find a remedy for it. You remove your hand from Minho's clothed cock (much to his chagrin) and untangle your arm from around Minho to tap at Jisung's shoulder. He pulls back from Minho's mouth, a string of spit connecting the two of them as he pulls away, and you resist the urge to kiss him silly to sneak your fingers under Minho's shirt and lift it.Â
Jisung helps you guide Minho's arms up so you can slip the shirt off of him, eyes wandering down the sharp curves of Minho's upper body appreciatively. His fingers trace up from his hips across his abs and chest, teasing brushing past Minho's nipples just to watch him arch into the touch.Â
"As much as I love watching Sung play with your tits, I think I want to get to the main course," you murmur, "Let's get you out of these pants so you can get that fucking you wanted, okay jagi?"
Jisung groans out loud at your vulgarity, but scooches back to give Minho room to kick his pants off. He fumbles frantically, already so needy that his fingers are shaky, but he manages to pull both his pants and underwear off and toss them across the room. They land somewhere on the floor, but Jisung doesn't have time to care about where his pants ended up, because Minho's cock slaps wetly against his abs, and oh, he's just so pretty.Â
His tip is a pretty pink, flushed a bit darker with need, and he's just the perfect size for Jisung to want to shove his cock down his throat. Not too fat and not too long, just the perfect length for Jisung to feel but not to choke on. He wants to feel him on his tongue, wants Minho to cry as he fucks into Jisung's mouth desperately, begging to be allowed to come. Jisung wants to edge him with his mouth until Minho can barely form words, wants you to force Jisung's head down and hold him still, force him to breath through his nose while Minho tries not to buck into the heat of Jisung's lips around him.
"I want to suck you off," Jisung says dumbly, almost drooling while looking at Minho's cock, "Can I? Can I put your pretty cock in my mouth, Minho-yah?"
Jisung dropping the honorifics makes Minho moan, a broken sound that catches in his throat, and Minho nods frantically back.
"Want that so bad," he breathes out, desperate eyes searching Jisung's face, "Wan' it, wan' your mouth, please? Please Sungie, want-"
You shush him, shaking your head, "It's not about what you want, Min. Plus, I don't think that's what you should be calling him, hmm?"
You say it like you know something, something that Jisung doesn't, because he watches with interest as Minho's eyes go wide and his head snaps to the side to look at you pleadingly. He shakes his head minutely, and you grin like a wolf, nodding once, firmly. Minho's eyes squeeze shut, the flush crawling even further down his chest, his lips pursing like he's trying not to cry. Jisung wants to bite him so hard he bruises, wants to kiss you senseless for making Minho look like this.
Unceremoniously, you shove Minho forward, and he lands with a quiet oof! against Jisung, face pressed into Jisung's chest. Jisung catches him by the shoulders, and gives you a quizzical look as you stand up.
"Where's your lube, baby?" you say, voice laced with a quiet need that you're clearly trying to hide, and it clicks in Jisung's head what you're about to do.
"Top drawer of my nightstand." He tells you, cringing when you pull it out and it's only half full.
"Mhm, someone's been busy," you tease, and Jisung flushes, avoiding your eyes, "Do you imagine it's me or Minho you're fucking? Or maybe both of us?"
Jisung stays silent, though the way his ears almost glow red gives him away.
"C'mon, Sungie, you can tell us," you coo, though there's a warning laced in your tone, "We want to know what you've been fantasizing about."
You drizzle lube across your fingers as Jisung speaks, circling your pointer finger around Minho's entrance just as he starts to confess to his fantasies.
"...I imagine watching the two of you," he admits, face warm and eyes avoidant, "I imagine you on all fours above me, and, uhm, hyung fucking into you. And he'sâŚholding your hair, so you can't bury your face in my neck. AndâŚ"
He trails off, clearly embarrassed, just as you finally press your finger into Minho, revelling in just how tight he still is, despite being prepped and clean. You fuck it into him slowly as you look at Jisung over Minho's head expectantly, tilting your head when Jisung purses his lips nervously.
"...I imagine him telling you to moan my name as he fucks you." he says, so quiet you almost don't hear it.
Both you and Minho moan at that, Minho pressing into Jisung's chest to muffle his sounds, desperate fingers curling into the sheets next to Jisung's legs as he does. Jisung has the audacity to look embarrassed still (like he didn't just say the hottest thing ever), and you lean forward over Minho to kiss the embarrassment away.
The change in angle pushes your finger deeper into Minho, and he whimpers between you both, feeling so small, pressed into his dongsaeng's chest and with you hovering over him. You press another finger into him from this angle, and Minho can barely keep himself upright when you crook your fingers just right and brush his prostate lightly. It's just a tease, but it's enough to have electricity shooting up his spine, a pop of pleasure that he wasn't ready for so earlier on. Usually, you're a bit meaner, missing that spot inside of him on purpose, but right now, you want to coax those noises out of him, so you fuck your fingers into him with purpose.
You pull back to look into Jisung's eyes, heat curling in your stomach at the way he heaves in a shaky breath when your lips release his.
"Min?" you ask once, grinning when he makes a quiet, affirmative sound, "When I press into that spot, can you moan Sungie's name for me?"
Jisung's eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack (how cruel of you, to pull out his fantasy so soon after he confessed it), and Minho nods against his chest, hips arching to fuck back into your touch.
You insert a third finger, stretching him open wider. You avoid that spot on purpose at first, watching Jisung's features get a little desperate, too, because you just can't help but tease both of them. Minho wails as you spread your fingers wide, stretching his little hole to be ready for Jisung. You can't see Jisung's cock, but the sweatpants he's wearing leave little to the imagination, and you can tell for certain that Minho's going to need to be properly stretched to be able to take Jisung's length and thickness.Â
Just when Jisung opens his mouth - to beg or to tell you to hurry up, you don't know - you curl your fingers just right, pressing hard on Minho's sweet spot, and it punches an almost feral sound out of Minho's mouth.
"Ouuugh, Jisung!" he all but screams, falling forward as his arms give out, face landing on Jisung's thigh.
His breath fans across Jisung's clothed cock, so very close to Jisung's neglected dick, and it makes Jisung keen, a pitchy little sound that breaks when you press that spot against and Minho lets out a little broken call of his name again.
"You're cruel," Jisung breathes, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, "Do I have to beg to fuck him now? Surely he's ready for me now."
"I don't know, baby, you look awfully big," you start, grinning when Minho blinks open his bleary eyes to stare at the bulge in Jisung's pants with wide eyes, "HmmâŚMinho, beg Jisung for his cock."
You fuck your fingers into him a little harder just to hear the way his words catch on moans, grinning when he clenches around you. Jisung looks down at Minho expectantly, and when Minho bends his head awkwardly to catch his eyes, he lets out a long, drawn-out moan at the need written across Jisung's face.
"Please, please, please, Sungie, wan' your cock, please?" Minho begs, voice breaking as he lets out a frantic whine, "Oooh, Sungie, please, wan' to feel you stretching me open, wan' you to stuff me full, wan' to feel your big cock breaking me, please?"
Jisung looks like he's about to give in and beg himself, so you interject before he can, "That's not what you're supposed to call him, Min."
You say it like it's a fact, and Jisung's mind races. What the hell are you talking about? What could Minho possibly call him but his name? Sir? Master? Did you want him to call him his full name, as a show of power?
"Nooooo, I can't!" Minho whines, and then makes a noise that sounds like a sob as your fingers still inside of him, "Can't."
"You can, jagiya," you murmur, voice knowing, "You're the one who brought it up, so don't act all shy now."
Minho presses his face into Jisung's thigh and murmurs something into it, so quietly that Jisung doesn't hear what he says.Â
In a flash of boldness, Jisung's fingers find Minho's jaw and squeeze, angling his face upwards so that he has no choice but to look at Jisung.
"C'mon Minho-yah, you're so close," Jisung says patronizingly, like Minho's just a dumb little thing, "You can do it, can't you, jagi? For me?"
Minho squeezes his eyes shut and inhales shakily. When he opens them again, they're even hazier than before, a needy, glassy sheen over them. He looks like he might cry. A sick little part of Jisung hopes he does.
"...hyung." Minho says, still so so quiet, but it's there.
"You can do better than that," Jisung says meanly, though his cock twitches desperately in his pants, because what the fuck Minho just called him 'hyung' that's the hottest thing Jisung has ever heard in his life.
"Hyung, Jisung-hyung, please!" Minho sobs, your fingers finally starting to move again now that Minho's begging properly," Wan' hyung-ah's cock, wan' him to fill me, please please please! Jisung-hyung, hyung, please, wan' it, wan' you, please-ahn!"
He cuts himself off with a long moan, glistening eyes looking up at Jisung as his mouth parts wide open. Jisung can't help but press his thumb into Minho's mouth, revelling in the way that Minho closes his mouth around his fingers and sucks desperately.
"Yeah? Want hyung to fuck your tight little hole?" He says breathlessly, eyes finding yours, asking for permission.
You think about it for a moment, and then give him a small nod, pulling your fingers out of Minho. His head snaps back and he makes a desperate sound, clearly unhappy to be so empty, eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he makes another incoherent sound as you pull further away.
"Relax, we're just giving you what you want, you big baby," you tell him, helping Jisung guide Minho's head onto the pillows at the head of the bed and onto his back, "Be patient, and we'll give you what you want, yeah?"
He nods shakily, looking up at both of you with big, needy eyes, and you quickly help Jisung out of his clothes, desperate to see the two of them together. When you guide Jisung's length out of his underwear, tossing the garment across the room vaguely in the direction of his shirt and pants, your breath catches.
Because damn, Han Jisung is big.
He's big both in length and in girth, bigger than anything you think you've ever taken. It's so heavy it can't even stand up all the way, and he curves just a bit upwards, the perfect shape to kiss Minho's prostate if he fucks into him just right. You clench around nothing, though you're not even sure you could even take him without a metric ton of prep.Â
Minho looks just as shocked as you, even though you're sure he's seen his cock in passing before. All eight of the members of Stray Kids had seen all the other members in just about every state of undress, after all, though you suppose Jisung might not be nearly as impressive soft as he is hard. And boy, is he impressive.
"'s not gonna fit," he whines, though he's spreading his legs wider to let Jisung slot between them, "Jisung-hyung 's so big."
Jisung looks almost bashful about his size, though when he lays it down on top of Minho's stomach so the two of you can see just how far he's going to reach, he seems a little proud.Â
"It's gonna be okay, baby, I'll go nice and slow," Jisung coos, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Minho's mouth, "Hyung will make sure you feel good, Min."
Minho whimpers, and you hazily reach for the discarded bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount on your palm. You reach to spread it across Jisung's length, squeezing his tip teasingly as you pull your hand away, because you knew he'd make a pretty little sound when you do. Jisung doesn't disappoint, a clipped-off whine escaping his throat and his hips bucking into the air as you pull away. He's so sensitive you wonder if he's even going to last in Minho, though Minho's so worked up already he probably won't need much to come.
You come around to sit up next to Minho as Jisung presses in ever-so slowly. Minho's hole stretches obscenely around his tip already, and Jisung's hands fly to grip his hips to hold him still.
"Stop squirming, baby," Jisung grits out, voice strained, "I'm trying to take it slow, and you're making it real hard to not just fuck into you, jagi."
"Please what, Min?" you ask, bringing a hand to run through his hair soothingly, a stark contrast to the harsh streeeetch of Jisung opening him up, "You're a big boy, you can use your words."
"So mean to him," Jisung says before Minho can reply, though his tone is laced with sarcasm, "He's just a little cock-dumb, you know he doesn't have any thoughts in that pretty little head of his right now."
The way Jisung talks about him like he's not even really there has Minho whimpering again, trying to strain against Jisung's grip but finding that he can't. He knew Jisung had been going to the gym more lately, but he really was so strong, and it makes Minho's cock spurt out another pathetic jet of precum across his stomach. He gets lost in the way that Jisung's abs flex as he holds himself back from fucking into him, lost in the way that sweat drips down his pretty tattoos, making them glisten. If Jisung wasn't holding him in place, Minho would lean forward and bite into the tattoo across Jisung's chest, marking him up so bad that Jisung couldn't take off his shirt in front of anyone else for weeks.
You read his mind, shifting from your place next to him to press a kiss first to Jisung's mouth, then to his neck, then to his shoulder, and then your teeth sink right into the 'B' of 'Blessed'. You grin against his skin as you feel his hips buck minutely, pressing further into Minho. Both of them groan simultaneously, Minho's a little pitchier than Jisung's, and you suck at the skin there until you're certain it'll bruise a pretty purple-red.Â
"Shit, that's cheating." Jisung whines, though he doesn't seem too mad when he pulls one of his hands off Minho's hips to grab the back of your head and yank your mouth to his.
Minho uses the momentary lapse in grip to buck his hips down, pushing a couple more inches of Jisung into him in one go. Jisung's mouth disconnects from yours and falls into your shoulder as he groans, and Minho's mouth opens and closes uselessly, already so full and he's barely taken half of Jisung's massive length.Â
"You're both conspiring against me," Jisung tries to joke, but he's so breathless it mostly comes out desperate, "Fuck, Min, don't clench so fucking tight-"
He cuts himself off with a grunt, eyes squeezing shut as he presses another inch into Minho's tight hole. You pull away to settle back next to Minho. His hand fumbles upwards to grasp for you, and you lace your fingers through his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
"You can do it, jagi," you tell him quietly, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his forehead, "Just a little bit more, you've got it. Relax a bit for him, won't you?"
"Kiss?" He asks, big shining eyes blinking up at you hazily.
Who would ever say no to Lee Minho when he's in this state? You curl forward to press a quick kiss to his lips, though he deepens it, and you let him drool into your mouth and Jisung presses allllll the way in, his balls slapping gently against Minho's ass as he fucks the last few inches in all in one go. It's a little mean, and Minho cries out into your mouth, but it's a cry of pleasure. He'd never admit it, but Minho loves the burn of a good stretch, wants it to hurt just a little bit, because it means he'll really feel it tomorrow. Every time he sits down, he'll feel the shape of Jisung inside of him, and shit, if that isn't insanely hot.
"Can I-shiiiit-can I move?" Jisung pants, looking at Minho with crazed eyes.
You pull back enough for Minho to respond, though he's drooling and can barely even get a nod out, he's already so fucked dumb. Your thighs clench together involuntarily looking at him, and you give Jisung another reassuring nod to signal that it's okay.
"Go ahead, Sungie," you say, voice low and heady, "Fuck him like he was dreaming of earlier, when he stretched himself out in the shower for you."
It's a mean tactic, to remind them both of how needy Minho was before he even knew that Jisung would want this, and it has Jisung pulling back all the way and bucking back into Minho with one harsh thrust. It punches little ah-ah-ah!s out of Minho's throat as he picks up his pace, too needy to keep it slow like he promised.
Not that Minho minds, with the way that his eyes are almost permanently rolled back into his skull and he fingers are clenching your so hard you think he might be cutting off circulation. His other hand reaches forward to grip at Jisung's bicep, though he can't get a solid grip, and instead drags his nails down his arm instead, leaving angry red streaks on his skin. Jisung whimpers and fucks into his harder, the headboard clanking against the wall harshly. If somehow the neighbors didn't already know what was happening by the obscene sounds coming out of Minho's mouth, the knocking of the headboard would certainly alert them.Â
Not that any of you cared, not with how good everything felt. Every desperate fuck of Jisung's hips into Minho jolted the bed and sent heat curling through your body as well. Even though he wasn't fucking you, it sure felt like he was, with how your body was rocking with Minho's.
Minho couldn't manage any other words other than 'hyung' and 'please', though neither of you were quite sure what he was begging for. Jisung was in a similar state, Minho so tight-hot-wet around him that he couldn't get out much more than desperate moans and grunts as Minho clenched around him needily.
"Bet he feels so good, doesn't he, Sungie?" you say, grinning when Jisung struggles to answer, "Aww, are you both fucked dumb? My pretty boys look so good together. Look here, Sungie."
You reach your free hand out for Jisung's, and he lets you guide his hand to Minho's stomach, and fuck. That was him, wasn't it? He could feel his cock moving through Minho's stomach, feel the way he was stretching Minho's insides to remember the shape of him. He groans, eyes rolling back, and fucks his hips up into Minho's prostate, desperate to make Minho come before he does. He knows he's not going to last much longer, not with Minho clenching so perfectly around him and with you looking at him like that. How you're affecting him so much without even having to touch him is beyond Jisung, but he doesn't have time to think about it, because Minho's opening his bleary eyes and tilting his head to stare at you.
"Please, can I?" he says, voice strained from how much he's been moaning.
"Can you what? Gotta tell me what you need, jagi, I can't read your mind." You respond, though you certainly know what he's begging for.
Minho lets out a whimpers that turns into a full moan when Jisung fucks even harder into his prostate in retaliation.
"C-c'mon, Minho-yah-hngh, fuck! You can beg better than that." Jisung grits out, clenching his teeth when Minho's walls pulse around him, trying to milk him for all he's worth.
Minho's eyes are still on you, big and wet and wide, "Please, wanna-ah-ah-ah! Wanna come, wanna come so bad, I'm begging you, please!"
He starts really crying now, the dam finally breaking, big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he hiccups, fingers digging into yours.Â
"Hmmm, I think you should ask Sungie, jagi, he's the one fucking you, after all." You say, giving Jisung an expectant look.
He wants to curse you out for dragging this out any further, for making Jisung hold his own orgasm back, but he just groans again, cock twitching inside of Minho when he turns that big, teary gaze to Jisung.
"Hyung, Jisung-hyung!" He cries out, sobbing and hiccuping like he can't help but choke on his words when Jisung fucks him so good, "Please, can Min come? Wanna come, wanna come around your cock, wanna feel you filling me up, please, Jisung-hyung? Please, let Min come, please, hyung?"
He can't get any more words out after that, crying so hard all his words get choked off by sobs, and god, Jisung would do anything that Minho asked him in this state. Shit, he'd quit music forever if Minho told him that's what he wanted right now.
"Come, baby, come for hyung."
That's all it takes for Minho's back to arch off the bed and for cum to spurt out of his cock across his stomach. He comes so hard that a streak of it reaches his chest, and it makes him clench around Jisung. The rhythmic pulse of Minho's walls are enough for Jisung to send you a desperate look, hoping you understand what he's asking with his eyes. You nod once, giving him a cheshire grin, and he's crying out both of your names as he finishes inside of Minho.
The comedown is a blur, Jisung feeling like he's ascended to heaven. He still can't believe that this isn't a dream, that the two of you are dating him now, that you actually wanted him back just as much as he wanted you. As you're carefully wiping him and Minho clean, you press little butterfly kisses across any skin you can reach - Minho's soft stomach and his chest, Jisung's palm and his cheek - and guide them under the sheets. You strip out of your own clothes, just wanting to feel them against your skin, and grin as you watch Minho roll over lazily, giving Jisung a needy, sleepy look over his shoulder. Jisung snorts through his nose and curls around Minho's back, holding him close, and you come to the front of Minho, letting him bury his face in your chest.
"Thank you, Sungie." You say quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips over Minho's head. Minho's arm loops around you and pulls you closer, and you laugh a little as he nuzzles into your chest.
"For what?" He asks, blinking at you sleepily.
"For letting us love you," you murmur, eyes heavy and drooping, "And for loving us back."
You drift off just like that, and Jisung looks at you fondly, the peaceful look on your face and the warmth of you both against him lulling him to sleep, too.
â â â
To: Channie-hyung
>whoever else is in on your stupid bet owes you and Felix money btw
>thought i would let you know
>and before you say anything yes i will try and tell them to stop making out in obvious places in the building
>no promises, though
>thanks for believing in me, hyung
I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3
Hoseok thinks that home is a place you can plot on a map. But he realizes that living by himself is lonely. he gets a new place and puts out an ad for a roommate- What he doesnât expect is you- someone who has no knowledge of BTS- and heâll do anything to keep it that way.Â
Pairing: Hoseok x ReaderÂ
tags: Domestic love, lonely!Hoseok, roommates for lovers aU, secrets, mild angst, sooooo much fluff, literally I gagged while writing this several times. implied smut. Hurt/Comfort
A/N: I wrote this instead of studying, I hope youâre happy because Iâm probably going to fail because of this fucking au love me
Wordcount: 3.4k
-Hoseok and the rest of Bangtan finally decide to get their own places- and its one of the conditions of the renewal of their contract because a few of the guys have significant others now.Â
- He passes up an opportunity to get a three bedroom with Tae and Jungkook, and decides to live by himself like Yoongi.
- At first he decides to get a big old nice apartment on the top of a sky scrapper.Â
- Its modern and lit up, and everything he ever dreamed of having when he was a trainee.Â
- But it gets really lonely really quick.
- It starts to feel like a cage in the sky- while everyone comes home to something- all he has is his view of the city and floor to ceiling windows that will never open.Â
- Heâs gone for ages- he canât even fill it with greenery let alone have a pet.
- His penthouse doesnât really feel like a home- after half a year he gives up one it.Â
- He caves and asks Yoongi if he would like a roommateÂ
- âHell no- we finally get to have quiet to our selves dude- enjoy it before you meet someone and decide to have a family.âÂ
- So he decides to move into this quiet space- but in a busier more grungy part of town.Â
- A two bedroom above a coffee shop with a wrap around balcony thatâs a little ways away from Bighit.Â
- In a town where there are mostly bars and restaurants- the other apartments on the street catering to families or people that can barely make rent.Â
- He loves it more than his penthouse- how he can sit out on his street faceting balcony and people watch until he feels like sleeping.Â
- It always smells like baked goods from the cafĂŠ below,Â
- The little bathroom leaves a lot to be desired and theirs a stain on the ceiling from water damage but he loves it.Â
- Itâs still too lonely though. The foot traffic only lasts till 1- which is nothing when he doesnât get home until 12; 30 even on his less busy days. And he still doesnât feel like heâs home.Â
- After a drunken night and a little convincing from Seokjin he puts an advertisement in the local paper for his spare room.Â
- Heâs almost forgotten about it when he gets an email a few weeks later.Â
- And he meets you in the cafĂŠ downstairs. A sweet student a few years younger than him looking to get their first place away from their parents.Â
- He was worried that you would recognize him- that you could be a fan or at least know his face- but when he takes off his facemask in a moment of boldness he doesnât get any reaction.Â
- And he realizes that shit heâs lucked out- because you definably donât know who he is- or who bts are.Â
- You take a peek at his apartment after a nice conversation and almost swoon- because how the fuck is the rent so low when that place is so nice- and hella cute.Â
- He watches as you compliment the bathroom and the crown molding- which he hadnât even noticed. And he realizes how disconnected heâs gotten from the general public.Â
- You donât think much of Hoseok at first- maybe that heâs a little cagey and more than a little secretive- he wears facemasks everywhere and you hardly ever see him take it off if heâs not at home.
- His sudden hair color changes perplex you the most.
- At first you guys have such opposite schedules that you hardly ever feel like youâre living with anyone.
- Then Hoseok gets home at 3am to find you dancing in a extra large nightshirt and eating a tub of ice cream with the music blasting and he joins in- turning the music up ( the song was âfuck itâ by big bang).
- It doesnât matter that you canât dance for shit- that youâre literally soo terrible- you dance with more energy and passion than half the idols heâs met.Â
- Breathlessly you comment on his dancing skills and he just smiles and sayâs âyeah I dance a little on the side.âÂ
- You never really ask him what he does- you just assume that it pays well after his entire closet is overflowing with Gucci and designer clothes.Â
- Which you totally steal out of the clean laundry.
- Queue some small domestic spats about him turning one of your white sweaters pink with a Gucci sweater right before you wanted to wear it.Â
- Which result in him letting you wear the offending Gucci sweater.Â
- Which you donât give back until a month later when he goes too your room and demands it back.Â
- Your midnight dance partyâs become more frequent- and when it finally gets a little warmer you guys take to drinking out on the balcony and watching the cars drive by and the glowing turquoise neon lights of Omelas pub across the street.Â
- You talk about everything and anything
- Sometime youâll walk out a 4 am and find something keeping him up- or he finds you working on an assignment.Â
- And youâll go downstairs to the cafĂŠ or across town to your favorite dinner to cheer him up with comfort food.Â
- After a while Hoseok starts to realize that this is the first normal friendship that heâs had in a long long time.Â
- Sure the boys are great but there are no expectations between you two- itâs just effortless. Your budding friendship only building when the both of you have time.Â
- He doesnât have to wear a mask with you- at all. In fact- it almost seems like you can tell when heâs hiding something. Which is something that only the boys can do. Â
- And heâs not sure he would have this easy relationship with you if you knew he was an idol- so he does his best to keep it from you. Â
- He wants too keep the little slice of normalcy he has in his little apartment above the cafĂŠ.
- The two of you Lying on the ground in front of fans with you when the air-conditioning breaks on the hottest day of the summer.
- Going on runs together in the morning on his dayâs off.Â
- Coming home to find that you made too much dinner. and him trying some to find out that âshit youâre a good cook.â
 - shy smiles and thankyouâs over communally consumed cups of coffee on Sunday'sÂ
- Dance parties.
- Â Finding your colorful socks left in the washing machine.Â
- One day he comes back midday to find you just home from a run- and youâre making food while bopping to some music in a sports bra and a pair of shorts that look suspiciously like his.
- And he freezes when he starts to hear you rap part of cypher pt 4.Â
- His part.Â
- He yanks out your headphones when your eyes rise to meet his and he canât tell if the feeling in his stomach is apprehension, fear, or longing to have all of it out in the open.Â
- âI didnât know you liked rap music,â he says mildly, trying to keep his tone casual. You just shrug and keep cutting up vegetables.
- âI just found this song on iTunes and itâs totally my new work out jam- Wanna stick around for lunch? Iâm making veggie stir-fry.â He snags a carrot off of your cutting board.Â
- âCanât Iâve gotta get back.â You just shrug and put your headphones back in.Â
- He confesses to the boys that you still donât know who he is and theyâre all kind of shook. Â
- Half of them think he should tell you- after all youâve found theyâre music so youâre bound to get curious about them enough too look up their faces one day. Â
- But Hoseok just canât- he canât help but think the knowledge that heâs an idol will change everything for your relationship.Â
- And besides- heâs starting to get a twinge in his heart whenever he looks your way. And he knows what it means- even if heâs too stubborn and busy to confront it yet.Â
- Surprisingly Jungkook understands- and advises him too keep it a secret.Â
- So he does. Â But it gets harder day-by-day.Â
- He goes away for a short tour- and just tells you that he has to go away for a business trip.
- He gives you his number so that you can stay in contact about the apartment (in case thereâs a problem or something breaks while heâs away for the month)Â
- But heâs not surprised that you guys just end up texting each other every day
- You mention that you have a really big exam and that youâll be up late that night and he calls the cafĂŠ downstairs and begs them to deliver- after all he has a tab racked up anyway there.Â
- And you open the door too one of the cooks giving you a late and something sweet with a heart drawn on the back and just an âgood luck âHâ
- And you canât stop smiling for the rest of the day.Â
- And you realize that youâve begun to really miss him when heâs away- and you realize that all the little gestures he makes for you.Â
- When he comes back you cook together for a week- because he finally has time off and you have the final push before finals.
- You guys do everything together for that week. You watch TV. go too a few museums together, take walks at night when insomnia has both of you restless
- And yes- you have your famous dance parties (that have become almost routine at this point.)
- You even cuddle up on the couch together after a movie marathon. And Hoseok almost looses it when you fall asleep on his shoulder. His hands shake as he runs his fingers through your hair.Â
- He never wants this too end. This quiet peace he has with you.Â
- With you, he can take off his mask.Â
- Heâs always careful not too sing in the shower anymore- after all these months you still donât know heâs an idol.Â
- And heâs even more worried that youâll find out one day.Â
- You decorate the apartment for Christmas. With garlands, lights, and a tree in the corner by the water stain. He has a big-hit Christmas dinner to go too Christmas eve- but when he comes home he finds you watching a Christmas special on the TV.Â
- You smile and open up your fluffy blanket for him and he sinks into the couch next too you- taking off his tie as you ask about his day.Â
- Your legs are warm and bare next too his silk dress pants.Â
- You hand him a little gift- wrapped in gold wrapping paper.Â
- âJust a little something for being a good roommate, and giving me cheap rent.âÂ
- Itâs a little bracelet with the Hangeul for hope attached too it. Small and silver. Â
- His heart stutters- and you take his silence to be something bad.Â
- âYouâre always talking about hope- I just-â âI love it.âÂ
- He looks up at you- realizing how close your faces are. He takes your hand in his.Â
- âThank you y/n- itâs perfect.â You just smile up at him.
- âI got you something too.â Really heâs had it for ages- since he first started to feel love sting in his chest and tug on the strings of his heart.Â
- He comes back too the room too the announcer blaring into your living room â âup next a pre-recorded performance of Bangtan Sonyondan! Performing their new Christmas song!âÂ
- and he freezes because how the fuck could he forget. It had only been a few days ago that they had finished recording the special Christmas episode.Â
- He thinks fast- jumping on the couch âyour Christmas present is tickling!â and he tickles you until you canât breathe around your laughter.Â
- He barely manages to switch the channel before the commercial ends- turning it too a Christmas movie (love actually) that coincidentally he knows you love. Â
- Your laugh fills his apartment as you cry. âNo fair! I was watching that!âÂ
-  But you forget about it when he finally presents you with your gift. You open it slowly. Â
- Itâs a Gucci sweater- your favorite one that you always steal from Hoseokâs closet only this one is brand new tag still on it- the price scribbled out.Â
- Itâs easily the priciest gift youâve ever received.Â
- âHoseok⌠this must have been so expensiveâ and youâre right- the sweater was several hundred dollars more expensive then one months rent.Â
- Hoseok just shrugs and teases ânow you wont have to steal them from me anymore.â And you pull him down into a bone-crushing hug.
- And maybe its wrong- maybe itâs horrible for him too feel something for you when youâre his roommate.Â
- Â Maybe itâs horrible of him to feel his heart beat faster when heâs been lying to you.Â
- Maybe its because its Christmas Eve and he has no one but you.Â
- He lies there for a moment. Him on top of you his head pressed into your shoulder.
- The length of his body pressed against yours- happy for another personâs warmth on this cold night.Â
- He falls asleep for a little while- comforted by you, and wakes up to the luxurious feeling of your fingers rubbing down his spine underneath the covers. Â
- Cuddles become more of a regular thing for the two of you even after this as the winter slowly shifts to spring.Â
- He can tell when youâve had a bad day- heâll just pull you down, and youâll do the same for him.Â
- Your first kiss happens a few weeks after that- when youâre both cooking a communal dinner and he you just look so cute when you laugh after he accidentally flips some chicken from a pan onto the floor.Â
- And he accidentally acts on his hidden feelings, pressing a kiss too the corner of your mouth so quickly.Â
- Youâre a little stunned but then you kiss him back.Â
- If it seems at all possible you guys become even more effortless after that- pressing kisses too his lips when he leaves and the opposite.Â
- It becomes natural for you too sleep in his bed.Â
- But you donât realize how serious youâve both gotten until one month you go to pay rent and he just waves his hand saying- âdonât worry about it.â
- Â You still both havenât had that talk yet.
- You know the one where you define your relationship- this domestic love that is slow and lovely and so hopeful.Â
- Â You still havenât told him how you really feel- and though heâs made his feeling clear tooÂ
- Youâre certain he wouldnât put up with how needy you are sometimes if he didnât want you around at least a little bit.Â
- It still bothers you that you canât call yourself his girlfriend yet.Â
- But things pick up before you can talk about it- he goes on tour again- and he feels even more horrible for lying to you day by day.Â
- And your finals hit- and everything goes perfectly until you get one of your grades back and you failed- like flat out failed the class- you find out at the worst time.Â
- Hoseok isnât here and as far as you know he wont be back until next week. Â
- Youâre crying in the kitchen eating ice-cream when he walks in his suitcase dragging behind him- tired from his 15 hours of plane flights.Â
- At this point youâre basically balling about everything- youâre just so overwhelmed.Â
- âY/nâ he calls quietly. And you turned shocked. Trying to wipe away your tears before he sees.
- But he does see, and he wipes away your tears before begging you to tell him whatâs wrong and you tell him about your exam and he listens too you through all of it wiping away your tears with his thumb.Â
- When youâre done he just pulls you too your feet and takes your hand in his.Â
- And leads you too the center of your kitchen- taking you in his arms.
- A hand rubbing the small of your back while taking your other hand in his large hands.Â
- He slow dances with you- at 3 am in his kitchen.Â
- Thereâs no music like usual- Nothing but his quiet humming.Â
- You lean your head against his chest.Â
- And you hear him humming a song you recognize- itâs a song by bts,Â
- Which is surprising too you- because heâs only ever told you that he doesnât really listen to them
- When it gets to your favorite part you stop moving.
- Because his humming- the pitch of it.Â
- How his vocal cords wrap around the tune- sounds exactly like the voice that you hear out of your headphones.Â
- You look up at him and he stops humming.Â
- âHoseok are you-?â you just trail off- when you realize that youâve never asked him what he does.Â
- He can see you slowly putting it together- his busy schedule- his cagey personality- his obvious wealth.Â
- âPlease I can explain if you let me, y/n just- please donât freak out.â He pleads.
- And he sits you down before trying to explain everything too you.Â
- You sit quietly listening too his story.Â
- He looks at you with baited breath when heâs finished waiting for your response. âPlease I never wanted to lie too you- but after I while I just got so scared that you would leave or move out-â
- You start laughing - and itâs a little funny the impossibility of this situation.
- The guy that millions of girls probably lust after just ends up being your roommate because you answered a misspelled add in the newspaper. (he was drunk- so you donât blame him that much).
-  After you tell him why youâre laughing his faces looses his worried expression. Â
- âHow could you ever think that I wouldnât want to stay- Hoseok I admire everything that you do- you work so hard and Iâm just- Iâm astounded I didnât realize sooner.âÂ
-âSo youâre not mad?â you just grin at him and shrug âMaybe a little? Maybe I could see you perform and meet the other members as an apology.âÂ
- He introduces you as his girlfriend too the boys- and you love all of them and they all love you.
- By the end of it he canât imagine why he was so worried about it in the first place because youâre such a natural at this.Â
- Bighit talks too the both of you about keeping your relationship a secret- but it doesnât seem too be much of a problem.Â
- Life continues as usual- only Hoseok has someone to come home too and love him and itâs more than he ever hoped for in his life.Â
- Dance parties start to end with your hips pinned against the kitchen counter and his hungry lips against your neck.Â
- Shared Showers after dance practice turn into tender lovemaking.Â
- Study sessions turn sultry when he pulled you on to his lap. âCome on you know itâs more comfortable.âÂ
- Everything is absolutely perfect.Â
- You graduate from college. And Hoseok takes you to your first BTS concert. And when he gets off stage youâre just there beaming at him.Â
- When he looks at you he realize.Â
- Home was never an apartment above a coffee shop.Â
- Home was you all along.
Bonus â during the performance you totally shout, âthatâs my man!â when he does a hip roll youâve seen him do a dozen times in your kitchen.
Ghostface taekook eiffel towering the reader during a halloween partyđ pls and thank you I love your workđđ˝
Scream
A/N: Thanks for entering my mind and sending me this request. Love the masked men concept. And it goes so well for October! Please, don't be a stranger in my inbox - I really hope you enjoy!
Happy Halloween Pretties! đđ
Warnings: mdni 18+, threesome, creampies, eiffel tower, cunnilingus, size kink (they big boys), dirty talk, breeding kink, praise, deep-throat, spit-roast hehe, a little hint of degradation, teasing, little taunts, one-night stand???, you don't know who they are???? stranger danger, you're a lil freak and they love it
WC: 3,339
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Halloween, the one night in the year when you could be anything or anyone. And you found yourself abandoned by your so-called friends at some frat Halloween party. Great.
You felt out of place; there are people everywhere dressed in all types of costumes, dancing and grinding, while you stood awkwardly along the wall, feeling like a fish out of water. This wasn't your scene; you could normally be found at home in your dorm studying or reading smut on your phone. But just a few pleas from your friends to come out and let loose, and here you are, fidgeting in your costume.
You were dressed as a slutty clown, I know, original. You didn't have many options for a last-minute party. Your fingers tugged on the ruffled collar around your throat, sighing as you decided, even if your friends left you to be with their boyfriends the minute you all stepped inside the fraternity, you could still have fun.
Fuck it, you deserved to let loose. So, you pushed off the wall, weaving your way through the crowd to the kitchen, looking for something to drink. Your eyes scanned the mini bar the fraternity had set up on the counter - beer, beer, hard liquor, and Halloween punch.
Halloween punch it is.
And oof, did the Halloween punch really pack a punch.
You felt your body slowly start to relax, the strong alcohol taking effect, enticing you to go back to the living room where everyone was still dancing. A fog machine creeps a thick film of smoke along the floor as strobe lights flash to the heavy beat of the music blasting from the speakers.
Liquid courage has you moving to the center of the dance floor, your eyes closing as you let yourself fall into the music, your hips swaying to the beat, surrounded by couples who bump and grind around you.
One song leads to another, and then to a third, before you're feeling hands on your waist, guiding you to the rhythm. You continue to keep your eyes closed, letting the mysterious hands hold your waist, feeling the warmth of their body press against yours as you two dance closely. A warmth spreads throughout your body, and you let yourself enjoy this moment.
That is, until you feel a second pair of hands on your hips.
Your eyes immediately blink open, looking at the stranger before you, only to be met with a Ghostface mask. Your first thought: He was tall. Your head tilted back to look at his masked face. He was dressed in the dark robes, looking strong and intimidating. Everything you usually found attractive in your silly little books youâve read. Youâve always thought masked men were hot..
And so, the moment you see the Ghostface mask hiding his identity, you're embarrassed to say youâre a hot, quivering mess. You really do blame the smutty books you read, feeling your breath become labored, thighs clenching together as a small warmth pools in your lower stomach.
âDonât stop dancing,â the muffled voice from behind you makes you remember you were also dancing with a second stranger, and you looked over your shoulder to see him. âWeâre just starting to have fun.â
Your heart skipped a beat, feeling a wave of arousal drench your panties. He was also wearing a Ghostface mask. Oh fuck. Both men had you trapped in between them, they were so tall and big. Your mind whirled, feeling the first Ghostface squeeze your hips. âDonât you wanna have fun with us, Pretty?â
-
Having fun with two masked men results in you grinding between both of them, songs bleeding together just like their hands. A pair of hands rubbed down your thighs as another moved up. Hands grabbing your arms and putting them on the shoulders of the Ghostface who was in front of you, as your ass pressed back into the Ghostface behind you.
You three were a tangle of bodies, entwined, dancing to the beat. Your face was flushed; you could feel through their dark robes that they were fit. Strong muscles brushed against you as they kept you caged between them. It felt like a fever dream; you didn't want to wake up.
And it was no surprise when one of your Ghostface men tugged at you to follow him moments later. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, seeing a flash of colorful ink that led underneath his dark clothes. You blindly followed him through the crowd, only glancing back to see your second Ghostface stalking after you both.
Your heart leaped when you were led upstairs. The second floor was less crowded, but the music was just as loud. You had barely any time to see where you were going before you were walking to the end of the hall, right into an empty bedroom.
You were alone now with the two of them. The second Ghostface closing the door behind him with a resonating 'click'. It dawned on you then, you didn't even know them. This is literally how the victims die in the slasher movies. You shouldn't be pressing your thighs together for relief; you shouldn't feel your nipples pucker, straining against the corset hugging your body.
The tension in the air rises, and you can't help but ask, "Do I know you?" Your college is fairly big, but you might know one of them. You might have a class together - your eyes flicker between the two tall men. The one who led you here huffs a laugh, stepping forward. "Where's the fun in that?" His voice has a little rasp to it, and you feel yourself throb between your legs.
"I-I don't recognize your voice." You stumble over the words, your face flushing as he closes the distance between the two of you.
"You hoping it's someone specific?" Your eyes widen when the second Ghostface ends the question with your name. They know you. And yet you don't know them, not when they still keep their face covered by their masks.
They have you caged again, one of them tilting your chin up to look at them. They had to be over 6 feet tall. A soft gasp fell from your lips when you felt one of them brush their gloved hands higher up your thigh, "I-I think this is a little unfair, don't you?" Your hand pressed against one of their chests, feeling hard muscles underneath, making your head spin again. "You know me, but I don't get to know you?"
âBaby,â their laughter is dark and you canât tell who is talking when their hands caress your body leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. âYou can get to know us intimately, if youâd like.â
The adrenaline rushes through your veins.
What are you doing? What are you even thinking?
This wasn't like you.
But that's the thing.. tonight was the one night you could be whoever you want to be. And tonight, you choose to be reckless.
Your knees sink into the carpet underneath you, your eyes staying on the Ghostface in front of you. You donât know itâs Taehyung youâre getting on your knees for but it still makes him bite his bottom lip under the mask. You bat your eyelashes up at him, feeling Jungkook kneel behind you.
Jungkook leans over you, bringing his mask-covered-face near your ear, the both of you looking up at Taehyung as Jungkook grabs your waist with his gloved hands. âDonât be shy, tell him what you want, Pretty.â
The scene before Taehyung makes him groan softly, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Jungkook slides his hands down your stomach, slowly going lower and making you gasp. âWanna - oh! - wanna suck your cock, please!â Jungkookâs hand disappears under your tutu and tights, cupping your soaking pussy over your drenched panties. It makes you keen, body falling forward to hold onto Taehyungâs strong thighs.
Both men groan. Taehyung because you beg so sweetly and Jungkook because he feels just how turned on your are by them. Your thighs spread wider for him, giving his hand room between your thighs as your back arches obscenely.
Taehyung moves first, discarding his dark robes with ease. He leaves his mask on, leaving him in dark jeans and heavy combat boots. Your head spins, taking in all his sun-kissed skin as he pushes his jeans low enough to free his aching cock. And oh, heâs big. Big, long, curving to the right and you can only imagine his friend was most likely similar. Youâve never had someone that big before and you could feel your mouth water.
Jungkook slipped his hand from between your thighs, sitting back on his knees, watching as you take Taehyung's cock in your hands. He can see Taehyung suck in a breath, both of them watching you lean forward and take his tender mushroom tip into your wet mouth. You swirled your tongue against his fat tip, tasting the sweetened pre-cum that was coated there. Moaning at his taste and eagerly bobbing your head farther down.
Taehyungâs head tilted back, sighing heavily as his hand found the back of your head. âF-fuck, thatâs it. Take it all the way down.â Your moans were muffled by his cock, mixing with the lewd sucking you did. âHowâs it taste, pretty?â His dicks prods way back against your throat, and your eyes water - your gag reflex getting triggered and making your throat constrict around his shaft. âAw, is it too much for ya? Fuck, but you feel so good choking my cock though.â
The feeling of Taehyungâs cock, filling your mouth up, all hot and hard, distracts you from Jungkook. Heâs still quietly watching, getting a great view of your ass arched up for him as you deep-throat his best friend. Itâs debauched how wet you are. Your panties are ruined. They stick to your skin as your arousal seeps onto your tights, creating a wet spot right between your thighs. Jungkook licks his lips and decides he needs a taste.
His large hands grab a handful of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before a loud smack resonates in the air. Your body jolts forward, another sound of you gagging echoes, and Jungkook gets to see the way your ass jiggles from the force. âPretty pussyâs crying for us,â he hums, taunting you while Taehyung guides your head up and down his length languidly. âBet you taste so sweet- mmm I think I need to find out, donât you?â You donât get a chance to respond, you feel his fingers curl into your tights. A loud rippppp ringing through the room as he tears a hole into your tights, right between your plush thighs.
The heat of Jungkookâs body disappears from behind you, only for a moment, before he returns. Jungkook slides his mask up, just enough to uncover his face from the nose down. His gloves are thrown behind him before he lies under you, head between your beautiful thighs, his fingers hook into your panties to pull them to the side. He pants against your wet folds, earning another wave of arousal to leak from your drooling cunt. âSit on my face, Pretty. Lemme have a taste.â
-
The room fills with nasty squelches. You have the lewdest expression plastered on your face, with the way your eyes rolled back, drool escaping past your lips. Taehyung holds you down on his cock while Jungkook stuffs your pussy knuckle-deep with two of his long fingers. Your moans are muffled, and by this point, you could barely breathe, sucking deep breaths through your nose. It feels crazy how you donât want them to stop.
Jungkookâs lips wrap around your sensitive clit, sucking hard while his fingers curl deeper. The pads of his fingertips are hitting your sweet spot purposely; you gasp, falling forward more. Your throat constricts around Taehyung's dick, making you gag again and cutting your airflow. Taehyung pulls your mouth off of him with a wet, âfwup.â Watching, in awe, as the strings of spit cling to his cock from your lips. Your lips are puffy, coated in spit and his cum, and trembling for more. Youâre so dumb on his cock and Jungkookâs mouth, itâs maddening. He purses his lips together, âfuck, you should see her face. I think sheâs made for us.â
Jungkook takes a moment to respond, too busy making you tremble over his tongue. His tongue flicks your clit, upping the tempo, while he stretches you open with another finger. Stuffing you full with three of his fingers, your jaw drops, your vision whitens as you scream in pleasure. Your hips buck wildly, your orgasm consuming you while you hold onto Taehyungâs thick thighs for mercy. Jungkook never stops licking you through it. His tongue lapping everything you give, the lower half of his face drenched with your sweet honey.
When your tremors reduce to just little twitches, you realize Jungkook has moved again. He's back to leaning against you from behind as Taehyungâs hand cups your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek affectionately. âDonât tell me youâre tapping out,â Taehyung taunts, and swipes his swollen tip against your tongueâgiving it a few smacks just to drag out a whimper from you. âWeâre just getting started.â Taehyung tilts his head at you, the Ghostface almost looks mockingly, before his fingers squish your cheeks together, forcing your mouth part. âSay ah,â and then his thick cock is sinking into your mouth again, sliding all the way down to the back of your throat. âThatâs it. Hold it, relax that throat for me ân keep me nice nâ warm.â
Itâs filthy how his words cause you to mewl, his thick cock making you an entire mess. Your fingernails claw down his thighs as he pushes your head down. Big, fat tears fill your eyes, making your vision bleary again until they slide down your full cheeks. With his thick shaft reaching down your throat, you feel the sudden throb of another cock, sliding through your wet folds.
âI think your pretty pussy was missing me - hah -sheâs weeping all over me.â Thatâs the only warning Jungkook gives you, before heâs dipping his cock down to kiss your puffy clit. He smirks at Taehyung when you jolt, and then heâs notching his thick tip on your quivering entrance. He sinks the head of his cock into your greedy cunt, slowly. And if you thought you felt full with Taehyung in your mouth, nothing prepares you for Jungkook.
Jungkookâs cock is faaatt, splitting you open so deliciously your pussy slurps him up noisily, trying pathetically to suck him in deeper. You feel every inch of him drag along your gummy walls, filling you until his pelvis smacks into your ass. And all you can think is youâre so fucked. Your walls throbbing around his girth, stretching you like never before, your mind barely registers that they both have stopped moving to let you adjust. It was torturous; they felt so good that they felt delirious.
Your mind short-circuited, turning into mush as you felt yourself begin to squirm. You tried to roll your hips back into Jungkook before sinking your mouth lower onto Taehyung's heavy cock. âSo greedy, our Prettyâs cock-drunk trying to take us deeper.â Taehyungâs fingers threaded in your hair with a surprised huff, and your teary eyes looked up at the Ghostface mask, silently begging for more.
And who were they to deny you? Both of them are addicted to how good you feel wrapped around them. They moved in sync; when one thrusted forward, the other pulled back. Taking turns to stuff you over and over again. Forcing you to take it, causing you to drool on them from both ends. You looked pornographic, slurping Taehyung up before Jungkook sloshed deeper inside you with each stroke.
It didnât take long for them to build you up, Jungkook smacked your ass, leaning over your back to then grope your breasts. His fingers pinching and pulling, playing you like his favorite instrument while Taehyung pulled your hair. Both of them are groaning, moaning, and making your tummy flip. Your orgasm flashed through you like lightning. It came so suddenly, a long moan fell from your lips as you sucked the tip of Taehyung cock dumbly. Your cunt clamped tight around Jungkookâs length. Your thighs shook, your toes curled, and your sweet juices splashed onto your thighs and his balls, hard.
Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, his skilled fingers rubbing your hypersensitive clit, helping you ride it out as you shivered on their cocks. When you moaned, sucking Taehyung a little deeper again, the boys knew it was okay to move. Your body, mere putty in their hands, took each of their thrusts happily. Your content, âmmmâs,' egging them on as you rocked to meet each roll of their hips. Your brain was fried, your eyes were practically heart-shaped, and you wanted them to cum. Needed them to cum.
âOh fuck, sucking me so deep, baby.â Taehyungâs thrusts grew sloppier first. Your tongue swirled so wickedly that his eyes rolled back. âFuck, fuck, fuck - hah - want me to cum that badly?â
Jungkook was no better, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his fingers digging into your hips roughly. âI- oh! - yeah, thatâs right, sheâs begging for it. Her pretty pussy squeezed me so tightly when you asked - oh my god - I think she wants us to fill her up.â Jungkook's thrusts became erractic, the tender mushroom tip of his cock smashing into your cervix more fiercely. "Don't you?"
You were so far gone, you would agree to anything. Your head is nodding as much as it could with Taehyung fucking your throat. Little "mmph's!" happily ringing out in between your gasps for air. The boys had reached their limit, your mouth and pussy sucking them deeper, commanding their release.
And at the same time, they cursed, their hips pushing forward - stuffing you full, they grabbed each other's hands for support. Their cocks swelling, twitching before spilling their seed deep inside. Both of the low groans, melding together as they shivered above you.
When their cocks softened, Taehyung moved first. His fingers carding through your hair gently, as he slipped from your addicting mouth. "Did so good for me," he praised you, watching as you lolled your tongue out for him - showing you swallowed every last drop. "S'good f'me."
Jungkook took a little longer to move away from you. His cum, warm and sticky, coated your walls white - filling you to the brim before seeping out of your overstuffed pussy. His hands rubbed your ass soothingly, and when you remembered he had to have taken his mask off to eat you out, you looked back to see who he was.
But they were one step ahead of you. Jungkook's Ghostface mask was already back on. And he huffed a laugh at your whine, smacking your ass playfully as he slipped out of you. A mixture of your cum and his, gushing after him and dripping down your thighs. Jungkook tutted and moved your panties back in place to keep the mess in.
Before you could say anything, the sound of sirens brought everything back to reality. The party downstairs, the music screeching to a stop, and you can barely hear the cops' muffled yells, âAlright! Partyâs over!â Your heart drops, oh no.
You could hear people scream, hear the sounds of people running to not get caught. You needed to leave, and right as you thought it, your two Ghostface men reached a hand out for you. Theyâre offering a way out with them.
You had chosen to be reckless, to let loose, to have fun just for tonight.
Your lips curved into a sly grin and you slipped your hands into theirs, easily, letting them lift you up.
Halloween isnât over yet, and youâre going to find out who they are before the night ends.
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A/N: Love to hear from you. Leave a comment, feedback, either way, I hope you enjoyed this!
"F*cking two bad bitches at the same damn time-" - Future
Also, to Eiffel Tower, they had to hold hands lmao, otherwise we just spit-roasting and idk it was funny to write it. 10/10
summary: after finding out that some girls have a list of their hookups and how they rank them on different aspects, the boys are eager to know their scores and show you how they can be better than the others.
genre/warning: literally porn with a plot; a lil fluff but mostly smut and crack/ thereâs a lot of sexual talk, jokes and scenes so if you donât like it please get out bc itâs mostly that lol, the porn will start in the first chap this is the intro cuz i love to write shit and silly jokes;; also, it does have a lot of âplot twist-ishâ and some delicate themes that iâll be warning next chapter since i love to write female characters so yeah, porn with a lot of plot actually.
âCan you keep scrolling?. This foreshadowing trend is getting boring.â
It was a beautiful Saturday night in Korea, the end of summer was coming and most people were taking advantage of the amazing weather to go out and spent time outside. People would believe one of the biggest bands in the whole world would be enjoying their money and going outside with friends or travelling to other places, maybe even practicing or creating new projects for their careersâ Bangtan wasnât doing any of that. The seven guys were in your apartment watching TikTok videos for the last hour. It was almost midnight and they were still in your home just wasting time.
You had invited them to have dinner with other friends to celebrate Thanksgiving in October, a weird tradition none of your friends in the country celebrated but that you had begged them to do it since it was a friendly cultural tradition for you. Of course, it was easy to convince them with dinner, thats why most of them came to the gathering.
The group had stayed longer that you had planned⌠as always.
âItâs getting late,â you mumbled, stretching your arms tiredly.
âYeah, youâre right,â Jin yawned. âIâm getting hungry again. Should we order something?.â
They didnât know how to take a hint.
âMaybe you should, uhm, como se dice⌠Calabaza, calabaza, cada uno paâ su casa. Donât you think?.â
âGirl, youâre Canadian not hispanic,â Jimin rolled his eyes.
âYouâre half Korean, you donât have a hispanic bone in your body.â Taehyung said.
âRead a book.â
âThought she was American.â
âOh my god,â they were so annoying. âCan you guys go home?. The dinner finished like three hours ago.â
âHome is so far,â Ho-seok shook his head. âCan I crash here today?.â
âHell, no.â
âMean.â
âShould we watch a movie?. This app is slowly killing my brain.â Namjoon said with disapproval.
âWhat if you guys watch a movie in your own home?.â
âYour TV is bigger.â Yoongi muttered.
âDude, youâre a millionaire, buy a bigger one.â
You sofa was a âLâ kinda of furniture. Him and Jin were laying in one side, Taehyung and Yoongi in the other part. Namjoon, Hobi, Jimin and you were sitting on the floor, your head touching Jungkookâs knee. All of you separated in different parts around the furniture even when it was bigger enough to have the seven of you sitting in there.
You sighed annoyed before giving up. Luckily you didnât have to work tomorrow so you could stay awake longer than usual.
The eight of you decided to eat the leftovers of the evening and, while Jin went to the kitchen to warm the food, one video caught the attention of everyone in the room.
There was a guy in the TV talking how some girls had a list on their notes app about all the boys they had slept with and how they rank them on different aspects. He talked how he wanted to know his ranking and asked a friendâ who he usually hookup with â to know his score. The story wasnât that hard to understand since it was short and fun but what caught the attention of everyone in the room, mostly the boys, was knowing that some girls did that.
âThatâs not true,â Jungkook chuckled, unconvinced. âWho would make a list like that?.â
Everyone turned their heads to look at you. A pause. And then Jimin started laughing.
You didnât deny it.
âOh, my god. You have one!?â
âMaybe,â you replied, a little quiet.
âAre you kidding me?â The younger seemed to woke up completely. He took a seat next to you immediately. âYou have a list?, Whatâs the ranking?.â
âI wonât talk about this with you guys.â
You laughed at their curiosity.
Taehyung pouted. âWhy no? I want to know too.â
âBecause itâs weird.â
âWhy would you have a list if youâre not going to talk about it?â Jimin insisted.
âI said I wonât talk about it with you all. I spill with my girls all the time,â you smiled innocently. âHave to share the knowledge.â
âYou know how fucked up this would be the other way around?â Yoongi asked.
âMen just hate seeing women in male dominated fields.â
âYouâre an idiot,â Jimin rolled his eyes. âJust tell me the ranking you have and why Iâm the number one.â
âOh, my god,â Namjoon threw him a pillow. âDonât be an asshole and shut up.â
âYes, thank you. Can you guys never say shit like that again?.â
âIâm curious!â Taehyung whined. âWhy canât we know?.â
âWhy would you wanna know?.â
âWouldnât it be fair?â Jin appeared from the kitchen, a plate of food in his hand. âWouldnât you like to know if we had a ranking about you?.â
The guys pointed at him and his good argument. You knew he was right.
âTouchĂŠ,â you giggled, still not telling anything. âWhere is the food?.â
He rolled his eyes âGo grab it from the kitchen.â
Everyone stood up to do grab a plate of food from the kitchen and some Soju bottles you had in your fridge. Soon you were all sitting on the floor doing a little round while eating.
You knew they werenât going to let the subject go so easily. You werenât uncomfortable talking about your hookups with the boys but it was a little weird to you that now they knew youâve had written about almost every guy in that living room in your notes app where you had ranked them and giving some opinions about how good or bad they were when you fucked them.
âSo youâre going to tell us?â the younger smiled cutely, trying to convince you.
âNope, so shut up.â
âCome on,â Taehyung whined again. âI need to know.â
âYou guys donât have bad rankings if thatâs what youâre worried about. You donât need to know, you were good.â You tried to let the subject go, not letting it be a big thing. âItâs just a comment on how it was. I have bad memory and I wanted a reminder. Not a big deal.â
âBut it is. I need to know what you wrote about it,â he argued back.
âNo, you donât.â
âWhat about a deal?â Jimin questioned, you looked at him confused.
âNo.â
âItâs not that,â he smiled machiavellian. âYouâve been trying to get into that art project with Jacquemus, right?.â
âFirst of all, itâs not an art project. Itâs a deal that Iâm trying to do to expand my brand.â You corrected him even though you were aware he knew. âAnd second⌠what about it?.â
âYeah, that, whatever.â He tried not to smile when you looked annoyed. âWhat if I casually introduce you to Simon and you talk about your business deal with him?.â
âYou wouldnât.â
âWell, I have an event with Tiffany & Coâs next week and he casually happens to be in it.â The dancer shrugged. You narrowed your eyes, suspiciou. âYou can come with me as my stylist.â
Oh, he was tempting.
You had been in the fashion industry since you graduated college. Getting a job in a fashion magazine where you got to know more about the business and then successfully opening your own clothing brand where you got to sponsor a lot of celebrities around the world, Bangtan being one of themâ actually them being one of the first ones to support your little business when you started. Their company had been the first to contact you to use your brand when Taehyung was capture wearing some of your cute sweaters back in 2018.
Of course, you were already friends before that, when you guys bonded at some event back in the year and had spent nights sleeping with each other. You had become really close friends so it wasnât a big deal for you that he wanted to take some of your clothes when he found you working one dayâ of course you didnât know the big deal it would be after that.
You had to thank him a lot when people reached for your brand after that photo of him went viral. And the thing was, people didnât know that you were actually that close⌠and they didnât need to. They would say you had slept your way to the top and it wasnât true⌠you had slept around before it.
âYou swear?.â
âPinky swear, baby.â He showed you his finger for you to grabbed it.
âI better get the invitation tomorrow.â
âIt will be the first thing you see in the morning.â
You sighed, already accepting the deal before you could think how bad of a decision it was. âJust the ranking of you guys.â
âEverything we want to know,â Jimin shook his head. âIâm getting you a meeting with the owner of the company you want to buy or whatever.â
âI donâtââ You stopped yourself. He was doing it on propuse, he was good at annoying you. âItâs not a meeting, youâre just introducing me to him.â
âStill enough. Once I introduce you, youâre gonna get the deal. Youâre a good shit-talker.â
âI hate you,â he smirked at you. âThree questions each and we donât talk about this ever again.â
âOur rankings, two questions each and we donât talk about this ever again.â
âDeal.â
âDeal.â
You both intertwined fingers and everyone cheered like it was some of the biggest deals made in history. You rolled your eyes, almost comically before grabbing your phone.
âOkay, what do you guys wanna know?.â
âHow many people do you have on your list?â
The first one to ask was Namjoon.
âThirty-nine.â
âDamn.â
âShut up, if you had a list you probably would have like three thousand people on thereâ
âNot true,â Yoongi denied, chilled laying on your sofa. âI can count them with my fingers.â
âAnd you will have to multiply them by ten.â
âSheâs right, youâre kinda of a whore.â Taehyung nodded in agreement. âA silent whore though, Iâve barely know your hookups.â
âAnyway,â the rapper changed the subject. âIs it actually a ranking of who was the best?.â
âItâs not. I just have the names of the people Iâve slept with and, you knowâ I just ranked them for different topics and write some comments.â You laugh, getting a little flustered already. âIt started because I wanted to sleep with all zodiac signs as a joke and then I just kept going.â
Jin whistled âThatâs crazy⌠What topics?.â
âSo only four of us are on the list?â Hobi questioned.
âFive actually,â you blushed for the first time in the night.
âWaitâ Wait. What do you mean?â the dancer frowned confused. âI know about Tae, Jimin, Namjoon and Jungkook.â
âSurprise,â Yoongi smiled smugly.
âGod,â you shook your head. A little embarrassed. âSo, yeah, I meanâ it happened like six months ago.â
âWell⌠everyone knew it was gonna happen eventually.â Namjoon shrugged.
âWeird. You guys never talked about it.â Jimin pointed out, a weird grimace on his face.
âNot that weird actually, they barely talked about their hookups.â Taehyung said. âBut everyone knows theyâre sluts.â
âOuch?â you snorted. âWe were a little drunk, it wasnât that big of a deal.â
âYou didnât answer my question,â Jin took your attention.
âWhy do you wanna know so much?. You are not in the list anyway,â Jimin tried to made fun of him.
âI want to know how bad were you guys.â
âPlease, I probably have a ten out of ten score.â the dancer said confidently. âIs a ten out of ten score, right?.â
âYes and itâs not a big thing.â You tried to let that be clear again. âItâs just how good you each were. Notes about what was the best and some stupid comments.â
âCan I read it for you?â Hobi asked with excitement.
âNo, and you just finish your questions so shut it.â
âOkay, I wanna know my ranking and comments.â Jungkook whined, hurrying you up.
âYeah, for everyone.â Namjoon said.
Jimin nodded âRead it for us.â
âYou actually want me to read you rankings out loud?â you questioned.
âDuh.â
âWait, why am I getting nervous?â the golden boy frowned a little panicked. âI wasnât bad, right?.â
Taehyung snorted. âI know I wasnât bad. We had a lot of sex. You wouldnât have sex with the same person ifâ Why did you give me that look?! Was I bad?!â
âOh, my god.â Yoongi rolled his eyes, already annoyed by his band mates. âJust let her read it.â
âAs you wish.â
âWhy are you scrolling that much?â Hobi sat next to you. âWow, Taehyung you were her number twenty-four.â
âGo away,â you pushed Hoseok, a little too hard. That didnât do much since he went back to your side.
âI want to know too,â Jin sat behind you to look at your screen. âOh, wow.â
âRead it!.â
âOkay, okay. Itâs very explicit.â
âEven better.â
Eeryone complained at Jiminâs comment.
âIs everyone sureâŚ?â
âYes!.â
You giggled at their impatience before looking at your phone. You read the note before looking at them. All ayes were on youâ You couldnât read that out loud. Hell no, it was too much.
You fake gagged at the thought of doing it. It was easier when you were drunk and talking with your girls and not sober with seven boys trying to know who was best at fucking you.
âShit, I canât⌠itâs weird!â You shook your head, trying not to look so freaked out. âBy the way, I need to clarify that there is no person in the list that has a ten out of ten, there is just one guy that has nine point five out of ten and is none of you.â Everyone booed you. âYeah, suck it up. If you feel that youâre low, believe me youâre not.â Ho-seok smiled amused when you gave him your phone. âOkay, you read it.â
âHurry up!.â
Taehyung, eight out of ten. Big dick, he fucks really good when heâs mad and is usually very intense in the act. Comments: heâs down to try almost any weird shit, finger play goes crazy.
Taehyung jumped out of his seat, smiling and bowing to the boys who pretended to throw up at the information.
âYou heard it, baby girls. Iâm big dickââ
âShut up!â
âYou can call me âbig dickâ from now on, guys. Thatâs my new nickname. Forget about âVââ.
âLet me read the parenthesis,â Jin took everyones attention.
You tired to grab your phone but it was too late. âNo, thatâs notâ
(He seems to always finish first and sometimes doesnât care if you do).
Everyone started laughing. Taehyung got all red and you hid your face between your hands, embarrassed.
âThat was one time because I had to catch a plane!. You told me it was okayââ
âI knew Tae wasnât a giver,â Jimin clicked his tongue. âShould of give him a two out of ten.â
âBy the way, everyone has a parenthesis,â Jin smiled. âAnd it seems itâs the bad things.â
âWow, you rated one guy two out of tenâ Hobi chuckled. âIt says âBad eater, small dickâ. Damn, youâre mean.â
âDonât read that!â You threw him a pillow.
âI wanna know mine!,â Namjoon whined.
âLet me go by order, Jungkook is number twenty-eight.â The rapper said out loud. The younger looked attentively at his friend. âJungkook, seven point five out of ten.â
âHa!â Tae laughed at him.
Great sex, one time he made me come thrice in less than one hour, heâs really hot when goes dominant guy. Comments: his stamina is crazy, can fuck for hours, good at being submissive.
âI want to know the parenthesis!.â
âThree times in less than an hour is crazy work,â Ho-seok muttered.
âLacks self respect,â Jin giggled.
âWhat?. What it does even mean?â Jungkook frowned.
âUhm, you know.â You cleared your throat, awkwardly. âI didnât mean it as a bad thingâ youâre cute. Is.. respect, theâ I mean in the way that⌠you know?â You went silent.
âStop stalling,â Jungkook was confused. âWhat did you mean by that?.â
âBabe, you have never say no to anything Iâve ever wanted to do.â
âAnd?.â
âOh,â Yoongi chuckled. âI get it.â
âWhat itâs wrong with that?â Jungkook asked.
âDude, sheâs a fucking freaky.â Jimin pointed out. âThere are things even Tae probably said no to.â
âThatâs true,â Taehyung agreed. âAnd youâre not that freaky, Kook. Lack of self respect.â
âI meanâ for me is great but people might take advantage of you.â You said sympathetically.
âDidnât you do that?â Jimin questioned.
âAnd why wouldnât I?.â
The guys laughed and Jungkook sat back thinking about the comment.
âOkay, me next!.â
âRight, you.â Hobi read the list. âNumber thirty-four, Jimin. Eight out of ten too.â
Knows how to move and how to get you in the mood immediately, weirdly good at quickies. Comments: loves face riding as much as me, after care is amazing.
âYou listen to it, whores!â Jimin sang excitedly. âI should have the ten out of ten. What can even be the bad comment?. Too much after care?.â
(Gets too much into it, forgets to keep you in the mood).
Everyone started to made fun of him.
âSo basically, you donât know how to entertain her. You bored her,â Yoongi sighed dramatically. âOh, youâre that bad, uh.â
âIt didnât say that!.â
âJimin is bad at sexâŚâ Jungkook sang.
âShut up, six out of ten.â
âI was seven point five!.â
âNext one is Joon,â Hobi interrupted. âNumber thirty-five. Oh, wow, after Jimin.â
âWhy would you say that?â You shook your head, embarrassed.
âIâm just reading, baby.â He chuckled.
Namjoon, seven point five out of ten. Knows how to talk you through it, good dick. Comments: heâs hot. (loves cowgirl but doesnât know when to change it, got tired of it.)
âThatâs it?â the leader whined, his expectations falling quickly. âWhy that low then?.â
âI mean, it was great!â you tried to put him down slowly. âBut we had sex once. It wasnât that mind blowing⌠but it was great!.â
âWhat sheâs trying to say is that youâre mid.â Jimin put oil to the fire.
âShut up, you bore her to death.â
âMy god. Can we just finish this already?â you whined.
âLetâs give it up for Yoongiâ Taehyung clapped. âIâm going to give it a guess and said one out of ten.â
âThatâs why his hookups never come back,â Jimin added to the joke.
âThey only fucked once and Yoongi seems lazy. He has to be lower than me.â Namjoon muttered to himself.
âI canât believe you put me the same score as Namjoon and you guys only fucked once,â Jungkook complained.
âBelieve me, itâs a good score. It doesnât say youâre bad,â you tried to defend your list.
âYoongi is number thirty-nine,â Hoseok read. âWaitâ oh, he was your last one.â
âDamn. Was he that bad you had to go celibate?â Jimin joked.
âIâve been busy and, honestly, Iâve been fucking a lot this last couple of years.â You chuckled to yourself. âAnd since it was mostly mid or bad sex I wanted mind blowing sex before stopping for a while.â
âAnd you chose Yoongi?.â
âHe just happened to be there,â you shrugged with honesty.
âOuch?.â
âSo now youâre looking to settle down?â Taehyung questioned, suddenly curious.
âI donât know yet but Iâve sworn celibacy, I will wait until a worthy opponent comes along.â
The guys laughed at your words but you were dead serious. You had stopped having random hookups and taking care of your mind and body. You wanted your next time to be good and special. Not just another person to add to the list for a bad score.
âYoongi is nine out of ten.â
âWhat?!.â
Yoongi chuckled, playing with the end of his shirt while the other guys were trying to process the information. You laugh silently at the reaction and Hobi decided to continue.
Knows how to make you come, heâs hella good with his fingers. Comments: tongue technology theory confirmed, squirted for the second time ever
âWow, okay. We didnât need to know that,â Hobi made a disgusted face.
âThe only bad thing it says is that you could be better in after care,â Jin told him.
âCould be better in after care?â Jimin opened his mouth, offended. âThatâs the only bad thing?. Howâ But heâ Wow, I canât believe it.â
âYou only fucked once and you put him nine out of ten?. Oh, my god⌠so I was that bad!â Namjoon seemed like he was about to have a breakdown.
âFucking shitâ Okay, weâre done!â you snatched your phone back to your pocket. âLetâs not speak about this ever again.â
âButââ
âThe deal!â
âUgh,â Taehyung pouted.
âJust one last thing,â Jungkook grabbed your attention. âWho has the nine point five out of ten?.â
âWhy is that important?.â
âI just want to know the comments,â he told you. And for the first time you notice he wasnât in his bubbly mood.
âAntoine Lafleche,â Hobi said.
âHow do youââ
âThe only thing it says was âWowâ. Took my attention.â
âYeah. Well, he was,â you smiled slightly at the thought of him. âI met him when I travelled to Paris for the exchange of my fashion program. We spent the last week of my course together. He really was âwowâ. Sadly, we never exchanged numbers or anything.â
Jungkook nodded before standing up. Jaw clenched and an annoyed face. âWell, I hated the ranking. Letâs head home now. Itâs late.â
âYouâre right,â Jin stood up too before looking at you with a smile. âBy the way, this was really fun.â
âFor you. I canât believe I had an eight out of ten. I canât believe Yoongi got ranked better than me!â Jimin started whining again.
âDonât talk about it!â you screamed at him, rubbing your face embarrassed and annoyed. âShit, just get the fuck out. All of you.â
Of course you knew they would talk about it, probably even complain and argue how one was better than the otherâ
What you didnât except was for them to make a bet.
That night you went to sleep while the guys arrived to their complex, thinking about that list after the long and silent road home was almost too quiet, everyone thinking how many other girls had ranked them as low as you.
âSeven point five,â Jungkook chuckled without amusement when he dropped himself on the couch of the living room. âNot even a fucking eight.â
âI feel you.â
âShut up, you fucked once. We did it many times and she gave me the same score as you?â Jungkook groaned, rubbing his face with frustration. âThis is unbelievable.â
âI canât believe Yoongi has a nine out of ten. One more point than me!â Jimin said with a whiny voice. âShe was probably too drunk and thought it was good.â
âThatâs an insane comment,â Yoongi rolled his eyes. âAnd not my fault you guys donât know how to actually be good in bed.â
âWell, at least I have a big dick.â Tae shrugged, not really that but-hurt like his friend.
âCan you guys shut the hell up,â Jin rolled his eyes. âYouâre all bad in bed, we get itââ
âPlease, you would get a two out of ten.â Jungkook said mockingly. âWhen was the last time you got laid, grandpa?.â
Jimin laughed. âYeah, you would probably be the lowest.â
âI donât know, I kinda trust Jin. He seems to have game,â Taehyung nodded sincerely.
âStop being weird,â Ho-seok chuckled at his antics.
âI would get that ten.â Jin said relaxed, with a confidence he only knew how to carry. âYou all had comments. I would just get that number and none of that shit reviews.â
âI canât believe a guy name Antoine got a âwowââ The fuck is that supposed to mean?â Jungkook rolled his eyes.
âThat he was that good.â
Jimin hummed, thinking out loud. âIâm gonna get that ten out of ten⌠Itâs gonna be a ten out of ten and period. No more comments. Just that good and speechless.â
âYou already have an eight out of ten. Give up, loser,â Yoongi told him, sighing tiredly.
âSo what?. You think I canât get a better score than you?.â
âI think you just canât get good in bedâ the rapper barked.
âStop,â Namjoon rolled his eyes. âShe said sheâs on celibacy or whatever. She wonât sleep with you guys.â
âWanna bet?.â
âYah!, stop betting shitâ Taehyung scolded his friend.
âIâm just saying. I want it to make it more fun for you guys,â Jimin shrugged.
Jungkook snorted and shook his head. He asked the question everyone wanted to know.
âMake what more fun?.â
âI meanâ I will get that ten out of ten no matter what,â his tone was unbothered, like it wasnât a big deal. Like already had that score. âI just thought it would be fun if we all actually had one more chance, you know?. To see whoâs actually better.â
âYouâre a weird shit, you know that?â Ho-seok crossed his arms.
âAnd you all are still thinking about it.â
The room went silent, everyone actually thinking about the deal. But it wasnât just a deal.
After that score, the guys were a little hurtâ mostly their egosâ They knew they were good in bed, they had a lot of people confirming that but to know that they werenât the best at it was a little hurtful to their pride, even more when they were now on top of the world. They wanted to be the best of the best, in every little thing they did⌠And they wanted to show you that they could get that perfect score. And if they had to compete with someone for thatâ who was best than each other?. They were the best of the best⌠they were going to change that ranking no matter what they had to do.
âI actually donât care,â Jin lay back on the sofa. âBut if you wanna bet⌠I can get that number ten just for fun.â
âYouâre on,â Taehyung immediately stood up. âI know her more than you guys. Iâll get that number before you can all even breathe next to her.â
âYou know her more and you still got that eight, sit back down,â Jimin chuckled dryly.
âAre you really doing this?â Ho-seok shook his head, a little against the bet.
âIf you are that afraid of getting a bad number, back offâ Namjoon made fun of his brother.
âPlease,â the dancer scoffed. âOne night and Iâll get that ten, seven point five.â
âDonât call me that!.â
âI donât care about competing with any of youâ Jungkook clicked his tongue. âIâll work hard for that number, and Iâll get it.â
Yoongi snorted. âI had one drunken night with her and she gave me a nine, give me ten minutes sober and Iâll get a fucking hundred.â
âGame on, baby!.â
You shouldnât have shown them the list. Or maybe it was for the best?. Celibacy life wasnât for you anyway.
this is me revealing as an insane ot7 đđđź
this is gonna be a flop but i was watching this guy on tiktok talking about this girl that rank him nine out of ten in bed and how he lacked self respect and i was laughing so hard and then i was like waittt this is a good idea for a porn plot and then a bts edit appeared and i was like yea i need to write about it so here we are
this is gonna be like a lot of smut and iâm not that good at it but i wanna try it lmao so just for funzies and giggles u know
anyway next chapter soon hehe, i will also be editing and posting/editing the masterlist soon<33 just was too excited to post this
summary: it's been years since you left you that summer in italy in 2003. years since you exchanged those three words. years since you watched the train pull you away, leaving him at the station. your heart still aches when you think about him. in a world of billions of people, will you find each other again?
word count: 7.4k
themes: angst, fluff, yearning, distance, growth, time skips, city life (nyc)
october 2003
it arrived four weeks after you got home.
by then, summer had already started folding in on itself. the air was different. the light had changed. the trees outside your apartment looked duller somehow, as if they had not agreed with the season ending either. you had fallen back into your life in the way people always said you wouldâclasses, work, grocery lists, unanswered emails, laundry left too long in the dryerâbut none of it had fit quite right since you'd come back.
your friends underestimated the severity of your situation completely. they assumed you were just over romanticizing your summer in italy as one would. they told you to get over it, attempting to set you up with dates that you never showed up to.
because no one had ever consumed the space of your heart, your brain, and your body more. especially in such little time.
everything felt like clothing you had suddenly outgrown while you were away.
you almost missed the letter entirely.
it was tucked between a credit card offer and a flyer for a pizza place downstairs, the envelope thin and slightly creased, your name written across the front in handwriting you recognized so instantly it stole the breath from your lungs.
you stood there in the hallway outside the mailboxes for what felt like a full minute, just staring at it. your hands were shaking by the time you got back upstairs.
you locked your apartment door behind you, dropped your bag on the floor, and stood in the middle of your kitchen with the envelope in both hands, suddenly afraid to open it. afraid it would hurt more than it already did. afraid it would not hurt enough. afraid it would sound too much like him. afraid it wouldn't sound like him at all.
you slid your finger under the flap anyway. inside was one sheet of paper, folded twice. you knew before you even opened it that you would keep it for the rest of your life.
his handwriting slanted slightly to the left, dark and uneven in places, as though he had paused more than once while writing it. and you could already feel your hands trembling.
y/n,
I donât know if writing this is a good idea, but i think not writing it would be worse.
you asked me to write to you, so Iâm writing.
I could tell you I miss you and leave it at that, but it feels too small for what this has been like. missing you is in everything. itâs in the mornings, mostly. in waking up too early and reaching to the other side of the bed before I remember. in making coffee for one and still thinking I should ask how you take yours, even though I know. In seeing something stupid or beautiful during the day and having nowhere to put it because youâre not here to tell.
I didnât know a person could become familiar that fast. I didnât know someone could leave and still stay everywhere.
I keep thinking about that first night by the water, and the dinner when you kept looking at me like I was saying something worth hearing even when I wasnât saying much at all. I think about the train station more than I want to. I think about your face through the glass after the train started moving. I think about the way you looked at me that morning, like you were trying to memorize me, and it makes me feel like I was seen in a way I donât know how to go back from.
you told me once that some places donât feel real until you love someone there. I didnât understand what you meant when you said it.
I do now.
I donât know what happens to something like this. I donât know how to make promises Iâm not sure life will let me keep. I only know that what happened between us was real, and I wonât let myself reduce it into something convenient just because it hurts to carry.
I loved you there. I love you now.
maybe thatâs selfish to write. maybe itâs unfair. but I think it would be more unfair to let you leave this thinking you imagined any of it.
I hope youâre sleeping enough. I hope youâre eating real meals instead of whateverâs easiest. I hope you still stop when music spills out of open doors. I hope someone is telling you that youâre beautiful, even if theyâre saying it wrong.
and I hope, sometimes, when the day is quiet and the light is soft, you think of me without trying not to.
you donât have to write back right away. or at all, if it makes things harder.
but if you do, Iâll read every word more than once.
â taehyung
you read it standing up. then you read it again sitting at your kitchen table.
then again curled on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest and the late afternoon light turning gold on the wall beside you.
by the fourth time, you were crying too hard to see properly. not because it surprised you.
because it didnât.
because every word sounded exactly like the feeling of himârestrained until he couldnât be, careful until the truth pushed through anyway. because it felt like him standing in your room all over again, quiet and certain and impossible to misunderstand once he finally decided to be honest.
you folded the letter back along its original lines with shaking hands and slid it into the drawer of my bedside table like you were putting away something holy.
that night, you took it back out.
and for a long time after that, you kept reading it on the kind of evenings that made you lonelier than usualârain against the windows, music low, the world outside dim and far away.
as if his words could keep something living.
as if paper could hold a pulse.
ŕŞââ´ âĄ
2008
five years later, you still thought of him in weather.
it was embarrassing, probably.
there were other men after him, or almost-men, men who bought you dinners and remembered your coffee order and asked the right questions at the right time. men who were easier. safer. men your friends approved of. men who did not leave a permanent mark on every quiet thing.
none of them stayed. or maybe you were the one who never fully arrived.
at twenty-seven, your life looked good from the outside. better than good, maybe. you had finished your degree. had your own office now, your own shelves, your own name on a line people respected. you moved from brooklyn to manhattan; living in a different apartment, one with bigger windows and a bathtub deep enough to disappear in after bad days. you owned matching dishes. real furniture. plants that had somehow stayed alive under your care.
you had built a life that would have made the girl you used to be stare.
and still, every year when summer began tipping toward fall, something in you turned quietly toward the past.
the ache of an old bruise before rain.
it happened in small ways. a song overheard from a passing car with the windows down. the smell of espresso and cigarette smoke mingling outside a restaurant at dusk. the sight of a train platform from a taxi window. men in dark coats with familiar shoulders who were never him when they turned around.
sometimes it happened for no reason at all. all it took was a certain kind of sunset. a certain kind of silence. a morning with pale light through half-closed curtains, where waking up felt like surfacing into someone elseâs memory.
on those days, you would think of italy so vividly it almost frightened you. the fountain at sunset. lake water turned gold. his hand at the small of your back. the station. the letter. always the letter.
you still had it. folded softer now from being opened too many times, the edges worn, the ink only slightly faded. you kept it in a cedar box in the back of your closet with old photographs, ticket stubs, postcards you could never throw away. you told yourself you didn't read it often anymore, and that was mostly true. mostly.
there were nightsâfewer than before, but not noneâwhen you would pour a glass of wine, sit cross-legged on the floor beside your bed, and unfold it again with the same care you would use for something breakable.
the words had not changed. and neither did the feeling.
time had done what time does. it had sanded down the sharper edges. it had made the grief less immediate, less likely to ambush you in grocery store aisles or at red lights. it had given you distance, perspective, a vocabulary for things you used to only know how to survive.
but it had not erased him.
and maybe that was the strangest part. not that you still remembered him, but that you remembered him so clearly for someone who had only belonged to your life for one summer. there were whole years you recalled with less precision. jobs, birthdays, relationships.
but him?
you remembered the exact baritone of his voice when he was tired. the way his mouth curved when he was trying not to smile. the weight of his hand at the back of your neck. the look on his face through the train station glass.
you remembered the way he had your heart melting faster than ice cream under the hot, european sun. the way he showered you with compliments like it was his lifeâs purpose.
you remembered the way he had your eyes rolling back. the way he had your back arching off the mattress.
you remembered how it felt to be loved by someone who had not known how to say it until the moment that there was no time left.
one fall evening, five years after you left him, you stayed late at the office finishing edits on something that should have mattered more than it did. by the time you stepped outside, the city was already dark, the air cool enough to sting a little in your lungs. somewhere down the block, music drifted out from an open bar door, warm and muffled and threaded with laughter.
you stopped walking. it was ridiculous how quickly your memory could take you.
for one second, you were no longer standing beneath streetlights in a city that had never known him. you were twenty-two again, in another country, following a man through twilight with your whole heart already leaning toward disaster.
you closed your eyes. and there he was.
not really, of course. not physically. but with a force that made the space behind your ribs ache all the same. you could picture him so easily it almost felt like summoning. black coat. kind eyes. that impossible steadiness that always cracked open only when you two were alone.
you wondered, not for the first time, where life had carried him. whether he still woke early. whether he still drank coffee too hot. whether anyone had softened him, or if that had only ever been yours to see. whether he had meant it for a season or for the rest of time.
and, most dangerously of all, whether he ever thought of you in weather too.
but later that night, after you had taken a shower and changed in to old pajamas, you found yourself in front of that old box again. you opened it carefully, like something would jump out at you once you did.
but the letter was there, sitting like it always had been.
you read his words slowly, not because you needed to anymore, but because you still wanted to hear his voice in them.
when you finished, you didn't cry. that was new. instead, you ran your thumb lightly over his name at the bottom of the page and smiled the saddest, fondest smile.
you had loved other people since him. you knew how to say that now without guilt.
but nobody had ever compared to the way he made you feel. nobody could ignite the spark that he did. there are some loves that do not end, exactly. they just change shape. they stop asking to be your future and settle, instead, into becoming part of the architecture of you. a room you still carry. a light left on in some far window. a train you can still hear if the night is quiet enough.
when the weather turned and the light went soft and gold at the edges, you still found yourself homesick for him.
ŕŞââ´ âĄ
summer 2013
it was one of those late summer afternoons when the city looked softer than it usually did, the light turning everything gold and pink for an hour before giving up completely. the air had that sharp, but warm crisp chill that made the streets fill up, everybody staying out longer than normal.
by now, you were thirty-two. the past years had consisted of endless office hours, bar nights with your girls, and overly complicated situation-ships that you easily moved on from. you lived in a bigger apartment in the west village of manhattan, with a closet big enough to house all of your impulsive retail therapy moments on your days off.
oh the thirties. by now, you were expected to already have a ring on your finger with a baby on the way. at least, that's what most people around you were doing. you didn't mind being single, in fact you embraced it. because for the last ten years, not a soul in the infinite city you lived in had been able to fully capture your heart that you seemed to have so deeply buried.
you had just gotten off of work, waiting at the cross walk you normally didnât go toâheels making your feet throb beneath you, your thick workbook with too many colorful sticky notes sticking out the side in your hand while your bag almost slipped off your shoulder.
there was a fountain in the square across the street. suddenly you felt a feeling so cruel.
it wasnât a grand fountain. it was nothing like the one you had stumbled across in italy a decade ago. just a modest stone fountain paved in the middle of your concrete jungle of a city, water moving in quiet waves. people passing without lookingâ office workers, students, families.
and then, someone who tugged at the line of nostalgia in your brain. someone who for some reason, was filling your body with dĂŠjĂ vu.
at first, he was only a figure among other figures.
tall, dark hair. shoulders too broad to be trapped in that black jacket. one hand in his pocket, standing still in a city that never seemed to stop.
something in you reacted before your mind did. something old, yet buried instinct rose so fast it nearly made you dizzy. your body knew him before your mind could catch up. the noise of the crowded intersection blurred around the edges as you stilled completely at the sidewalk.
no, you thought.
not because you didnât want it to be him.
but because waiting and wanting had only taught you nothing but how often it went unsolved.
you swore the lighting changed. your mind had to be playing tricks with you. people were moving around you, crossing the street, getting in cars or running down the subway stairs. but you didnât move.
across the street, the familiar figure turned slightly, as if he could sense something.
and then, you saw his face.
ten years of change, buried yearning, and quiet emptiness had disappeared so quickly it almost frightened you.
not literally. time had touched him, of course it had. he was broader now, a little more settled in himself, the sharpness of youth replaced by something quieter and deeper. there were subtleties only you could notice because once, long ago, you had memorized him with the devotion of someone afraid of losing the right. a bit more weight in his shoulders. more stillness in his mouth. a face that had become even more his.
but it was him.
it was completely, impossibly him.
the same eyes, the same gravity. the same expression that always looked like he was thinking more than what proper words could offer.
he looked straight at you. and you knew instantly, by the way his whole body came to a stop, that he knew too.
it happened all at once and in a million pieces. recognition. shock. nostalgia. and most of all, certainty. that impossible, raw human moment where a face you have hopelessly carried for years steps out of memory and into air.
for one suspended second, the whole world seemed to fall away around you, the traffic noise dulling. the water from the fountain streaming endlessly. somewhere nearby, someone laughed too loudly.
but all of it felt far away, pushed to the edges by the simple, devastating fact of him standing there, alive and real and looking at you like he had just seen a ghost he had loved once.
one second, you were standing on opposite sides of the street, and the next, you were crossing without remembering deciding to. cars had screeched to a stop. people were slipping around you with annoyed glances. but you barely noticed, pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your mouth.
he did the same, stepping forward in a sea of city traffic to close the distance between you.
and then you were there. a few feet apart beside the fountain, close enough to see everything time had done and everything it hadnât.
for a moment, neither of you spoke, just looking at each other with a gaze so intenseâ like neither of you could process the fact that this wasn't a dream.
god. ten years and you still knew exactly what it felt like to be under his gaze.
it hit you with the same quiet shock as it had the first time, outside that fountain at sunset, in a country that had become sacred to you only because he had existed there. that same spark. that same sudden sense that something in the universe had leaned forward.
his eyes moved over your face like he was trying to reconcile you with the version he had been carrying all this time. there were changes, of course. there had to be. you were older now. more yourself. softer in some places, stronger in others. there were years both of you now, good ones and hard ones both.
but whatever taehyung saw, it made something unreadable flicker across his eyes. but based off the way you studied him so desperately all those years ago, it wasn't unreadable at all.
âyou,â he said. that was all. just one word, rough and quiet, like it had been knocked out of him from shock.
and for some reason, that nearly undid you more than anything else could have.
you let out the smallest, strangest laugh. âhi.â
it was absurd. the most insufficient word in the english language. hi, after ten years. hi, after Italy, after the station, after the letter, after all that weather and all that ache and all those versions of him you had carried alone.
but his mouth twitched like he understood exactly how impossible language felt right now. âhi,â he said back.
you stared at each other for another second, and then another, both of you smiling a little now in that disbelieving, helpless way people do when reality has outdone anything they ever rehearsed.
âyouâre here,â you said, because apparently you were only capable of obvious statements at the moment.
he gave a nod, eyes still boring into yours like they did all those years ago. âyeah.â
there was a thousand better questions. why are you here? how long have you been here? did you come looking for me? did you ever stop thinking about me?
the only one you managed was, âsince when?â
âthis morning.â
something in the answer made your heartbeat stumble. âthis morning?â you repeated.
âyeah.â his voice had changed a little with age. deeper, maybe. rougher at the edges. the thick accent he carried a decade ago had almost faded. but it still did the same thing to youâthat same slow pull, low in your chest, like being drawn toward a place you had once known by touch.
the wind shifted, cool against your face. the fountain behind you kept spilling water in soft, familiar sounds, and suddenly the symmetry of it all hit you so hard you had to look away for a second.
a fountain. a city. him. and you. like the world had a sense of humor cruel enough to bring you both back to the beginning when you had already spent ten years living with the middle.
when you looked back at him, he was watching you with an expression you knew immediately, even after all this time. like you might vanish if he moved too fast.
you swallowed. âwhat are the chances?â
his mouth curved then, just barely, and there it wasâthat almost-smile you had remembered with criminal precision for years. âi think if i said I was surprised, iâd be lying.â
your breath caught. that felt like him. deeply, terribly him. you studied him for a beat too long, your head pulling into a tilt. "did... you come here for work?"
he held your gaze. and there was the smallest pause, but it was enough to tell you everything. "no," he said casually.
the word landed between you two with startling softness. something warm and terrified moved through you all at once.
âoh,â you said, and immediately hated yourself for saying oh like this was normal, like your entire nervous system had not just lit up like a city grid.
he looked at you for another second, then exhaled a faint laugh through his nose, glancing down briefly as if even now, even after ten years, you still had the power to make him feel just a little off-balance.
âi was looking for you.â
there it was. simple. direct. no decoration; just pure honesty. your fingers tightened around your purse as if it could ground you from the dizziness that his sentence caused you.
the whole square seemed to tilt around you, the sound of the fountain suddenly too loud, the air too thin. you had imagined many versions of this meeting over the yearsâaccidental, impossible, dreamed in the vague language of insomniaâbut none of them had prepared you for the plainness of that sentence.
i was looking for you.
not i thought about it. not i ended up here. not funny coincidence.
i was looking for you.
you searched his face for some sign that he was joking, or softening something, or saying less than he meant to protect your feelings. but there was nothing like that there.
just him. older now. steadier. but still looking at you with that same unnerving directness that made you feel like every version of yourself, past and present, had just been seen at once.
âhow?â you asked finally.
his expression softened. âit took a while.â
that made you laugh before you could help it, a startled little sound full of nerves and disbelief and something dangerously close to relief. âthat doesnât answer the question.â
âi know.â again with that sentence, ten years later.
and the fact that it was still himâthat he could still say one tiny, maddening thing and make you feel twenty-two and thirty-two all at onceâmade something loosen in you that you had not realized you had been holding for years.
he glanced at the purse slung across your shoulder that you gripped so tightly, then back at you. "you still do that."
"do what?"
"death grip onto your purse when you don't know what to do."
you stared at him before you laughed. really laughing this time, because it was the truth. because he remembered. because only someone who had paid unbearable amount of attention to you would notice that. "oh my god," you said, shaking your head. "you noticed that?"
his expression turned almost offended. âi noticed everything.â
the words hung there while neither of you moved, city going on around you, loud and alive. someone passed behind him with a dog. a bus sighed to a stop at the curb. water struck stone in the fountain with the same gentle rhythm it had a minute ago, ten years ago, a lifetime ago.
and still, somehow, it felt like the first moment all over again. not because nothing changed. but because everything had, yet the recognition was still immediate. the pull was still there.
you looked at himâreally lookedâand saw the decade between you like a bridge instead of a wall. all the lives you had lived. all the separate mornings and a decade of growth. and beneath it, absurdly intact, feelings that had never fully gone out.
âi canât believe itâs you," you squeaked, voice lower than normal.
his eyes did that thing you remembered, that slight shift where all the guardedness dropped half an inch and something warmer came through. âyeah,â he said softly. âitâs me.â
you donât know what came over you then. maybe memory. maybe relief. maybe the sheer impossible mercy of not having to wonder anymore whether you or not you would ever see him again. you stepped closer.
his gaze dropped briefly, like he was aware of the new distance between you in the most physical way. when his eyes came back to yours, there was a charge there. quiet, but unmistakable. older than desire, maybe, but threaded with it still. recognition made intimate by history.
"did you find what you were looking for?â you asked, fiddling with your thumbs nervously.
âyeah,â he said, a smile almost unashamedly tugging at his lips. then, after a beat; âi think i did.â
and just like that, you felt the exact same spark you had felt at the fountain all those years agoâonly deeper now, fuller, touched by everything you both survived without each other.
as if the first time had been the match. and this was the flame finally learning how to last.
ŕŞââ´ âĄ
the bar was nearly empty when you stepped inside, considering it was a tuesday evening. all dim light and slow musicâit was nothing like the one in italy, but somehow it was exactly the same.
maybe it was the low glow of the lamps. maybe it was the way the room seemed to close around you two the second you walked in. or maybe it was just him.
taehyung again after ten years. he was older now, sharper somehowâ but still carrying that same impossible gravity of one ordinary summer turning into a decade of something you had spent a decade trying to forget.
and god, age almost barely had touched him. not that thirty was old, but by the time most guys reached their thirties, they were already balding and fighting bottomless forehead wrinkles. but not taehyung. his hair was a big longer, almost kissing his shoulders that were practically swell against the button-up shirt he was wearing. his skin was as clear as ever, glistening in the light of the bar. it was unbelievable.
it didn't touch you either. after three decades on the planet, you finally mastered the perfect blowout, hair bouncing effortlessly with every move while your lavish office attire hugged your body. your skin remained almost unscathed, your makeup was simple, but it highlighted your grown features perfectly.
you slid into a booth near the back, across from each other.
that lasted all but three minutes. because looking at him from across the table felt ridiculous. too far. too formal for someone who had once known the shape of your laughter by heart.
so when he moved to sit beside you instead, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, neither of you acknowledged it.
even when red heat creeped onto your cheeks, you both just kept talking in that soft, almost disbelieving voice people use when they are still trying to accept that something impossible is happening.
you noticed everything. from the way his voice had deepened a little with age. to the faint crease that appeared between his brows when he looked at you too long. the fact that he still watched you the same wayâsteady, unreadable at first, until you looked a little closer and realized he was feeling far too much.
it should have felt awkward. you had ten years between you now. ten years of separate cities, separate lives, separate mornings. ten years of you burying the ache in your heart. ten years of thinking you would never see him again.
instead, it felt effortless. familiar in a way that almost hurtâ like no time had passed at all. like every version of you two in between had only existed to carry you two back to this booth, at this hour, in this impossible second chance.
âyou still do that,â he said quietly.
you turned to him. âdo what now?â
he smiled, small and crooked. âlook at me like youâre trying to memorize me.â
your breath caught. âi had to,â you said before you could stop yourself. the words settled between you, soft but heavy. his expression changed at onceâsomething gentler, something dangerously open.
the music hummed low around you, but the two of you sat still. glasses clinked somewhere behind the bar. outside, the city kept going, indifferent and loud and ordinary. but inside that booth, the air had gone charged. intimate, and close enough to break.
he looked down at your mouth, then back at your eyes, like he was asking something without wanting to ruin it by speaking. you felt suddenly twenty-two again, all nerves and want and helpless, aching recognition. except this time, there was no train station waiting for you. no countdown. no reason to pretend you had a limit.
âyouâre looking at me like that again,â he murmured, fighting a grin.
you let out a shaking laugh. âmaybe i never stopped.â
that did it.
he kissed you like he had been holding it back from the second he saw you on the street.
it wasn't rushed or uncertain. it was immediate. certain in the way only something long awaited could be. one hand came up to cradle your jaw, the other settling lightly at your waist, and the second his mouth touched yours, the whole room seemed to disappear.
a decade of anticipation dissolving in an instant. the fountain. the train station. the unanswered ache of all those years. every version of missing each other folding into this one moment where you finally didnât have to. the kiss ignited a flame in your chest, sparks spreading and flowing through each other's bodies.
you kissed him back with the same hunger, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket like you needed something solid to hold onto. he made a soft sound against your mouth, like even now, after all this time, you could still undo him.
when you pulled apart, it was only barely. your foreheads rested together, breaths tangled, the space between them still trembling.
he smiled first, a little breathless, a little stunned. âso,â he said softly, âweâre doing this sooner than expected.â
you laughed, shaky and bright, your heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. âi think we always have.â
he had crossed an ocean for thisâ and in that moment, he looked at you like he would do it again. a thousand times over. in that moment, you realized something all at once.
some loves don't disappear or fade. they waitâquietly and patiently. until it came to the right city, the right bar, and the right impossible afternoon that seemed to come to you like a dream.
ŕŞââ´ âĄ
your apartment felt smaller with him in it. not in a bad way. not cramped or uncomfortable. it just felt⌠fuller. like the space had been waiting for something it hadnât known how to name until he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
for a second, neither of you moved. it was quiet in a different way than the bar had been. softerâmore private. the city outside reduced to a distant hum behind the windows that displayed the stretch of endlessly tall buildings, the warm glow of your lamps filled the room, casting everything in gold.
he looked around slowly, taking it in. âyou live here?â he asked, like he already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.
you smiled a little. âyeah.â
he nodded, eyes still movingâover your bookshelves, the couch, the small details that made the place yours. the kind of things you only noticed when you were trying to understand someoneâs life.
âit suits you,â he said. something about thatâsimple, genuineâmade your chest tighten. because after ten years, he still seemed to know what had a perfect touch of you.
âdo you want something to drink?â you asked, suddenly aware of yourself, of the way your hands needed something to do.
âsure.â
you moved toward the kitchen, grateful for the few seconds to breathe, to steady yourself. to process the fact that the man you tried to shove into the back of your mind for a decade was standing in your very living room. the fact that in all of new york, you just happened to come across him.
you poured two glasses of whatever you had open, your fingers just slightly uncoordinated. you could feel him behind you without looking, the quiet weight of his presence filling the space between every movement. the presence you haven't felt since before you left him standing on the train platform. the presence that you had tried desperately tried holding onto merely through a letter.
when you turned back around, he was closer than you expected. not too close. just enough. you handed him the glass, and your fingers brushedâbrief, but it lingered. it always did with him.
you moved to the couch, sitting side by side this time without hesitation. that, too, felt inevitable.
at first, it was easy.
you talked the way people do when there is too much to say and not enough time to grasp every detail. jobs. cities. the ways your lives had turned out both exactly and nothing like you had imagined. he told you about where he had been, not in perfect detail, but more than he used to. his dream job. a required military enlistment. you told him about the years he had missed, the versions of yourself he had never known.
sometimes you both laughed. sometimes you went quiet in the middle of a sentence, realizing how strange and fragile this moment was.
âyou cut your hair,â he said at one point, reaching out before he seemed to think about it, his fingers brushing lightly against the ends.
you stilled, your breath catching just slightly. âyeah, a bitâ you said softly. âa while ago.â
he nodded, but his hand didnât move right away. his touch lingered, gentle, almost absentmindedâbut there was nothing careless about it. not with him.
âyou lookâŚâ he started, then stopped, like he was deciding how honest to be.
you turned your head just enough to look at him. âwhat?â
his eyes met yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your pulse jump. âthe same,â he said quietly. then, after a beat, âand not.â
that did something to you. the room shifted again, subtly.
the conversation slowed as the space between words stretched thinner and thinner until it felt like all that was left was the quiet awareness of each other. the years between you, the distance, the waitingâit all pressed closer, closer, until it became something else entirely.
tension. not like it was anything new. just⌠returned. your glass sat forgotten on the table now. his too. neither of you had taken more than a sip. he was still close. closer than before.
you could feel the warmth of him beside you, the line of his shoulder, the quiet rhythm of his breathing. it was familiar in a way that almost hurt, like your body remembered something your life had not allowed you to have.
âyou're real,â you said softly. it slipped out before you could stop it.
his eyes didn't leave yours, like he was trying to etch this moment into every groove of his brain. âso are you.â
time had taken you both. you exhaled slowly. âi read your letter more times than i want to admit.â
something in his expression shifted immediatelyâsomething deeper, more vulnerable. âyeah?â
you nodded, voice quieter now. âi kept it.â
he looked at you like that meant more than anything you could have said. âi almost didnât send it,â he admitted.
your heart tightened. âwhy?â
a faint, almost self-conscious smile touched his mouth. âdidnât know if it would make things better or worse.â
âit made it real,â you said.
that was the truth of it. it had kept him real all those years. he held your gaze, something unspoken building again between you, stronger this time. less hesitant. less afraid.
âit is real,â he said quietly.
the words landed heavier than they should have. or maybe exactly as heavy as they were meant to. your breath caught.
he lifted his hand again, slower this time, like he was giving you the chance to stop him. when you didnât, his fingers found your face, brushing lightly along your cheek, your jaw, like he was reacquainting himself with something he had once known too well.
you leaned into it before you could think better of it.
that was the moment it shifted. not all at once. but enough that the air changed. between you now, it was warmer. thicker. years of distance collapsing into something immediate and undeniable.
âi thought about you,â you admitted, barely above a whisper as your breath shook beneath you.
his thumb stilled against your skin. âyeah?â he asked, but his voice had dropped, rougher now.
you nodded. âmore than i should have.â
a breath passed between you.
"i never stopped,â he said.
that was it. that was the line that broke whatever careful, fragile balance they had been trying to maintain.
you didnât remember moving first. only that suddenly you were closerâcloser than beforeâand then his hand was at the back of your neck, steady and certain, and his mouth was on yours again.
this kiss was different. not just recognition. not just relief.
it was everything that had been waiting.
all the years. all the restraint. all the wondering what it would feel like if you both ever got another chance.
it wasnât rushed, but it wasnât slow either. it deepened quickly, naturally, like there had never been another possible outcome. your hands found him just as easily, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer like you had been holding that motion back for a decade.
he exhaled softly against your mouth, something almost like disbelief threaded through it, like even now, even with you right there, he couldnât fully believe this was real.
you felt the same. the room, the city, everything outside of this moment fell away again, just like it had before. only this time, there was no leaving waiting at the end of it.
when you both pulled back, it was barely far. it never was with you two.
your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, the space between you still charged with everything that hadnât been said yet.
âyou feel that?â he murmured, his lips grazing yours as he spoke.
you let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh. âyeah.â
âstill the same,â he said.
you shook your head slightly, noses brushing. "no.â
his hand tightened slightly at your waist like he could never let you go again. âno?â
your eyes met his. "stronger."
before you knew it, his lips captured yours once more, rougher this time. like he was trying to forever trap them against his.
you didnât move right away after. you stayed there again, closeâtoo close to pretend this was casual, too real to pretend it wasnât everything. your hands were still curled in the front of his shirt. his hand still rested at your waist, thumb tracing slow, absent circles like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were actually there.
for a moment, neither of you spoke. because you both knew this part mattered. what came next would decide everything.
you pulled back just enough to look at him fully, you chest still rising too fast, your thoughts trying and failing to catch up with your heart.
âthis feelsâŚâ you started, then stopped.
âdangerous?â he offered quietly.
you let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. âyeah.â
his gaze softened, but there was something steadier underneath it now. something certain. âonly if we do it the same way we did before.â
that made you pause. your fingers loosened slightly against him. âwhat do you mean?â
he didnât look away. âlike itâs temporary,â he said. âlike we donât have a choice.â
the words settled between you, heavier than anything else either of you had said so far. because that had been the truth of it, ten years ago.
the way you both had let it be something beautiful but life made it brief. something intense but fleeting. the way you had loved each other like you had known each other throughout multiple lifetimes.
you swallowed. âwe didnât have a choice.â
he shook his head slightly. âwe didnât make one.â
that landed. it didnât erase what had been true back thenâthe distance, the timing, the reality of your lives on opposite ends of the globeâbut it reframed it just enough to hurt differently. to feel like maybe, just maybe, something could have been fought for harder.
your voice came quieter. "and now?â
his hand moved from your waist to your jaw again, steady, grounding. ânow we do.â
your heart stuttered.
he held your gaze like he needed you to understand every word before he said it. âi didnât spend ten years wondering about you just to walk away again.â
your breath caught. there was no hesitation in him now. no distance. just that same quiet intensity, matured into something firmer.
âi came here for you,â he continued, softer but no less certain. ânot for a trip. not to see what would happen. i came here because i was tired of not knowing where you were. tired ofâŚâ he exhaled once, shaking his head slightly. âtired of you being a memory i couldnât do anything about.â
your eyes burned. âyou found me,â you whispered.
âyeah.â
âand now what?â you asked, even though you almost afraid to hear the answer.
he didnât smile this time. he didnât soften it. ânow, i stay.â
the words hit you all at once. it wasn't poetic or dramatic. it was just final. like the last page of a book.
your lips parted slightly. âstay⌠here? in new york?â
he nodded once. âyeah.â
âyou meanâvisit?â you asked, because it still felt too big to understand.
âno,â he said, and there was something almost amused, almost gentle in the way he looked at you then, like he could see exactly where your mind was trying to protect itself. âi mean stay.â
your heart started racing again, but for a completely different reason now. âthatâs notââ you shook your head, breath unsteady. âthatâs not a small thing.â
âi know.â
âyouâd leave everything?â
his gaze didnât waver. âi already did.â
silence. not empty. but full. full of everything all at once.
you searched his face for doubt. for hesitation. for anything that suggested this was impulsive, temporary, something that would fade once reality settled in.
but there was nothing.
only him. only the same man who had once stood on a train platform and let you go because he loved you.
only now, he was choosing the opposite.
âiâm not asking you to decide everything right now,â he added more quietly. âiâm just telling you i'm not going anywhere this time. not unless you want me to.â
that broke something open in you. not in a painful way. but in a way that felt like something in you had been bracing for ten years and were finally allowed to let go.
your eyes filled, but you were smiling nowâreally smiling, through the emotion, through the disbelief. âyouâre serious,â you said.
he huffed a soft breath, almost a laugh. âiâve always been serious about you.â
that did it.
you pulled him back in, your hands sliding up to his neck, and kissed him againâbut this time it felt different.
not like something you were trying to hold onto. like something you were finally allowed to have. forever.
when you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, your voice soft but certain. âokay.â
his thumb brushed your cheek. âokay?â
you nodded, your smile small but steady. âstay.â
he exhaled like heâd been holding that breath for years. âyeah,â he murmured. "i was planning on it.â
and the way he kissed you after thatâ
slower, deeper,
certain in a way it had never been beforeâ
felt nothing like goodbye.
"i love you," he murmured into your lips. "never stopped."
your eyes stinged with disbelief and belonging all at once as you leaned further into his touched that you spent years longing for at night.
"i love you too."
for years, you thought of him as something unfinished. a sentence cut off too soon. a summer that never learned how to become anything more. but standing there with him nowâreal, steady, choosing you in a way he never had the chance to beforeâyou understood the truth. you had never been unfinished. just interrupted. and now, at last, you had found your way back to the part of the story where nothing was waiting to take you away from each other.
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