I'm Telling You This Because I'm Struggling With It, Too.

<3

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TWO CENTS, I REALLY NEEDED IT

Yeah! I think it's the tunnel vision we get sometimes, because I'll look back at my story and think "I actually did a pretty good job." It's also how we don't get immediate gratification in writing like we're used to.

We have to spend hours over a single project, creating and raising it, and it's scary both posting it and also not receiving an immediate "good job!" because that's not how it works. But at the same time, it's so, so rewarding.

The fact that I'm my first target audience hit me hard. It's true-I have to enjoy what I write because I do write for myself first, while also thinking of others.

i'm telling you this because i'm struggling with it, too.

stop second guessing and doubting yourself. stop getting imposter syndrome while writing. stop comparing.

i know it's hard to stop, and this is a process i always struggle with. but it's awful when you get tunnel vision, seeing all the plot holes and every little grammatical error made. i open my wip's sometimes, and get such bad anxiety that i can't even write, because i'm so scared. it literally doesn't make sense, but it happens.

but learn to love what you write. grow attached to your characters, and write whatever you want. write for yourself first. and no matter what, whether it's one word or sentence that you wrote that day, be proud of yourself.

self validation and self care comes before a completed novel or mesmerizing characters.

<3

😂 I was craving a kimchi soup when I sent in the ask, too.

The fact that I mess with all three makes me so confused when I'm writing. The past and present tense also messed me up SO much. I never thought I'd be stuck choosing which tense but I found myself switching throughout the first draft, and ahhh it's driving me insane haha.

LMAOOO we love family roasts, poor Sephris HAHAHHA

OH MY GOSHH that would be the ultimate comfort scene, I'd melt. If you ever write it, feel free to mention me (if you want to put it up as a snippet, of course).

Thank you for answering xx

immediately: KIMCHI SOUP

but also Beer Cheese Soup & Chicken Noodle Soup <33

lmao why did this make me laugh so hard 😂

Kimchi Soup: Do you write best in first, second, or third POV?

I think I'm probably equal when it comes to first and third (I don't mess around with second!), but since I feel it gives me the most latitude, I prefer third the most!

Beer Cheese Soup: A scene from your wip that made you laugh.

When sweet, sweet Merity meets Laesia for the first time when coming over for dinner and immediately starts dunking on her future brother-in-law:

“Sephris told you my family runs the bakery in town, didn't he?” Merity asked Laesia. “Whenever we have leftovers from the week, I’ll save some for him. Poor boy can’t bake for his life; he would have to spend a fortune on all his bread if not for me.”

“Boy?” Sephris repeated. “Look who’s talking! A whole two years younger than me, you are!”

“Not as if anyone would be able to tell from how you act,” Merity replied back. “Really, don't think I've forgotten the day Fendley gave you that walloping by the lake and you came to me crying to bandage you up.”

“All right, let’s not get hasty,” Sephris cut in. “And that was near fifteen years ago, I’ll remind you. No need to go rehashing family history in front of a former princess, thank you very much.”

Chicken Noodle Soup: Your favorite hurt/comfort scene

Okay I haven't written it yet, but I'm thinking it might end up being when Sephris ends up catching the yearly fever and Laesia has to nurse him back to health 🤭

tysm dear 🥺

I'm at the soup store 🍲

kate sharma doesn't confess her feelings, she just gives you the iconic "i'm in love with you look" conveyed through her eyebrows

i love this couple lmao

hahahaha

YOU WROTE Q BOOK??? TELL ME QBOUT IT PLEASE

YEAH I DID

so there's the first book that I finished and have been procrastinating publishing since January.

It's about Hindu mythology, is kind of like Percy Jackson but also at the same time, not like Percy Jackson.

I'll give you the (currently) official synopsis lmao:

---

I've written many characters facing treacherous challenges, and now the trials of my life have begun.

I'm Anusha, and if you think your life is messy, you couldn't begin to imagine mine.

It started off normally enough – a recurring nightmare; class bullies; a miserably failed kidnapping; a picnic I didn't want to go to; generally just hating my life.

But then I somehow got magically transported to the picnic bus by my class teacher, who alongside an unknown woman tried to kill me and my sister Rochelle. I got rescued by an Oreo-loving stranger everyone but me seemed to know, and got sent to a magic empire to fully fledge into what I apparently am – a semidivine organism, offspring of some celestiality. But before I could even understand what was happening, I got picked, balled up and thrown into a mission no one really cared about.

Apparently, the earth never got over its Hindu mythology.

I only pray history doesn't repeat itself.

---

so yeah! if you want more context lmk lol

live again - excerpt

HI THIS IS AN EXCERPT OF A WIP I'M REWRITING HOPE YOU ENJOY THANKS FOR READING <3

Author’s note: This is hopefully motivation for me to re-write this project and fantasy it up a bit more! To anybody reading this, I would love your thoughts & reactions to the content. Feel free to reblog/comment/like. This is a first draft scene, so no critical feedback pls, but I would love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to share them. 

MY EYES FLEW open and adjusted to the glowing white walls surrounding me. I was standing in a massive room packed with people. As bodies shoved me, I became a bowling pin in the midst of the crowd. 

Who were these people? I winced as an arm jabbed me in the rib and as a leg kicked me in the shin. I looked down—my clothes were soaked, my dark brown hair dripping with water.

Where was I? The last memory I had was of heading over to Will’s apartment. I couldn’t recall taking a swim—it was still winter—so how did I end up here?

I scanned the room; it was the size of a department store and had a pungent odor. My stomach churned, and I wanted to gag when I saw everyone coated in blood. What happened to them? I could hear murmurs of confusion and shouts. I pursed my lips and cringed at the smell entering my nostrils. 

There were people searching for an exit, but most were pushing left. Where were they going? This was ridiculous; the door had to be somewhere. Ignoring the dreadful stench, I waded to the wall closest to me and banged on it.

“I’m calling the cops!” I yelled. A sudden cold blast of air hit me, and I stumbled back, hitting someone. I fumbled to get my phone, but it wasn’t in any of my pockets. 

“Let me out!” When I banged again, the cold air was harsher. My teeth were chattering, and I was shivering. The fabric of my shirt stretched as I pulled on the edges, trying to stop it from sticking to my skin. 

“Hey!” I shouted. Amid the crowd, I grabbed someone’s arm in passing. The wave of people caused me to stagger; my slippers squelched in protest. My hand wrapped around a wrist, and I pulled a young girl in front of me. What was she doing here? 

Her hair was tangled and matted. Bruises spread across her arms and legs. When I looked to see what she was wearing, I saw blood splattered all over her ragged shirt. 

I gasped and shoved her away. The girl stumbled back. With a cry, she bumped into someone and fell. 

“Where am I?” I crouched down and locked eyes with the girl. “Do you know where we are? Were we kidnapped?” My throat tightened as I said the words. Where were the bodyguards when I needed them?

She shook her head. Her hands trembled. “N-no. Th-that’s not it.” 

“Are you stupid? We’re trapped. Am I supposed to know who you are? Do you know who I am?”

“N-no.”

“Are you sure you weren’t with me when I got kidnapped or something?” My mind flipped through the suspects, but there were none. 

“I’m telling you that’s not it. We didn’t get kidnapped.”

“People are bleeding, and so are you. Everyone’s looking for an exit before some psychopath comes back.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “Did you see the screen?” 

I snorted. “There is no—” My breath caught as a screen appeared, taking up half the wall. On it were the words: Sohee Young. Female. Time of death: February 14, 13:12. 

I brushed my forehead and winced at the dull throb. The hand that grazed it was coated in blood. My eyes widened, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. 

“Is this a joke?” I scoffed and pointed to the screen as I stood. “Do you see this?”

The girl shook her head. “O-only you can see it. It only appears when it’s your turn.” 

My turn? Was this when the psychopath would kill me? I clenched my trembling hands into fists.

“How do you know? Did you see the psychopath?” No reply. 

I kept my eyes on the screen. It showed me standing in front of someone’s door—Will’s. So this psychopath was a stalker, too. My eyes traced the familiar hallway of his apartment, the dim light, searching for a shadow. And, as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water on me, I remembered.

Will had been cheating on me. Six months of my devotion to my ex-boyfriend had crumbled that day when I realized he was using me for money and fame. To him, I was a steppingstone to stardom. A shaky breath escaped my lips as I recalled walking in right as he kissed another girl. I should have slapped him.

On the screen, I was grabbing his car keys, my face blank. Where was the stalker? It was impossible to film me from this angle. Unless… they had cameras installed in Will’s house already.

“There is no psychopath. I’m sure of it,” the girl whispered. “If there were, why would they show us these videos?” 

“Give and take? Karma?” I murmured, my gaze glued to the screen in front of me. 

I watched myself shut his door. The moment I did, I saw my façade crack. My face reddened, and my chin quivered. There were no tears. Instead, I tightened the grip I had on the key chain. I remembered what I had thought then: He had taken my pride and had stomped all over it, so I’d take his—his car. I wish I had. 

The scene changed, and I closed my eyes, body stiff and frozen. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn’t remember how to breathe. 

I didn’t need to see it to know. I could remember the desperate feeling of wanting to sink his car into the ocean. But sinking his car was a waste of time. Why do that when I could throw away the only keys he had? 

I watched myself run to the pier and sit on the railing, chest heaving. Just as I was about send his keys flying, a running man crashed into me, pushing me off the edge and into the sea. I remembered the screams and shouts, all of which became distant ringing in my ears as soon as the freezing water engulfed me. 

Once I hit the water, my hands and legs flailed in an attempt to push myself back up, but the water pulled me in deeper. I tried to hold my breath but failed, instead inhaling gulps of water. It had rushed in, and the sting of it had me screaming like someone’s bare hands were tearing my limbs apart. My body felt cold as I watched myself trying to survive on the screen. I was frozen in place until the screen showed me taking my last breath.

I covered my mouth with my hands as I paled, and my body started to tremble. Proceed left was written on the screen. Then it faded. That was it. Not even the screen could sympathize with my death, with how ridiculous it was. 

What kind of twisted game was this? 

I placed my hands over my chest, feeling the reassuring thump of my heartbeat. How was I able to feel my heart if I were dead? Dead people had no heartbeat. Yet the memory seemed so clear. How did this make sense? 

Nothing about this situation did. How did everyone else get here? Where were we going? And, most importantly, what was this place?

“If we really are dead, how did you die?” I asked, turning my head to the side. My words trailed off at the end as I realized that the girl, along with the rest of the crowd remaining, was approaching the exit door, which appeared like the screen did. Was that where everybody was heading earlier?  

I sighed. I’d never relied on anyone—why start now?

I followed the crowd as people started to move, which was unusual because I was usually the one leading. As I walked toward the exit, my mind flickered back to the date, February 14th, Valentine’s Day. 

Wasn’t that ironic. 

I halted as I stood in line, whatever line I was in. There were several since everyone was jumbled together. Other than the occasional mutters, silence encased the room. My lip trembled as tears blurred my vision.

I wiped the dripping water that rolled down my cheeks. The feeling was foreign since I hadn’t cried in years. Mom never could stand my swollen eyes, and Dad hated listening to anyone’s whining or sobbing. 

My quiet sobs turned into nerve-wracking ones as my body shook intensely. My shoulders slumped, and I covered my face to hide from others. Not that they cared. 

Not that anyone did. 

Turns out, the phrase ‘first come first served’ still applied, even to a dead person. The crowd, which used to be similar to a scatter plot, was organized into a single-file line. It seemed like most people knew where to go now. The fact that I realized this far too late didn’t matter, though—I was going to drag myself to the front. Besides, being dead didn’t change me. Though my outfit was less glamorous, and I wasn’t on Broadway, it didn’t mean I wasn’t Sohee Young.

“Excuse me.” I flashed a smile at the girl from earlier as I stood next to her. She was the one closest to the door, almost third in line. I glanced back at the number of people behind her. Probably a hundred or so? How she got there was a wonder to me. “What’s your name again?” 

A person midway from the line gave me the stink eye. I gave him a sheepish grin and pointed at the girl.

“Um.” She fidgeted. Glancing away, she took a step back. Her head faced the ground, and her hair fell in front. That was quick. Then again, she didn’t seem like someone who would resist, which was nice of her but also made her a stepping-stone. I stepped in front of her and took her spot. The girl was still silent, fidgeting with her fingers. 

My lips parted as I realized that there was no more blood on her chest, as if it had never been there. I didn’t feel the dull throb of my head pounding, and could no longer smell the odor of blood floating around the room. I tapped my finger on my forehead, noticing how smooth the skin was. There was no dried blood on it, no liquid. What happened to my cut? My clothes and hair were drying, but I was still wet. I glared at the people going through the door—what was this, a security clearance? 

My eyebrows raised at the sight of someone disappearing through the door. Then, there were red and green flashes—from what I didn’t know. 

“Did you see that?” I asked, turning around.

The girl cleared her throat. “Um, yes?”

Two more people ahead of me. “This better not be another joke.” A green flash.

One more. 

Another green flash. 

My turn. I let out a breath, running a hand through my soaked hair, trying to smooth out my wrinkled, half-dry clothes. Stopping halfway, I cursed at the habit. I wasn’t going up against some runway model, and probably not some psychopath with a gun, either. Whoever organized all this was worse. Way worse.

I rolled my shoulders and opened the door. As soon as I stepped through, I was under a full body scanner like the ones at the airport. The machine glowed red. No shutters, just silence. I narrowed my eyes and clenched my fists. 

Suddenly, alarms screamed right in my ear and pierced my eardrums. I winced and tried to push forward, but a glass door slammed shut in front of me. I turned around, but another door closed, preventing my escape.

“Let me through!” It was as if a banshee had its mouth directly at my ear. Everybody else from the other side of the door was peaceful, as if they couldn’t hear the ear-splitting cry. 

As quickly as it started, though, it stopped. 

“First time?” someone asked. I didn’t realize I was in a crouched position, my hands covering my ears, and my eyes tightly squeezed shut. The glass doors slid open, and I staggered out to see a woman smile at me. 

“What did you say?” I was panting, my voice hoarse from the yelling I’d done within the few seconds. She didn’t respond, but jotted notes down on her clipboard. Rude. With the click of her pen, both objects in her hand disappeared. 

“Name?” she asked. I stared at her. Her hair was wrapped in a bun, and she was wearing a pencil skirt with a beige bow blouse. A secretary? 

“Who are you?” As if I never asked the question, she raised her eyebrows.

“Name?” she asked again. 

“Why did this thing just scream at me? Why don’t you know my name?” I was still breathing heavily. “Aren’t you like a robot or something?”

She frowned. “No, I’m your P.A. until the council decides what to do with you.”

The council? There was more than one person running this? 

“What did I do?” 

“Shouldn’t you know what you did?”  

I opened my mouth and paused. No—they couldn’t know about that. That happened years back when I was a child, and I hadn’t told a single soul since then, not even the therapist. If they did know, though… a shudder ran through me. Did that mean that they had been stalking me since I was young?

“You know how I died,” I said slowly. “But you don’t know my name. Why?”

“Your name triggers all your information here. Once you tell me, I can confirm who you are and your identity.” 

“I’ll give you my name once you let me go.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re dead. But if you insist. Name?” 

“Sohee Young.” 

The pen and the clipboard appeared again. “Alright, Sohee, let’s—” Her smile paused halfway, and her face became blank. 

In an instant, she crashed to the ground, making a large, clattering noise, like pots and pans crashing together. As soon as she collided with the ground, we were in another room. I was twisting, my hands on the arms of the chair. When I tugged, they wouldn’t budge. Was I tied?

The room was like a courtroom, and the lady that fainted was on the ground in the middle. Was she okay? There was no way a human could make a noise that loud. I gasped. Parts of her skin had fallen off, revealing a metal arm and leg. The lady twitched slightly, but no sparks of electricity flew. I was right—she wasn’t human. 

In front of me, there were seven people all seated behind a huge desk. They all had an air of indignation, each having their hands clasped together while staring at me.  

What was this place?

One person stepped down—a man. He went down three stairs and approached me. I could only see the bottom half of his face, since his large hat covered the rest. He seemed to be the only one wearing a hat—why?

“You didn’t kill her, only put her through shock. Don’t worry too much about it,” he said. With a snap of his fingers, she disappeared, and he locked eyes with me. I shivered from the cold chill that crept up my spine as I stared into his glowing white eyes. He seemed too healthy to be a ghost. 

 “Sohee Young.” His words were like the whisper of a wind. It was the sound that was heard while walking on a trail alone, in the dark. “Time of death: February 14, 13:12:05. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?” My voice trembled, and I grit my teeth. “I’m dead, what more could you want from me?” 

“So, you do know you’re dead,” he replied. 

Did I, though? The memory, the council, and this—it felt so real, unlike a dream. Yet my heart was still beating. My skin wasn’t ghastly, and the color was still on my cheeks—a sure sign that I wasn’t dead. 

“We’re not that sadistic,” the man said, sounding amused. “We don’t want your hearts. Where would we store them when there are billions of you?” 

Wait, what? I opened my mouth, but the sound of a slam made me jump. What was that? 

“Ah, Lina. Just in time.” Lina? Who was that? I pursed my lips and tugged on the transparent rope attached to me. A girl—Lina—was staring at the ground as she made her way over here. Her face, like the man, was hidden by the cap. She made her way over and stood next to him, and he placed his hand on her shoulder as his eyes flashed white again.

“Lina Park. Time of death: February 14, 13:12:05. Meet Sohee Young…” he trailed off as if trying to find the right word. Clapped his hands and grinned.   

“Meet Sohee Young, your replacement.”

what fate decides [taehyung x reader] [part 1]

drabble count: 5

join tag list for future works | masterlist of all works previous | next drabble

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 all three parts are currently completed, but if you want early access to all of them, become a member on my ko-fi page! 💞

summary: You're a beta in love with your best friend, alpha Kim Taehyung. Except you know that you can never fulfill his dominating urges, so you draw a line between the two of you. Cherish his small kisses and embraces until an omega has to come along.

Until one day, you're not a beta anymore. Now, it's nearly impossible to resist the protective, endearing alpha in front of you.

pairing: taehyung x reader

chapter tags/warnings: angst, self-depricating thoughts, fluff, alpha/omega, a/b/o dynamics, best friends to lovers, slow burn ish, smut, mature, swearing

If there’s one thing you pride yourself on, it’s being a year older—and thus wiser—than Kim Taehyung. Taehyung Kim. Tae-tae. Whatever the idol’s nickname is. He’s got thousands, no doubt. 

Or at least, you think it’s easier pretending not to know him. You see the idol on the screen, hear your friends gushing over him, and wonder if the two of you ever becoming close—so close that you were inseparable when you were younger—was a dream. Back then, the day turned into a week, a week into years, and a year into years. 

Sometimes the feeling of nostalgia sinks in when you scroll through your old texts with him. Sometimes you wish to beg him to come back when he takes a flight back to Korea, but you realize that one of you has to be the adult. And because you’re older, it basically means that the responsibility falls on you, no matter how stubborn or persistent he is. 

Thank God you’re a beta, and unaffected by his alpha presence. The fact that he is an alpha is infuriating. His ego is large enough, and though he loves basking in compliments, lips curling upwards into a boxy smile, there needs to be someone to knock him down a peg or two. Hence, the (somewhat) calm-headed, (mostly) logical beta: you. 

Though he really is testing that side of you right now, pulling at your heartstrings. When you told the idol that he can visit your apartment in Los Angeles, you didn’t mean, “Hey, bring all your members along so I can be humiliated in Harry Potter pajamas and blubbering Korean.” Except now the idols entered your apartment anyways, and Taehyung was giving them a tour like he owned it, flinging his arms out and pointing at various exhibitions—your rooms. 

“Here, Noona,” he flings the hoodie draped over his arm at you. “You look cold.” 

“I—thanks, Taehyung.” You respond gratefully. Not that Los Angeles is cold. The sun’s beating down through your curtains, the light bright enough to blind you in the mornings as you sip a coffee on your plush, red sofa. But since you were younger, you’ve always been cold, especially once you woke up. 

“You have any snacks? Or ice cream? Jungkook might be hungry.” The alpha steps closer to you when you slide your head through the hoodie, trying to find the hole from your left arm. Grasping the fabric, he holds it out for you, and you beam up at him. 

“I think so. I can also whip out something if you guys want breakfast.”

“No,” he says, voice firm, eyes locking with the members. “I came to hang out with you, not make you serve breakfast.” 

“It’s really okay,” Jungkook adds hastily, and Jimin smirks in return. Then, someone’s stomach grumbles in reply, and you all glance at the blushing leader.

“It’s me digesting!” He blurts. You snort at how ridiculous it sounds, because seriously. If they came to Los Angeles, it’s a crime to not eat. The food here is a fusion of all cultures blended together, which is why it has one of the best ones in the world. You know your mother hates hearing this, but you think that the food in Koreatown suits your tastes better than the authentic food in Korea. It’s just a perfect blend between the modern and traditional culture, and you can’t go back. 

“There’s leftover gamjatang in the refrigerator that I brought yesterday, if you guys want. I also have rice and can make you a—”

“Y/N,” your friend insists, wrapping an arm around your waist to prevent you from going anywhere. Not Noona. Not ya, or some other rude nickname he gives to you when he should respect that you’re older (though it is just a year, Korean standards say otherwise). “Stop. I know you’re tired. You don’t need to.”

You stare up at Taehyung, who has his hair slicked back and is staring back into your eyes, as if challenging you. Ugh. Screw him. You know he knows that you’re terrible with eye contact.

“It’s not that I feel the need to,” you explain, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “I want to, I promise.” 

Taking care of people—Taehyung included—made your heart swell, and made you soft inside. Your love language giving wise is acts of service, and yeah, it might end up with you giving more than you should, or people taking advantage of you. Taehyung had seen that happen firsthand with his ex-girlfriends, or with those who had a crush on him, thinking that you did that because you were forced to. But these are his members, people he’s been with for years and trusts.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lowering your voice. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Running a hand through his hair, he nods and stalks off where Yoongi is residing on your couch. You smile brightly at the rest of the members, who have been quiet or averting their gazes at your conversation. 

“You want help setting the table?” Jin offers. You nod. 

“I was also thinking about making some kimchi stew.”

“I can make that!” Jimin pipes in. 

“Jimin ah,” Namjoon winces. “Your last kimchi-jigae was too salty. Maybe next time.”

“But practice makes perfect.” The idol rolls up his sleeves, suddenly looking determined to prove himself. “Just get me an apron, and I’ll whip up a masterpiece in seconds.” 

“Or Taehyung can, since he’s been learning how to cook,” Namjoon says, wincing. Oh, yeah. You heard about that on social media, him uploading pictures of his food or sending them to you. 

“My kitchen isn’t big enough,” you tell him regretfully. “I think Jin and I will have to make do.”

That part is true. Washing the dishes is a one-man show, because next to it is the refrigerator, and then the cabinet. The stove is behind you, and a small counter divides the kitchen with the living room. It’s cozy, but because LA apartments are so expensive, you had to make do with this small one. Even if Taehyung pressed about buying you a house, you couldn’t accept it. What would his future girlfriend think, that he brought his best friend a house? Knowing how conservative Korea is, you don’t want to step over that line.

Plus, you get free reign to place rugs anywhere you want on the hardwood ground. 

You hold in a laugh with the grateful glance the leader shoots you, and ushers Jimin away. 

“And how do you expect me to come to your shoot?”

“I’ll let the staff know,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “And you can just come in and watch.”

“You’re what—twenty something? All grown up. You can handle a shoot on your own.”

“But you’ve never seen me work.”

“I’ve seen you work. At concerts.” 

“It’s not the same thing, Noona. And you said that you’d hang out with me when I came to visit you. You weren’t lying, were you? You said you’d make up for all the birthdays we missed apart.”

Ding ding. Another point for Taehyung. “Alright, where’s your shoot?”

“In Korea.”

“Korea!” You practically shriek. “Taehyung, no.”

“Why not? You said your novel’s set in Korea, isn’t it? It’ll be good research, and you get to see your parents.”

Yeah, this is a good opportunity for you, as a writer who literally has no job except freelancing. But… 

“Noona.” The word alone makes you flinch, and you sigh at the idol in front of you. Legs crossed in front of you, Taehyung juts his lower lip out, pouting. He intentionally parted his bangs to give you a pleading look, too—but you refuse for it to affect you—you never know what this alpha is up to next. “C’mon.” 

Then again, your willpower is never that strong around him.

“No, Taehyung. I can’t go.”

“Is this about the money?” When is it not about the money? 

“I have plenty of money,” he adds. You snort. 

“Yeah, that much is obvious.” He’s practically plastered on every billboard, and any moments he has with women are trending. Though you don’t tell him, your favorites are the book memes that come out of it. God, you feel awful for laughing, but it’s just hilarious. Like the meme of how this one person mentioned that they’d get pregnant if Taehyung gave her the gaze of “I’ll take you to the bookstore.”

“What are you giggling about?” The corner of his mouth tugs up into a smile, and he pokes your cheek. 

“Nothing.” A grin stretches across your face. “Seriously. I’m saving up for Korea myself, don’t waste your money on me.” 

“I love giving you my money,” he retorts immediately. “And you always stole my money in high school, what’s a few years older?”

“Shut up!” You smack his shoulder, and he snickers. “I’m pretty sure I paid back that amount enough, too, dealing with you.”

“I told you, I can help you out. You know I make more than enough.” But your pride won’t let him. As someone older than him, it’s ingrained in you to pay for him, not the other way around.

“It’s—it’s my job because I’m older—”

“Get that thought out of your head,” he murmurs. Taehyung takes a deep breath. “I love taking care of you, Y/N, alright?”

“You need to stop using my name,” you groan. “It’s rude. How have we become this casual over the course of what? Over a decade?” 

“I like your name.” And he inches closer, nose brushing your neck as he places a soft kiss there. You don’t even know how he knows that you’d melt from that, but you do. Hands shoot out to grab his biceps, and he rests his forehead in that crook, body at an odd angle because he’s hunching over you, torso twisted. 

Taehyung likes physical contact, you remind yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. Again, thank God you’re a beta, and your scent—both giving off and smelling—is minimal. Also, bless the universe that the alpha in front of you is wearing suppressants today. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

You press your lips together. “I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to, but—”

“Please,” he hushes, breath hitting your skin. Making the moment so intimate. “Come with me.”

Hands hold both sides of his cheeks, and you stare. Rub your thumb in circles, and his eyes darken. Darken with a promise, with worry from your answer, with something. 

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.” 

A week later, upon arriving in Korea, Taehyung sends you a text, along with a pinned location.

Taehyung: Come.

Taehyung: Please.

Taehyung: I’ll be waiting.

“He’s not in a good mood today,” Namjoon comments on the obvious. Taehyung isn’t out here yet, but the other members are slowly trickling in.  

As you stand in the midst of the photoshoot for Vogue, you nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”

In return, the leader mimics your action and heads over to the director. The chatter around you is growing, as interns run in with drinks for the staff and the idols, and as directors shout where the lights should be placed. It’s like the scene is shifting in circles around you, and as you hide in the corner, you love it. Watching everyone enter their own element, running on adrenaline until the shoot is over. The determined glances, the peering in the cameras, the directing. Your heartbeat quickens seeing everything unfold in front of you, and you rock on your heels to contain your excitement. 

“Ah, hello!” Hoseok smiles. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Well, that’s sudden. “Uh, su—”

“Can you get Taehyung? He’s—well—” The idol stumbles over his words. “He’s in one of his moods. And, well, since we’re all alphas, we don’t want to be messing with his area.”

Oh. Oh. You flush. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ah, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, and stunned into awkward silences, the two of you slink away from one another. “He’s in the dressing room.”

Roaming down the halls, you knock on his door. Well, BTS’s door. 

No answer. 

“Taehyung?” You question, and stick your head in. The dark mess of hair stiffens when you do. 

“Did the members send you here?”

You can’t help yourself, gazing at his muscles and the hard ridges of his body as he slumps down the chair, legs open wide. In fact, your mouth almost goes slack at the sight, but you reign it in, knowing that the other members are waiting. Because Taeyoung’s broodiness—or, him being pissed all morning—could only mean one thing. He’s about to go into rut soon. 

“Bad morning?” You chirp from where you’re at, not wanting to intrude or do something that would piss him off even further. There was never a telltale sign as to what Taeyoung hated, so close to rut. Not that he ever lashed out at you. But you saw how he would grimace, or hide the discomfort of your actions. 

“Ha. Very funny,” the idol grumbles, then frowns. “Why are you so far away?”

“No reason,” you grin, and inch closer. “Just thought you wanted to sit alone today.”

“Sit on me,” he orders, grouchy. You carefully settle yourself on his thighs, but can’t help but shift forward to drape yourself all over him. You can’t help it—he’s just that comfortable. His shoulder is the perfect pillow for you to rest your head on, and the crook of his neck is the perfect place for you to dig your face into, hiding away from the world. And it’s like he owns you, with the way his palm sometimes curves around your nape, or the way he guides you, or the way he curves his hand around your hip and draws you closer. 

You tell yourself it’s the Alpha instincts within him, taking care of his best friend. In his mindset, you’re pack. Making sure that your nervousness isn’t stinking up the room. Making sure you’re safe and tended to. 

But sometimes, you hallucinate. 

“Are you staying until I end today?”

“That’s what I was planning to do, unless it goes on for too long.”

“I didn’t know if you were coming today,” he admits. His arms tightening around you and pulls you closer, smothering you in his scent. Of the ocean. Of sand. It’s nice. The issue is that your heart flutters when catching hints of it, like it did in high school. Then it’d fall, or be stomped to pieces when he came home every night talking about the girl he wanted to impress. You forgot her name—never bothered to learn it in the first place, just trying to pick up your broken pieces when he shattered you. And one day, he came home, saying he lost his virginity. Saying that he was happy he gave it away to the one person.

That’s when your project began. To move on from Taeyoung, the reason of your existence. Because the only reason you two met was because of your mothers. That’s it. If not, fate would have never allowed you to collide.

And you understood. He’s an Alpha, with urges no less. You’re a beta. You weren’t going to ruin anything. 

“Namjoon showed me the fancy director chair you got me,” you tease, fingers finding his hair and tugging a strand. 

“Mhm.” A deep inhale. “I better go.”

The untangling is slow, but you cherish those moments, keep it tucked away with memories only you have with him while your mind chastises your heart. 

It’s just like every other night back then, you tell yourself. Taehyung’s oblivious to your feelings, and you’re here beating yourself up over it without saying anything.

And you know—if you’re going to keep quiet, you shouldn’t take it out on Taehyung because that would be unfair to him. 

Besides. You loved him too much to break what the two of you have.

to be continued...