#yoongi fic

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

��What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

#kvanity #ksmutsociety #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #min yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #🫡 highvern

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 3

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 11.9K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues

Author's Note: is this being posted over a week late? yes but I'm in the middle of exams at the moment eek! on the bright side, I'll be able to work on this more often after this week since most of my exams will be done! and then I have about a month until my job starts so I'm planning to grind!! all that aside, we get to see them get married here, so exciting!! yoongi seems to be having second thoughts hmmm interesting. let me know what you guys think! i love to hear your feedback <33

Taglist:

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee

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You nervously smoothed out the skirt of your dress in an effort to calm your nerves but found little success. The day of the rehearsal had come and in less than twenty-four hours, you were to be married. Your hands shook as you grasped the door handle of the entrance to the banquet hall. Hoseok laid a comforting hand on your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring smile. He had decided to attend the rehearsal at your insistence, citing seeing Joohee again as the reason, though you knew he could tell how worried you were. 

Mustering a small smile in response, you pushed open the door to see the ceremony space set up with nauseatingly bright flowers and ornate, crystal-laden light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were decorated in satin sashes with gold embroidery and the altar was woven around with glittering flowers. Your mother was standing at the edge of the aisle, speaking to the catering service employee. She was dressed impeccably as always, her commanding presence demanding that you look at and respect her. Your father was sitting in one of the satin chairs, scrolling dully on his phone. Your mother noticed you standing by the door and quickly beckoned you over. 

As you approached, Hoseok following close behind, you noticed something at the end of the room. Standing at the end of the aisle was Yoongi, clad in the normal black suit you’d seen him in thus far, with his tie loosened and hair ruffled. He was speaking to his mother, who was adjusting his blazer, and his father, who stood off to the side, distantly nodding along. He had yet to notice your arrival, but you were fully enraptured by him. This was what you had been dreaming of since you’d met Yoongi outside that party so long ago, walking down the aisle to see him at the other end, promising your lives to each other in an act of fierce and nurtured love. But that wasn’t what was happening. Hoseok’s grip on your shoulder grounded you as you approached your mother. You could feel his arm laying across your shoulder blades and hanging loosely, but comfortingly, in an effort to brace you for your mother. 

“Nice to see you finally made it. You must’ve been in a rush if you only had time to choose that outfit,” your mother stated, not bothering to properly greet you or acknowledge Hoseok. She knew who he was and she didn’t approve of your close relationship with him, but she knew that she couldn’t say anything out loud lest her image be tainted, which is what you were banking on. 

Feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten at your mother’s careless words, you tried to subtly placate him, “Hello, mother. I’m sorry I’m late. Will we be starting soon?” Your mother only nodded curtly before turning away to speak to more of the venue employees. You let out a heavy breath before sitting down at one of the nearby chairs, not making an effort to try and greet your father. It’s not like he’d acknowledge you anyway. 

“God damn, you need therapy,” Hoseok whistled lowly. 

You let out a tired laugh, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Yeah, but we knew that already. Are you sure you’re up to face these guys? It can be a lot.”

Hoseok nodded, smiling kindly at you, before squeezing the hand you pulled him down with, “Of course, I am. I said I was here for you and I meant it.”

You grinned, having missed his fervent support and soothing touch, “Thanks, Hobi. You’re the best.” Hoseok only gave you another squeeze in response. 

“Wow, I’m offended,” came a voice from behind you, “I thought I was the best.”

You and Hoseok turned to find Joohee in a simple dress, hands resting on her hips. Smiling up at her, you nodded, “You know you’re in a league of your own. Hobi can’t even compare.” 

Hoseok scoffed incredulously, “You’re so fickle, how could you call yourself my friend.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you leaned back in your chair with Joohee joining, sitting on your other side. Your eyes drifted back to Yoongi, and you startled, finding him looking right back at you. He casually shifted his gaze back to his mother, who was still speaking to him, not sparing you another glance. 

“So, that’s him?”

You turned towards Hoseok, whose gaze was pointed at Yoongi’s form. You nodded, “Yeah, that’s him. My…fiance.”

Hoseok studied your sullen form for a moment before grabbing your shoulders and giving you a friendly squeeze, “At least he’s hot!”

Joohee and you laughed at his antics before hearing the large, wooden doors to the entrance open once more. A group of handsome men entered, about four, only one of whom you recognized as Joohee’s older brother. The group approached, laughing together while walking towards Yoongi. Joohee stood, shouting Seokjin’s name, calling him over to your small group. Kim Seokjin smiled at the sight of his sister before breaking off from the group, one of the men following after, while the others continued to Yoongi. 

“Hey, Joo, how’s it going,” Seokjin smiled easily, ruffling his sister’s hair. She swatted at him before answering, “Good, but mom’s been on my case lately to come home.”

You looked on in envy, wishing you had a similar, friendly relationship with your own brother. Kyungsoo was nice enough to you, when he cared to acknowledge you. He had been primed by your parents to take over their company since he was young, but they’d made sure that the two of you had stayed competitive academically. Even though you were younger, you tended to do better in your studies, something your parents never let Kyungsoo forget. As a result, he’d grown extremely distant with you and you rarely spoke now. Actually, you weren’t even sure if he was coming to the wedding. 

“There’s the bride-to-be! How are you feeling,” Seokjin’s voice boomed, snapping you out of your daze. 

You smiled politely at him, “Hi, Jin oppa, it’s nice to see you. I’m feeling alright, as well as I can.”

Seokjin nodded sympathetically, “I know Yoongi hasn’t been the best, but give him some time to adjust. If he’s still an ass after that, let me know and I’ll beat him up.”

You laughed as he puffed out his chest and raised an arm to display his muscles. Joohee rolled her eyes before punching him lightly in his side, “Oppa, no one wants to see that. Here, let me introduce you to Hobi.”

Hoseok stood to greet the older man, no longer obstructing your view of the other man who had followed Seokjin out of the group earlier. He was quite tall, though not as tall as Seokjin, and well built, with tattoos flowing down his hands, curling around the small wrinkles of his fingers. His shaggy black hair framed a boyish face that wore a polite smile. Why did he seem so familiar?

“Jeon Jeongguk,” you blurted out, almost stumbling to stand and confirm your suspicions. He turned to face you, with you now realizing that it was, in fact, the same streamer you’d been following for the past few years. You hadn’t recognized him immediately without his usual garb of sweatshirts, headphones, and piercings littering his face. 

“Hi, you’re Seo Y/N, I assume,” he smiled, eyes crinkling. Feeling slightly starstruck, you nodded dumbly. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Kook, she’s a big fan of yours. She watches your streams all the time,” Joohee interjected. Your gaze shot towards her, sending her a silent message. 

You know him? And you didn’t tell me? 

Joohee only shrugged sheepishly, Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.

You gritted your teeth, I’m so interrogating you later.

Jeongguk’s voice called you back to him, “Really? That’s cool, I always love meeting fans.”

Feeling your cheeks redden, you stumbled slightly over your words, “Yeah! I love all your videos, you got me into a couple of new games I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy,” you finished, laughing awkwardly. 

Jeongguk took it in stride, bashfully scratching the back of his head, “Thanks, I appreciate that. So you’re into a lot of games, yourself?”

Seeing an opportunity, you relaxed, feeling yourself brighten at the chance to talk about your favorite subject, “Yeah! I actually work for O.K. Gaming in their planning team. I’m not really into MMOs, but I like a lot of RPGs and platformers, my favorite right now is actually this indie one from the U.S. that’s been out for a couple of years, Celeste, it got put on the switch but I played it on my PC. But I’ve been branching out, thanks to you! Watching you play all the old Zelda games made me want to get into it too, but I ended up starting with Breath of the Wild because it looked so pretty, the graphics are just amazing! So are the mechanics, I was really impressed with how-”

“Woah, there,” you heard Hoseok, laying a hand on the small of your back, “You’re gonna scare him away.”

You laughed awkwardly, noticing the shocked expression that painted Jeongguk’s face, “Sorry, I tend to get over-excited when it comes to that stuff.”

Jeongguk seemed to snap back into the conversation, shaking his head wildly with a large grin, “No, that’s great! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to geek out with someone. We should totally hang out, what’s your number?”

You felt yourself slip back into a comfortable smile before taking Jeongguk’s phone to put your number in while he excitedly mentioned the games he was thinking of streaming next. Handing his phone back, he glanced at it before looking back up at you, “Hey, is it okay for me to call you noona? I do the same with Joohee noona.”

Slightly surprised at his forwardness, you nodded, “Yeah, that’d be nice. I don’t think I’ll call you Kook though.”

He laughed brightly, “We’ll work our way up to that.”

One of the other groomsmen called both Seokjin and Jeongguk back to the altar, leaving you to bask in the feeling of having met one of your favorite content creators and becoming friends with him, ignoring Hoseok’s quiet teasing at your geeking out. The bliss didn’t last long though as you heard your mother clap her hands and ask everyone to sit near the front. Hoseok’s hand slipped into your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, along with an encouraging smile, before letting you and Joohee join the others at the front. You’d wished that you could put Hoseok in your wedding party, but you knew your mother would never allow it. You were grateful already that he’d come to the rehearsal despite not being able to do anything the entire time. 

You and Joohee took your seats at the front, sitting next to some other young women you recognized from your mother’s galas, likely the rest of your bridesmaids. Your mother had been kind enough to let you choose Joohee as your maid of honor, but you knew she’d only allowed it because Joohee’s family was high up enough according to her standards. 

Your mother positioned herself at the altar, addressing everyone with a confident tone, “Now that everyone’s present, I’ll let Mrs. Shin go through the itinerary for today.” Your mother then stepped aside, joining your father on your family’s side of the aisle.

A small, stout woman with her hair in a tight bun and a string of pearls adorning her neck took the stand, “Hello, I’m Shin Miyeon, the wedding planner for this event. For today, we’ll start with a rehearsal of the entrances and ceremony, which will be followed by the entrances for the reception and a run-through of the timings for the dances tomorrow. We’ll end with a joint dinner, and then we’ll be done. Let’s get started.”

Mrs. Shin immediately started directing people, the bridal party being the first, and pairing them up by height to walk together. Joohee was quickly whisked away, leaving you shaking nervously, as this was all beginning to feel a bit too real. The thought was suddenly occurring to you that you really were going to be marrying Yoongi and he absolutely did not want it to happen. Sinking further into your seat, you sent an encouraging, but wavering, smile to Joohee who was paired with her brother due to their similar heights. Your eyes drifted towards Yoongi, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the aisle, swiping through his phone with an unimpressed expression. How could he be so nonchalant about all this?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the entrance,” Mrs. Shin’s voice called out, making you raise your head in her direction. You felt your heart rate speed up and your hands clench, you weren’t ready for this. Your vision almost seemed to cloud as it felt like a hand was closing in around your throat, and your breath started to stutter. You absolutely were not ready for this. Your life was about to change, arguably for the worse, and you had to spend it with someone who wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You could distantly hear Mrs. Shin calling your name once more but it felt like you couldn’t move, your body didn’t feel like your own. Gaze lowering to the ground, it seemed like spots were taking over your vision. Your breath continued to quicken and you could feel yourself beginning to fully lose control of your breathing.

This can’t be happening.

You needed to get ahold of yourself, there were people all around you, not to mention your mother and Yoongi. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself, the control you had over your body kept slipping away, and it only caused you to freak out further. A pair of smart, black dress shoes came into your view and you lifted your head to see Yoongi looking down at you with a raised eyebrow through your blurry vision. 

“Are you coming?”

You forced yourself to hold your breath, letting it out slowly after counting for a few seconds, before nodding and standing on wobbly legs. You didn’t have time to break down, you had a job to do. 

Following Yoongi and Mrs. Shin to the entrance doors, you pointedly avoided eye contact with your mother while sending shaky smiles to Joohee and Hoseok. You had to get a grip. 

“Alright, let’s go through the order we’ll be going down the aisle. Can the rest of the wedding party please come down here?”

You were squished up against the door with Yoongi at your side as the wedding party took their places to arrive at the altar before you. Setting your eyes straightforward, you resisted any temptation to glance at Yoongi to see his expression. You couldn’t face him after he’d witnessed you almost experience a full-on panic attack. Focusing in on Mrs. Shin’s firm tone was an easy distraction, as you watched her guide your wedding party down the aisle and to the altar. Slowly but surely, she made her way to you and your groom, with Yoongi being directed first.

“You’ll walk before Ms. Seo and take your place next to Mr. Kim at the stand,” Mrs. Shin said, guiding Yoongi toward the other end of the room. You watched as he gracefully strode down the aisle, casually stopping next to Seokjin and turning to face your direction. The action made you pause, almost breathlessly, as your gaze connected. However, his eyes didn’t last long on your form, as they slid over to Seokjin and Yoongi began conversing with him. 

You couldn’t help the disappointed feeling in your chest, despite knowing full well you had no right to suffer it. Yoongi wasn’t yours, he would never be, something he had made quite clear in your limited interactions. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a tugging in your stomach, a pain in your forefinger, at his blatant dismissal of you. Biting your lip, you cursed inwardly, now was not the time to fall even deeper for your husband-to-be. 

“Ms. Seo, please follow me. You can hold this in place of your bouquet,” Mrs. Shin said, handing you a nondescript water bottle. A quick glance at Hoseok’s form turned to face you had you confirming that he was making fun of you as you had suspected. You brushed off his giggles and stepped in what you hoped was an elegant manner after Mrs. Shin, following her down the aisle. 

You deliberately avoided looking at Yoongi’s face, knowing that he wouldn’t be watching you. Did you want him to? 

Yes.

You almost scoffed. What a ridiculous notion. What you were in need of was a good, old reality check, not playing into the fantasy of marrying Yoongi for love. As you passed Hoseok, he whistled wolfishly, earning a disapproving frown from your mother. It was exactly what you needed though, pulling a laugh out of you before discreetly flipping him off from behind the water bottle. You felt the tension leave your body at Hoseok’s familiar antics, finally feeling relaxed for the first time that night. Maybe you could do this, after all.

Reaching the altar, Mrs. Shin proceeded to give minor notes to the rest of your wedding party as you stood awkwardly next to Yoongi. You could hear his soft breaths as he waited patiently for Mrs. Shin to address you both, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at or try to start a conversation with him. Yoongi seemed to be doing the same, keeping his eyes forward and occasionally glancing at his watch. 

You felt lonely. You were standing next to the person who was going to be your partner for the rest of your life and yet, you felt a deep and painful distance from him. You could feel his warmth, hear him shuffling beside you, but you deliberately shied away from brushing elbows to solidify the separation between you. Yoongi seemed so calm and indifferent, it made you feel a troubling combination of envy and anger. 

Why couldn’t you be as blase as him about this? Why was he so apathetic in the first place? Didn’t he care about you at all? Was he judging you for not being aloof yourself? Why didn’t he want to engage with you at all?

It hurt, to say the least, but the rational part of you annoyingly came to his defense. Realistically, you knew he had no obligation to try and converse with, or even care about, you. So why were you still so hurt?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the doors. We’ll run through it again.”

Mrs. Shin’s voice put a halt to your spiraling thoughts, making you register Yoongi turning around beside you. Following suit, you joined behind him, taking a glance at your watch. Only about thirty or so minutes had passed.

You sighed, this was really going to be a test of your endurance. 

The cushioned chair felt welcoming, even though your company did not evoke the same feeling. Your mother was sitting across from you and her cold stare made you shrivel into your seat. Hoseok was placed on the far end of the table with Joohee, making them achingly far from you. Yoongi was next to you in a performance pretending this was a willing marriage. Not that the restaurant staff would care. 

You scowled internally, lamenting the fact that you couldn’t even eat dinner comfortably. Your mother was sending you cursory glances while talking to Yoongi’s mother, and your dad was talking business with Yoongi’s father, and with Yoongi conversing with Seokjin, you were painfully lonely. You resorted to quietly playing with the napkin in your lap and staring at your empty plate and wine glass in front of you, desperately wishing you could drink to make the dinner easier but you knew your mother wouldn’t approve. 

“Y/N noona?”

You looked up, making eye contact with Jeongguk, who was sitting next to you, previously talking to another groomsman with stunning dimples next to him. 

“Oh, yes,” you responded, straightening in your chair. 

“I wanted to talk to you some more about the games you mentioned earlier since we didn’t get to finish,” he responded, a bright, bunny smile decorating his face. 

You felt yourself smile warmly in response automatically, his joy and bubbliness seemed to be contagious, “Yeah, I’d love to. What would you like to know?”

The conversation with Jeongguk proved to be your oasis in the desert of the stale and stiff conversations happening around you, especially between your parents. His encouraging smile put you at ease and made the tension flow out from your fingers. You were grateful that he was so engaging, keeping you distracted from the shifting from the aloof and dominating presence you felt beside you. 

Yoongi had remained relatively quiet throughout the whole evening, only having spoken to you when you were on the verge of breaking down. He spoke quietly to his friends, not bothering to introduce you to them, and had barely looked in your direction. Part of you couldn’t deny it upsetting you, but you constantly reminded yourself that this was to be expected. 

The both of you had made no commitment to each other outside of appearing as a couple when it mattered, he had no obligation to be friendly towards you. It felt like your mind was going in circles continually trying to keep your emotions in check and avoid crossing the boundaries Yoongi had so clearly laid out. 

The thought entered your mind once again, Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? 

It certainly felt that way. 

You felt Yoongi shift beside you once again, making you flinch. Thankfully, Jeongguk didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in describing his most recent gaming obsession with you. You felt hyper-aware of Yoongi’s presence, whether he was right beside you or at the other end of the room. It bothered you how much he affected you, but you almost enjoyed it at the same time.

There was something pleasant about the feeling of falling in love with someone, regardless of whether it was a tragic infatuation or not. The rush of your heartbeat whenever you caught a glimpse of him, the way your breath hitched when you accidentally brushed shoulders, the way your fingers itched to grasp his hand, it all felt so romantic in a way. 

Where it all came crashing down was the reality that Yoongi didn’t feel a semblance of the same way. Your spiked heartbeat was met with his indifferent exterior, your hitched breath with his calm and even exhales, and your twitching fingers with his clenched fist. It was detrimental, damaging even, and it was taking a toll on, not only your emotional wellbeing but your self-confidence as well. You were so swiftly rejected by him that it was a blow to your self-esteem. You hadn’t felt particularly great about yourself prior to his crushing dismissal, but you had certainly been in a downward spiral since then. 

Too often now you were scrutinizing your appearance in the mirror, choosing baggier clothing while hating the silhouette, and catching yourself while speaking. It wasn’t logical or warranted, but that didn’t stop your overactive mind from whispering your insecurities quietly every day. Maybe Hoseok had a point. You really needed to look into therapy.

“Noona?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just zoning out,” you blinked, tuning back into Jeongguk’s honey-sweet voice. 

He smiled sympathetically, something you seemed to be on the receiving end of a lot lately, “That’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded, not wanting to divulge the cacophony of thoughts swimming around in your head, “Please, continue with what you were saying.”

Jeongguk’s energizing smile made a reappearance, making you relax further into your chair. You let his dulcet voice lull you into a comfortable conversation for the rest of the dinner, trying not to react whenever you felt movement beside you. 

“Thank you all for coming, we appreciate your being here. We’ll be meeting at the venue tomorrow at nine, so please be sure to be on time,” your mother concluded, your group standing outside the restaurant. With that, the crowd slowly dispersed, your parents speaking to Yoongi’s at their cars and the bridal parties filing out into respective vehicles as well. You leaned back into Hoseok’s firm torso, letting his arm encircle your waist and his chin rest on your shoulder. 

You didn’t often let people touch you, but Hoseok was a rare exception, having broken your barriers down in college, and served as a comforting touch whenever you needed it. It evolved into more casual affection, a similar version being displayed between Hoseok and Joohee, and you accepted it as just part of his personality. You knew how it looked to people around you but you simply didn’t care, Hoseok was a good friend, and you’d be damned if you were going to refuse the little human contact you allowed. 

Joohee was talking animatedly to Hoseok about something or other, you weren’t really paying attention. Hoseok’s warmth soothed you, making your eyelids fall in the exhaustion from the day’s events. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your mother frowning at you, but you paid no mind. For the first time since the announcement, you wondered if she’d finally leave you to your own devices now that you were doing the ultimate show of subservience to her. 

Kim Seokjin’s booming voice startled you from Hoseok’s grasp, making him switch to leaning against your car door. You spotted Seokjin’s tall figure making his way over to you, the other groomsmen following behind. Yoongi was also tailing Seokjin, making you stand up straighter and try to steel your expression. 

“Joo, Y/N, we’re gonna go for some drinks to celebrate Yoongi’s bachelordom ending, want to join? You’re welcome too, of course, Hobi,” Seokjin smiled kindly. You almost flinched at the mention of Yoongi’s bachelor lifestyle ending, apparently, he hadn’t told his friends about the rules he’d set. 

Joohee’s face hardened towards Yoongi, apparently realizing the same thing you did, before turning sickeningly sweet towards her brother, “No thanks, oppa. We’re gonna head back to Y/N’s.”

“Oh, c’mon, noona,” Jeongguk looked at you imploringly, eyes shining, “It’ll be fun! We can hang out more!”

You smiled apologetically as you felt Hoseok wrap a protective arm around you, noting that he was probably on the same page as Joohee, “Sorry Jeongguk, maybe next time.”

Jeongguk shrugged, turning to the other groomsmen, the dimpled man with tan skin and a model-esque-looking man with dark eyebrows and lighter hair. Seokjin furrowed his eyebrow slightly, mouth upturning into a small frown, “Well, okay, but I’ll be taking you out to celebrate at some point, Y/N. Mark the date!”

You laughed quietly, waving him off with an acquiescing nod. The men filed back towards their respective cars, heading to bars or someone’s house, you assumed. You began turning further into Hoseok to face your car before realizing that Yoongi was still standing there. 

Pausing, you looked at him questioningly, feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten. Yoongi’s dark eyes narrowed at your intertwined forms. 

“Do you need something, Yoongi-ssi,” Joohee asked in a clipped tone. You almost cringed at the blatant contempt. 

“No,” Yoongi responded quietly, “I don’t. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He nodded politely in your direction before turning to walk back to his car, pausing for a last glance at your bemused face. 

“What was that,” Joohee scoffed, flipping off Yoongi’s silhouette. 

You shrugged, not knowing what to make of it either, “C’mon, let’s just go home. I need to get drunk.”

Joohee entered your car and you were just about to follow before Hoseok pulled you back, making you almost stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes, “Are you really okay?”

You pulled your hand out of his, tired of being treated in such a fragile manner, “Yes, I’m fine. As good as I can be. I just want to go home.” You felt bad for snapping, but you were irritable after a long day and you wanted to get out of your dress and wipe off your makeup. You turned back towards the car before Hoseok spoke again.

“I know,” Hoseok said softly, “But there’s something off about him. I can’t place it. It was the way he looked at you, especially when I was hugging you.”

You twisted your head in his direction quickly, “Stop. Seriously, Hoseok, I really don’t need to be thinking about that. The last thing I need for this stupid infatuation is to think that there’s something there when there isn’t. I don’t need you putting those kinds of thoughts into my brain.”

Hoseok recoiled before scratching the back of his head and shooting you an apologetic glance, “You’re right, sorry. Let’s just go home, yeah?”

You both entered the car, Joohee leaning forward from the backseat to glance at the both of you.

“Is everything cool with you guys,” she questioned, likely having witnessed the scene outside the car. 

“Yeah, just fine,” you said bluntly, gripping the steering wheel. What were you doing? Hoseok was just expressing concern. You didn’t have a right to get so worked up and take out your anger on him.

Sighing, you let yourself relax into your cushioned car seat, turning towards Hoseok who was in the passenger seat, “Sorry, Hobi. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Hoseok smiled comfortingly, “Don’t even worry about it. I know how stressed you’ve been.”

“No,” you protested, “That isn’t an excuse. You were just looking out for me.”

Hoseok laughed jovially, “Hey, it’s fine, I promise. If anything, I’m glad to see you letting out some emotion, I was beginning to get worried that you didn’t get angry anymore.”

“Oh, she can get angry, alright,” Joohee mused from the backseat, “You’re just not around to see it anymore.”

You laughed, feeling relief at Hoseok’s easy acceptance of your apology. You started up your car, pulling out into the street. 

“Let’s go get shitfaced in your living room,” Joohee cheered from behind you, Hoseok laughing along loudly. 

A smile formed on your face, making you chuckle at Joohee’s exclamations. You were lucky, luckier than you thought initially. Even with everything going on, you felt your heart fill at your friends’ gracious and kind attitudes toward you. You continued driving to your apartment, feeling a touch more confident about your ability to get through tomorrow relatively unscathed. 

Your dress felt constricting, but not in a way that a seamstress could fix. Despite your unfounded confidence the night before, standing behind the closed doors of the aisle sent a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins. 

How were you going to get through this? Yoongi was waiting on the other side, at the end of the aisle, about to become your partner for life. Except, you weren’t going to be his partner in the same way. 

Initially, Yoongi was supposed to walk down with you, your entourage partnered up like you’d practiced at the beginning of yesterday. But Mrs. Shin didn’t like the visual, making her change it to a more traditional style ceremony. Go figure that she wouldn’t think the sight of you and Yoongi walking together 

A sick nausea curled in your stomach, making you clench the audacious bouquet, letting a few petals fall to the floor. You felt a hand clasp your shoulder, making you turn, seeing Joohee’s concerned frown. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay, I’ll be right there. You can do this,” she squeezed your shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can do this,” you repeated, attempting to calm your nerves. A small voice in the back of your mind whispered, wondering if Yoongi had the same nerves. 

The thought almost made you scoff, there was no way. Nothing much in his life was changing other than getting a roommate he had to take to galas. 

You knew that wasn’t a fair sentiment. Yoongi was as negatively affected by this arrangement as you were, he was just taking a more emotionally removed approach. Maybe you should learn from that. 

Mrs. Shin appeared next to you in a flurry, “We’re about to open the doors. Are you ready?”

You nodded stiffly, knowing the answer was that you’d never be ready to marry Min Yoongi. 

Hearing the muffled piano begin to play, signaling the start to your bridal party’s entrance, you released a heavy breath, trying to paint on a passive exterior. Joohee whispered some small last bits of encouragement your way before taking her place in front of you. 

The doors slowly opened, letting your bridesmaids walk down before you. You could feel your hands trembling.

Hidden from the audience’s eyes beside the door, Mrs. Shin gestured at you, mouthing that you were up next. 

Taking a moment to close your eyes, you steeled your nerves and took a step forward. You could do this. It was just a walk, that’s all it was. 

You repeated the mantra in your head as you took more and more steps down the aisle, focusing your gaze on the ornate carvings above the altar. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your mother gesturing for you to smile, and you responded automatically, letting a small smile adorn your mouth. It felt hollow, but that wasn’t what mattered. 

As you approached the altar, your gaze naturally shifted down to Yoongi, who was poised in a statuesque manner. He looked radiant, the black suit fitted perfectly to his chest and tapered at his waist. His charcoal hair was styled, showing his forehead, displaying his clear, smooth skin. His hands were clasped in front of him, your eyes tracing the outlines of his fingers, and his aura exuded confidence. You purposefully kept your gaze away from his face, not wanting to see the expression that he wore. 

Reaching the steps up to the altar, you carefully climbed each one, making sure not to trip over the hem of your dress. You took your place next to Yoongi, feeling him turn to face the officiant. As the officiant began speaking, you felt yourself breathe out slowly, trying to recover from the initial stress. You had the first step done, the rest wouldn’t be so hard. 

Thankfully, you could zone out for most of the ceremony, with the officiant droning on in your ear. Most of this was for show anyway, you didn’t really need to seem present. It was lucky that you were facing away from your audience, allowing your eyes to glaze over and subtly stifle yawns. 

You barely processed Yoongi’s presence throughout the ceremony, trying not to glance in his direction. He hadn’t really acknowledged you, but it didn’t surprise you. In a way, it almost pained you that you were getting used to his apathy this quickly. 

Another blessing came in the form that you didn’t have to recite vows. The attendees of the weddings had seen far too many arranged marriages to sit through another cycle of canned and rehearsed vows. It felt especially lucky to you as well in that you wouldn’t have to look into Yoongi’s eyes as you declared your devotion to him. 

The ceremony itself quickly came to an end, and you were forced to turn to Yoongi, making eye contact accidentally for the first time that day. It sent a rush of heat to bloom in the apples of your cheeks and the pace of your heart quickened. It felt pathetic, really, to let him have that effect on you. 

You extended your hand as Yoongi gently took it, sliding the cold metal of the ring onto your finger. Your hands felt numb from staying in place so long during the officiant’s speech, but Yoongi’s warm touch sparked new life in them, making them tremble in his grasp. 

Letting out a shaky exhale, you took Yoongi’s hand in your own, noting the smooth planes of his palm and long digits. You internally cringed at your quivering fingers as you slid Yoongi’s own obsidian wedding band onto his finger. Letting go as soon as you were done, you let your hands fall back down to your sides. You pointedly avoided any eye contact with Yoongi, knowing what was next. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs. You knew this was coming yet it still scared you. You weren’t so much afraid of the kiss, you’d kissed plenty of people, but you were afraid of what it would ignite in you. 

Yoongi left you no room to hesitate as he grasped your cheeks and gently tugged you toward him, almost making you stumble. Your eyes widened as he leaned it, his own closed. Reflexively, you almost pulled away. 

“Relax,” you heard him whisper, too quiet for even the officiant to hear, the warm breath from his words gently caressing your mouth. But you couldn’t stop shaking. You clenched your eyes shut as he leaned in closer before feeling the skin of his thumb covering your lips. His thumb pressed against your lip for just a second before he pulled back entirely, dropping his hands back down to his sides. 

You hovered, unsure of what just happened. Did he cover your mouth for the kiss? You weren’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, you were admittedly relieved, not wanting your first kiss with Yoongi to be under these circumstances of obligation, and it certainly spoke to his respect for your own consent. Even though you were sure there wouldn’t be any more chances for a kiss anyway.

But a more sinister and greedy part of you wished he hadn’t shielded you, craved the soft touch of his lips against your own. You, ashamedly, wanted to share a romantic moment with him, even if it was a guise for a happy marriage. Just feeling his slightly calloused fingers grazing your cheeks was enough to leave you wanting more. 

Applause startled you out of your trance, making you turn towards the audience and plaster a smile on your face. Scanning the crowd, you spotted Hoseok clapping, sending you an encouraging smile. You breathed out, feeling minutely comforted by his sweet smile. 

Yoongi took your hand, holding it, as you began walking down the aisle. You’d practiced this yesterday, so your body was almost numb to the situation of his thumb rubbing against your forefinger. 

Almost.

A nasty thought slithered its way into the forefront of your mind.

That was the same thumb that he covered the kiss with.

As you walked down the narrow pathway, making sure to smile at the sea of guests your mother had invited, you could feel your gaze growing hazier. This was all getting to be a bit overwhelming. Your feet were hurting in the heels your mother had made you wear, the jacquard of the dress was starting to dig into your skin at the bust, the hairpins lining your hair were hurting your scalp, and the scent of Yoongi’s cologne was intoxicating. 

You and Yoongi reached the end of the aisle, walking past the doors and letting them close behind, leaving the both of you a few minutes to catch your breath before you were whisked away from the reception. Yoongi quickly separated from you, taking a water bottle from an attendant and downing almost half of it. Your hand felt cold suddenly. 

Another employee offered a water bottle to you as well, and you gratefully accepted, taking a swig immediately. The cool liquid soothed your scratchy throat, feeling it go down with it being the only thing you’d had today by way of food. The attendants then gestured for you to follow them into separate changing rooms, preparing hanboks that your parents had wanted you to wear during the reception. 

Letting the attendant dress you in the hanbok gave you time to process what had just happened. You were now married to Yoongi. You had filled out the paperwork about a week prior, but the bells and whistles of the ceremony made it feel much more real. Sighing, you took solace in the fact that the hardest bit was done. 

But was it really?

Now, you had to sit through a reception, thanking guests for coming and pretending like Yoongi actually liked you. Exchanging recycled pleasantries and fake smiles with your parents’ social circle and business partners was less than appealing. 

The employee quietly told you that she was finished and moved aside to let you look in the mirror. 

You tried to be happy about how pretty you looked, but all you could see were your bloodshot eyes and the slightly cakey makeup trying to hide your eye bags. At least the hanbok wasn’t as tight as your dress. 

Exiting the dressing room, you caught sight of Yoongi in his dark blue hanbok with white pants. He looked striking, as always, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be starstruck at this point in the day. You just wanted to go home and lie down. You were led to the reception hall where guests were already mingling for cocktail hour while the food was being prepped to be served. 

A man whose name you didn’t know announced your arrival and the guests turned in your direction and began to clap. Yoongi grabbed your hand in his once more, the suddenness of the action making you flinch. You entered the hall, smiling and greeting guests politely. You couldn’t even recognize anyone staring back at you. 

Yoongi led you through all the guests expertly, exchanging greetings and small talk smoothly like he’d done this before. You felt like you were in a trance, repeating the same pleasantries and shallow questions. How was he so good at this?

You finally reached the end of the guests, moving to your bridal parties. You hadn’t even seen your parents, your mother was probably talking to guests herself. Joohee pulled you into a tight hug, holding it for a second longer before releasing you with a comforting smile on her face and sympathy in her eyes. The other bridesmaids didn’t bother going beyond quick congratulations, which you were grateful for. You didn’t know them anyway. Hoseok was next to Joohee, also immediately encasing you and attempting to ruffle your hair, but you moved your head out of the way. He stepped back, taking a moment to look at you before speaking. 

“You’re doing well.”

Your eyes became watery as you mustered up a shaky smile, something about him praising you for what felt like thankless effort almost pushed you over the edge, “Thanks, Hobi. Love you.”

“Love you too, always.”

“Hey, I love you too,” Joohee protested, making you bark out a laugh. 

“You’re my number one, Joo,” you smiled, taking her hands and squeezing them. She grinned widely in response before punching Hoseok in the arm. 

“Ow, what the heck,” he grumbled.

“Because I love Y/N more than you,” she responded petulantly, leaving Hoseok to only roll his eyes in response. 

The antics made you smile, giving you room to breathe in the stifling room of business partnership discussions. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s deep voice rumbled, making you freeze before turning to face him. His eyes laid on your figure in what felt like a scrutinizing manner, making you squirm under the heavy gaze. 

“I’d like you to meet my groomsmen,” Yoongi stated, gesturing behind him, “You already know Jin hyung.”

You nodded mutely, sending an unsure smile in Seokjin’s direction. Why was he doing this? He hadn’t bothered to introduce you to them before, why did it matter now? Were you supposed to introduce Hoseok too, then?

“This is Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi continued, moving his hand to clap the tall, dimpled man’s shoulder. The man smiled politely, the dimples faint with the minute movement, and stepped forward, putting out his hand, “Hi, I’ve known Yoongi since college. It’s nice to meet you.” 

You shook his hand, feeling quite exposed under his dragon-like eyes, “Nice to meet you too. I like your hair.” It was a rule that you’d made with yourself, to try and give at least one compliment to each new person you met. You found that it made them much more open and friendly towards you, and it didn’t hurt to receive compliments in return.

“Thanks,” Namjoon said, smile widening and deepening his dimples. His firm grasp on your hand grounded you, but you still felt your cheeks grow hot at the contact. Why were all of Yoongi’s friends so hot? “I like your hair too,” he finished. You smiled in response, pulling your hand away before your blush became too obvious. 

“This is Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice pulled you out of the stupor Namjoon’s visual put you in, “I met him a bit after college. He’s a pretty famous jazz performer.”

The model-esque man from the previous day stepped forward, rendering you speechless. Seriously, what was with this friend group? His elegant cheekbones and narrow nose perfectly complemented the kind eyes that adorned his face, and the sandy blonde hair that fell on his forehead. He quickly took your hand in his, kissing the top, making you gasp in response.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Taehyung said, his voice was a smooth baritone that sent shivers down your spine. He looked up from your hand, eyes hooded from his brow bone, making you quickly pull away at the stunning visual. 

“Thanks,” you stammered, trying to collect your thoughts, “You have a pretty smile.”

Taehyung’s face broke out into the aforementioned expression, an adorably contagious boxy smile, as he straightened up, “Thanks!”

“I actually listen to some jazz myself, though not that much,” you mentioned, wanting something to connect over, “I’ve been very into Kenny Garrett recently.”

Taehyung’s smile brightened, letting out a low chuckle, “Yes, he’s pretty great. You should come to one of my shows then, I’ll send you a ticket.”

You heard Yoongi clear his throat. 

“You and Yoongi hyung a ticket, of course,” Taehyung finished, winking at you before turning away to greet Hoseok. 

“And, lastly, this is Jeon Jeongguk. He’s the son of one of my father’s friends, so we grew up together,” Yoongi concluded, but Jeongguk interrupted. 

“Hi, noona! You look so pretty,” Jeongguk smiled, excitedly hugging you. You laughed in response, patting his back before retorting, “Thanks, you look pretty too.”

Jeongguk pulled away, laughing jovially, “Thanks! I told Yoongi hyung we already talked but I don’t think he believed me.”

You stiffened, glancing at Yoongi, whose face was impassive, “Oh, I see.”

Yoongi stepped forward, blocking Jeongguk from your sight, “And who’s your guest?”

“Oh,” you stuttered, flustered by his closer presence, “This is Hoseok. We met in college, but he lives in Busan now. Well, not for much longer, he’s looking to move here,” you rambled. 

Hoseok chuckled before placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I’m Jung Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.”

Both men shook hands before Hoseok returned to your side, “I’ve been by Y/N’s side ever since our first year, it’s a surprise I’ve lasted this long,” he finished with a short laugh. 

You elbowed him in the side, only making him grimace and slip his hand down to your waist for a teasing squeeze, “I work a dance studio in Busan but I’m planning on opening my own here.”

“Impressive,” Yoongi stated in a monotone voice, “You two must be close.”

“The closest,” Hoseok grinned, pulling you flush to his side, causing you to struggle, “We’re very familiar.”

Oh no.

That’s Hoseok’s shit-stirring voice, you knew it well. One glance at his sardonic grin had you wrestling out of his grip and trying to move on in the conversation to avoid whatever Hoseok was planning, “Yeah, we and Joohee are all really good friends. We were practically inseparable until Hoseok moved. We should all get lunch together sometime so you can get to know them better.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Yoongi said, almost eerily calm, eyes set on Hoseok’s impish smile.

You deflated at his words, forgetting for a moment that Yoongi didn’t want you to mix personal lives. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you felt like you came off as desperate. You felt yourself curl inwards before muttering a quiet, “Sure.”

Yoongi sent a curt nod in Hoseok’s direction before turning away to return to his own friend group, leaving you flustered and disconcerted next to Hoseok. He grinned triumphantly before noticing your abashed state, quickly pulling you into a soothing hug. 

You pulled away, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore tonight, and reached for a passing waiter’s tray of champagne. You didn’t usually drink at public functions, but you felt like this was a worthy exception. The bubbly liquid felt necessary to get through the rest of the night, and you welcomed the warming sensation enthusiastically. You didn’t catch Hoseok’s concerned gaze nor the other stare that fell on your form from a far darker pair of eyes across the table. 

You were exhausted. Every limb in your body and your brain itself were screaming out with soreness and fatigue. It felt like a light at the end of a tunnel when guests began filing out and the party came to a close. 

You were decently buzzed, but still sober enough to be aware, from the multiple champagne glasses you drank. Joohee had made sure to keep you well hydrated, somewhat numbing the effects of the alcohol on your body. 

The rest of the reception had gone by quietly, with you and Yoongi separated for the majority of it, greeting what guests you hadn’t and barely talking during dinner. You were conflicted, somewhat grateful for the ease the lack of Yoongi’s presence gave you, but also finding yourself missing his confident aura. 

You waved the last guest out, before letting yourself collapse on a nearby chair. Joohee patted your shoulder and Hoseok wandered off to grab your belongings so that you’d be ready to go. Your mother closed the door to the room before approaching you, Yoongi’s parents in tow. 

“Yoongi,” his mother called, pulling him away from his friends who were seated at another table. He approached, arriving at your seat at the same time as your mother. 

“You’ll be going home in the car we’ve called for you,” your mother stated, leaving no room for argument. You were going to stay in Yoongi’s apartment now, “I assume your things are already there?”

You nodded timidly.

“Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. Would you like to join me and Woohyun for some drinks,” your mother asked Yoongi’s parents.

“Yes, of course, we’ll have a driver take us to your home. Yoongi, be good now,” his mother said, patting Yoongi’s shoulder and giving you a polite smile. You mustered up what you hoped was a smile in response, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a grimace instead. 

Your mother offered you no goodbye and instead gathered your father and gave some closing instructions to the cleaning staff, before swiftly exiting. You were left looking at Yoongi, who was mouthing something to his friends, waiting to see what he would do.

Joohee squeezed your shoulder before leaving you to help Hoseok with your bags. Hoseok didn’t really need help as you didn’t have much except the clothes you’d arrived in and some electronics, but you could tell Joohee wanted to escape the tense atmosphere. You couldn’t blame her. 

Yoongi turned toward you, making you stand automatically to meet his gaze, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let me just,” you started before being interrupted by Hoseok arriving with your bag. You chuckled awkwardly as Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, watching you take the bags from Hoseok. Joohee was next to him, fiddling with her phone in an effort to not engage, you assumed. 

“Are you leaving,” Hoseok asked, to which you nodded in response, “Well, have fun. Call me anytime, I’ll always be there.” He pulled you into a hug, making you melt in his embrace. You soon felt Joohee’s arms wrap around you as well, “Me too, we’ll talk later.” They released you before giving you encouraging smiles. You couldn’t say you felt the same level of confidence. 

Facing Yoongi, you gathered your bags, noting his one bag at his side, likely containing his suit. He nodded curtly at Hoseok and Joohee, who waved in response, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. You stumbled after him, waving a messy goodbye to Hoseok and Joohee, and finally catching up to Yoongi holding the door open for you. You tried to muster a grateful nod, but seeing his cold expression, you moved quickly to get out the door. 

Awaiting your arrival outside was a sleek, black car, with a chauffeur standing patiently holding the door open to the backseat. You took a quick glance at Yoongi, who gestured for you to enter first, so you did, leaving your bags sitting outside. Yoongi climbed in afterward, quietly asking the driver to put the luggage in the trunk. The two of you sat in silence, waiting for the driver to finish packing the luggage away. 

It was finally over.

Somehow, it didn’t feel that way. The relief you’d hoped to feel was nowhere to be found and you were left with only the biting anxiety that Yoongi’s silence incited. You played mindlessly with the seams of your hanbok, finding it slightly uncomfortable to sit in the backseat with. Yoongi didn’t seem to share the same discomfort, scrolling idly on his phone and not acknowledging your presence. 

You wished you could do the same, but you’d left your phone in your bag after not having used it all day. Instead, you turned to the scenery outside your window to keep yourself occupied. The driver soon started up the car and began heading to Yoongi’s apartment. Watching the scenery fly by gave you time to think about what was waiting for you there. 

You hadn’t visited Yoongi’s apartment yet, too afraid and uncomfortable to set foot inside a space so truly and specially his. Most of your things from your own apartment were apparently already set up, courtesy of his maid, Mrs. Lim, whom you had been in contact with when you first dropped off your things. You had been in a rush, trying to get to a dress fitting, and Mrs. Lim had insisted that you give everything to her and that she would make sure it would be ready for you when you came. 

You supposed now was that time. 

Yoongi was still silent beside you and you weren’t sure what to say to him. You hadn’t really spoken for the rest of the night after his odd introduction to Hoseok. It frustrated you how the little things he was doing kept messing with your head. 

You weren’t an idiot, you knew that his actions could point toward jealousy, but you refused to consider that as a possibility. Not only would it contradict his entire attitude towards you, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel even a sliver of hope that Yoongi might harbor feelings toward you. The constant self-regulation was taxing and you dreaded the idea that this would be your future, constantly reminding yourself that your husband doesn’t love you and to not get confused. 

Your thoughts halted with the car as the driver pulled into the entrance of the large building that housed Yoongi’s apartment. It was dark, so you gladly accepted the help of the chauffeur in getting out of the car. He kindly handed you your bags before bowing and driving away. You didn’t have access to the building yet, having called Mrs. Lim for your past visits, so you looked helplessly at Yoongi to unlock the door. 

He didn’t spare you a glance as he punched in his code and stood aside to let you in. You nodded in thanks anyway and shivered at the cold nipping at your cheeks. Yoongi led you to the elevator, pressing the 9th-floor button, silently standing in the opposite corner from you. 

Sighing internally, you almost laughed at the blatant display of the contempt he held for you. For the first time, you thought of him as slightly immature. 

The elevator doors slid open and Yoongi led you to a hallway with only four doors, each housing a penthouse apartment. The farthest door was Yoongi’s, you learned, as he held his thumb up to the pad before hearing a click and pushing the door open. Mrs. Lim was immediately there to greet him. 

“Mr. Min, let me take your things. Oh, Ms. Seo! Here, I’ll take your bags to your room. Wait, should I call you Mrs. Min, now?”

You smiled at the sweet, older woman, nodding your greeting, “Hi, Mrs. Lim. Please, just call me Y/N.”

She smiled at you, taking your things and rushing off to the upstairs portion of the apartment. It left you standing awkwardly next to Yoongi, who was typing something out on his phone. You took the moment to let your eyes wander around the sparkling apartment. It looked straight out of a catalogue with cool tones and neat furniture with an open concept. He had smooth, black leather couches surrounding a large TV with a path into a dining room that housed a large table and comfortable-looking chairs. That was next to a large kitchen with a wide counter in the middle and a sleek, silver refrigerator and oven. It looked nice, but not welcoming. You preferred warmer lighting and more touches of color, with some plants, but you reminded yourself that this wasn’t your space to customize.

Or was it? You weren’t really sure. It felt like you were invading Yoongi’s home, but wasn’t it your home now too? Should you be able to decorate it to your liking as well? Or at least compromise? The thought of addressing that now felt too overwhelming and you didn’t want to piss off Yoongi so early into your stay. 

“You can go change and get ready to sleep. We can discuss the ground rules now or tomorrow morning, your choice,” Yoongi said, snapping you out of your observation of the apartment. 

You nodded absently, wondering what other rules he had, “I can come down after changing.”

Yoongi hummed in response before taking off to the stairs, evidently going to change himself. You stood awkwardly by the entrance, not knowing exactly where your room was, and decided to take hesitant steps toward the stairs. 

“Oh, Ms. Seo, let me help you to your room,” came Mrs. Lim’s comforting voice from the top of the stairs. You gratefully accepted her help and followed her through the halls as she gave you a tour. 

“Over there is Mr. Min’s office, and just next to it, his bedroom. He has another office downstairs for his work, this one is more for personal use. There’s a bathroom here, but you have an en-suite bathroom in your bedroom anyway. There’s an extra room downstairs that I’ve fashioned into a bit of an office for you if you’d like to use it. That’s the guest bedroom there, the hallway bathroom is mainly for that one. Sometimes Mr. Min’s friends will stay over if they’ve drunk. Ah! Here’s your bedroom.”

You entered, enjoying Mrs. Lim’s chattering as she gave you a mini tour. Your bedroom was large with a queen-sized bed and soft-looking sheets with a fluffy comforter. There was a desk in the corner and a vanity in the other. You noted a door on the side that must lead to the bathroom, and your bags sitting on the floor by the desk. 

“Through that door is your closet and bathroom. I’ve set up your closet for the most part and tried to make it homey, but please feel free to decorate it to your liking! I’m so excited to have another woman here long term, Mr. Min doesn’t always make for great company. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that!”

You giggled, enjoying the motherly presence Mrs. Lim provided, and began unpacking some of your bags from the day, “Thank you, Mrs. Lim. I appreciate you doing all this for me. And please, call me Y/N.”

“Of course. Do you need assistance getting out of your hanbok?”

“No, I think I’ll be alright, thank you.”

“Right, then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be off shift now so I’ll be heading home, but please feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

“Of course, thank you, Mrs. Lim. Have a good night.”

She bowed before exiting and you breathed out, sitting on the plush bed, making the comforter balloon around you. The room was nice, definitely, but it felt a bit stale and unwelcoming. At least you could customize this area without having to worry about Yoongi. You opened the door to the closet, marveling at the size and open entrance into the bathroom with a large tub and shower. Your clothes were nicely organized and you had no trouble finding some pajamas to change into with an old shirt you’d stolen from Hoseok and shorts. 

Quickly undressing, you neatly hung up your hanbok and slipped into the shower, grabbing the necessary toiletries from your bag. You relished in being able to wash the hair spray out of your hair and loosen it from your scalp, glaring at the pile of hairpins that sat on the granite counter you’d spent upwards of five minutes removing. The warm water soothed your aching legs and the soapy bodywash felt rejuvenating. 

You swiftly finished showering, not wanting to keep Yoongi waiting, and wrapped yourself in a towel before loosely drying your hair. You preferred to let it air dry, so you only lightly patted it with a towel. Drying off the rest of your body, you donned new undergarments, pausing on whether or not to put on a bra. You usually didn’t wear bras to bed, but you didn’t want to go down to meet Yoongi braless. 

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation and pulled on a comfortable sports bra, before slipping on your shorts and t-shirt, finally feeling comfortable. Quickly checking your reflection in the massive mirror, you headed down the stairs to meet Yoongi. 

He was sitting on the leather couch in a loose white t-shirt and black sweatpants, almost taking your breath away at how beautifully casual he looked. You’d only seen him in suits so far and seeing him in loungewear with wet hair and a towel around his neck left you flustered. He noticed your presence, eyes running over your form making you feel embarrassed. 

He gestured for you to join him on the couch, setting aside his phone to lean forward on his knees. You sat on the loveseat across from him, not quite sure what the etiquette was at this point. 

“Okay, so I’ve already told you the general rules I have. Basically, don’t enter my space without knocking and please, do not go into my upstairs office. I’ll do the same for you. You’re free to set up your rooms however you like.”

You nodded, all of this seemed pretty fair so far. 

“You can use the kitchen however you like, just let Mrs. Lim know what groceries you want. If I have guests over, I’d prefer if you stayed in your room, but I won’t force you. This space is as much yours as it is mine, now.”

You continued nodding along, making some notes of getting a TV for your room so you could properly entertain yourself when his friends were over. You wouldn’t exactly want him coming into the room when you’re with Hoseok and Joohee either. 

“You can invite your friends over whenever you want, just let me know in advance. I’ll be sure to do the same for you. Also, if I have any of my own partners over,” he continued, the last words causing you to flinch, “I’ll make sure to let you know. Please just give us some privacy and try not to be out in the common space when they’re here. Of course, I’ll extend the same courtesy.”

The harsh reminder of the openness of the marriage left you squirming in the chair. You didn’t want to remember that Yoongi would be fucking other people in the home you shared. 

“We can add things as we get used to living together. Anything you want to add?”

You shook your head quickly, just wanting to go to bed as soon as possible. Yoongi nodded, rising, before sparing you one last glance.

“Alright, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” you squeaked, watching him ascend the stairs. After his form disappeared into the hallway, you leaned back on the loveseat, exhaling harshly. What a conversation. You’d have to take some time to get used to this. You returned to your room feeling heavily conflicted. As you set up your phone and watch chargers, you thought over the conversation. 

Objectively, Yoongi was being relatively fair, letting you exist in the space in the same capacity as him. Yet, you still felt unhappy. You knew why. You wanted him to be only yours, to have the same exclusive outlook you did on the relationship. You were upset with yourself more than him. 

He had made this clear from the beginning, that he had no intention of stopping any partners outside of the relationship. He clearly didn’t want to have a relationship with you, sex or not, so what he was doing now was completely fair.

You couldn’t turn the emotional part of your brain that craved to have a real romantic relationship with him. It was almost annoying and you were frustrated at yourself for continuing to feel this way. 

Climbing into bed, you continued wallowing, deciding that you’d pity yourself tonight, but the next day, you’d have to pull yourself together. You’d taken a couple of weeks off at the insistence of your boss, even though he knew you weren’t going on a honeymoon, and you wanted to enjoy sleeping in. 

It was time to adopt Yoongi’s approach and try to remove yourself emotionally from the situation. How hard could it be?

Yoongi couldn’t focus on his book, ultimately setting it aside on his bedside table. He furiously rubbed at his eyes, feeling frustrated. 

His eyes hadn’t been listening to him lately. They seemed to constantly wander after your figure, finding your face and curves at every corner. The past couple of days, they had barely strayed from you, watching as you cuddled up to that man, Hoseok. 

Who was he? Were you two together? Was Hoseok in love with you? More importantly, why did it bother Yoongi so much? 

He groaned, feeling annoyed that your relationship with Hoseok was getting to him so much. He had been the one to set the boundary of it being an open relationship, so why did it bother him so much that you seemed to be employing that? Yoongi knew that he had no right to feel this way and was only further annoyed that he continued to do so. 

And what was with your budding friendship with Jeongguk? When did you two become so close? Yoongi buried his head in his hands, shouldn’t he be happy that his friends and wife are getting along?

Wife. It felt odd to say, or think, that. You were his wife now. Except he’d made it clear that the title didn’t change anything between you, nor would it change his actions. Despite his earlier resolve to not let this marriage affect him, you seemed to be having a great effect on him. 

He’d followed your form and mannerisms throughout the past couple of days. He’d noticed your trembling hands and avoiding eye contact. When the two of you had been about to kiss, he could feel your body shaking beneath his hands, prompting him to cover your mouth for the kiss. 

He hated how tempted he’d been to fully kiss you.

Throughout the rest of the ceremony and reception, you’d been largely withdrawn, until you’d met with Hoseok. Yoongi was frustrated that you didn’t seem to be able to stand up for yourself, that you played so well into the role of a trophy wife, but he’d been even more upset at your close contact with Hoseok. 

The man had laid his hands on you so easily and seeing the way Hoseok’s fingers curled around your waist and your smile when you talked to him made Yoongi’s blood boil. Why hadn’t you smiled at him like that? 

Yoongi bit his lip, he knew that wasn’t your fault. He hadn’t been welcoming at all to you, he’d barely given you a chance to talk to him. Yoongi was just steadfast in his mission to continue on with life as normal, he didn’t want this marriage to change anything. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to be upset with you going along with his requests. 

You were dangerous. 

You were dangerous in the way that you nodded along to everything Yoongi asked, in the way you refused to let your mask slip and show any emotion, in the way you smiled so brightly with Hoseok and Jeongguk, in the way your cheeks tinged pink when Taehyung kissed your hand and Namjoon smiled at you, and in the way you looked so comfortable and natural in your pajamas. 

Yoongi had to suck in a breath when he saw you entering the living room with your freshly washed and damp hair, falling in wet curls strands around your shoulders, making a wet spot on the oversized dance team t-shirt. 

That was another thing. Where had you gotten that shirt? It was far too big for you, Yoongi knew that well. It was obvious in the way it fell past the hem of your shorts, tantalizing his eyes to rake down your legs, and it was for a college dance team. Were you on one in college?

Or, Yoongi’s mind raced, was it Hoseok’s? Hadn’t the man said he worked in a dance studio? The thought made Yoongi fume, just how close had you two gotten? 

But he paused, what right did he have to feel upset? Yoongi had been in bed with another woman just days ago, it wasn’t fair of him to judge you for doing the same. He’d said that you were allowed to sleep with or date whoever you wanted, so why was he so angry at the idea of you and Hoseok? 

Another sigh escaped him, he didn’t have it in him to deal with this tonight. Just the idea of you a few rooms down in that too-big shirt and too-short shorts was enough to drive him crazy. 

He reached over, turning off the lamp next to his bed. He’d unpack his feelings in the morning. Yoongi turned over, settling into bed, ignoring how empty and cold his hand felt without your warmth. 

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[captain-joongz]

A little show

Pairing: Min Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: uni au, pure smut with a dash of plot, some fluff, strangers to lovers

Word count: 9.6k

Summary: Who knew that getting off in the uni bathroom to get away from the world's most boring lecture could lead to getting absolutely railed by a cute postgrad student... but third time's the charm, right?

Warnings: slight exhibitionism, masturbation in a public bathroom, sex in a public bathroom (for once they're even using condoms lol), yoongi is a little shit but he'll rock your world, dirty talk, slight choking kink, dom-ish yoongi, who am i kidding he's a fucking beast, fingering, backshots, rough sex, some begging, biting and marking, they literally don't talk to each once before fucking

A/N: oof this was totally unplanned but i cannot be held responsible for anything after seeing the d-day concert movie, this is all yoongi's fault. also it ends surprisingly fluffy for the filth that's contained within

credit for the divider to @saradika-graphics, thank you so much <3

I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself awake while the lecturer droned on, his nervous slightly stuttering voice carrying through the classroom and lulling everyone into a half-asleep haze. Every Tuesday I had to sit through 90 minutes of this man stumbling through every topic, trying to connect with the classroom full of people while anxiously stepping around the whiteboard projecting his presentation.

I was fully understanding, this was his first year teaching and he still hasn’t shaken off the stage fright, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I had never enrolled into this class and rather spent the time doing literally anything else. It didn’t help that it was an afternoon lecture, dragging on until 5PM, which was usually the time I was already completely fried.

I looked around, noting the other students similarly fighting off sleep or browsing internet on their notebooks, some valiantly still trying to keep their attention on the lecturer and failing miserably. I watched the girl in the row in front of me order a cute sweater, deliberating between two colours for about ten minutes before choosing strawberry pink. I approved.

My body was screaming from being bent over the desk in my boredom, back bent so crooked when I straightened out it cracked vertebra after vertebra like a xylophone from nightmares. I sighed, squirmed around, checked the time. Only 5 minutes have passed since I last looked. I barely suppressed a groan. I couldn’t sit still for longer than a minute, leaning back then pressing forward, folding and unfolding my legs, just trying to find a comfortable position to spend the next 40 minutes in and failing.

After 5 more minutes I reached a boiling point, playing with the thought of just booking it halfway through, but instead my unoccupied brain started entertaining itself by slipping into a territory that it deemed more fun. I started thinking about what I’d rather be doing, where I’d rather be, flushing slightly from embarrassment but surrendering to these thoughts as they presented at least some form of entertainment.

I made it barely 10 minutes before I was so painfully wet and aroused I definitely couldn’t make it through the lecture anymore. I had to do something about it, now.

I wasn’t shy about the fact that I occasionally enjoyed wanking in some more public spaces like bathrooms, the thrill of someone possibly coming in and having to keep quiet was getting to me. I didn’t indulge in it often, just when I got really bored and my brain immediately went to “let’s get off to entertain ourselves” instead of doing something normal like other people, just when I was sure there was only a slight chance of someone actually coming across me.

But thinking all that, I realised I’d never taken such liberty while I was in the uni building, probably just thinking about getting out of there as quickly as possible, but fuck, this lecture was getting to me. Somehow it felt more morally wrong than some other random ass places, but I deliberated on it. We were in a secluded corner of the building, it was really high and there was no elevator, the classrooms were smaller and above there was construction going on, which resulted in this place usually being totally deserted except for those unlucky souls that still had lectures here. I was pretty sure there was no other class going on here right now and the chance of someone from here going to the bathroom at the same time was slim.

On a whim I decided to take the risk, my body heating up knowing I was about to give in to the need. I quickly stood up, grabbed my phone and made my way outside. The hall was empty except for a single guy sitting by a table directly across from the bathroom door, but I figured it would be fine. He was wearing headphones anyway, head bobbing to a beat I couldn’t hear and fingers nimbly clicking something on his laptop and toying with the mouse. I slipped past him quietly and went straight for the bathroom door.

Inside was quiet, as if cut off from the outside world, the only two toilets both empty and door wide open. I went to the further one, not that it made much difference with how small the room was, but it still made me feel a little better.

With the door closed and locked for better feeling of security, the excitement finally got the better of me and I rushed to stick my hand into my skirt to pull down my tights and panties, fingers immediately finding the slick folds.

I bent over, the stall small enough to allow me to lean on my elbow on one wall while my ass pressed into the other, fingers going straight for my clit and wasting no time in pressing on it and circling it desperately. Quiet sighs of pleasure spilled from my lips, body trembling with pleasure heightened by the fact I was in a public space.

I barely even touched myself and I could already feel how fucked out I was getting, knees shaking and the pleasure mounting dangerously fast. In my mind I imagined myself bent over the toilet and a warm presence behind me, getting fucked good, strong hands gripping my waist hard, pulling me back on the cock like a toy while telling me to shut up, laughing at me while I bit my fist trying not to let the whole university know how good I was feeling.

My orgasm was approaching embarrassingly quickly, the pad of my finger furiously toying with my clit while my knees were shaking with the mounting pressure waiting to snap. I was so wet I felt my juices dripping down my thighs, dripping onto my hand and making my finger slip all the time as I tried to get myself to cum as fast as possible.

That didn’t seem to be that hard as I could already feel myself hurling towards the edge, cunt spasming around nothing, desperately wishing to be filled, as my ass pressed harder into the wall and my back arched. I could feel a little cramp starting up in my wrist, but I didn’t let up, keeping the pace on my clit as I felt the start of an intense orgasm, the sensation bursting through me like a tornado and I let out a moan muffled into the crook of my elbow. My knees buckled with the force of it and thank god that I was still leaning on the wall otherwise I would have for sure fallen down.

My whole body relaxed, thighs and knees still shaking as I tried to get my breathing back under control. The bathroom was suddenly eerily quiet now that there wasn’t blood rushing through my ears and I wasn’t blinded by my own ecstasy, and I flushed in embarrassment but still couldn’t stop myself from a little joyful giggle leaving my lips in breathless wonder.

I took my time getting myself back into order, cleaning myself up and righting my clothes again. I was in there for only about 15 minutes, so there was no reason to rush. I did notice that my legs had a little boneless swagger to them as I suddenly went from high strung in boredom to perhaps a little too relaxed, a stupid little grin pulling at my lips as I swayed my hips leisurely.

But that changed the moment I walked back out onto the hall. The second I was out of the bathroom I immediately found myself in direct eye contact with the sole student sitting out there. I only had a second to note he was very attractive before I realised he was watching me with the air of amusement, eyes darkening and a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned back and gave me a once over.

I flushed under his heavy gaze, freezing like a deer in headlights. It was obvious he knew what I’d been doing in there, something in my demeanour must have given me away. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes lingering on my hands clutched together before amused grin set onto his face.

I broke out from the daze suddenly and set into motion again, escaping his hungry eyes and entertained aura, hurriedly scurrying back into the classroom where I sat stewing in my own shame for the rest of the lecture.

When I walked back out after we were dismissed, the hall was empty, to my great relief.

“Come on, you should come tomorrow at least for a little bit,” Jungkook whined, pouting at me and hands tugging at the sleeve of my shirt. I gave him an unimpressed look, firmly resistant to his charms, which probably made me the only person in the world that was capable of that.

“I told you Kookie, I’m not feeling it this week,” I said for the fifteenth time that day, “Maybe next time.” The dance major cutely stomped his foot and tugged on my sleeve again. His wild hair flailed around with the wind, probably getting into his eyes, but he ignored it in favour of annoying me.

“But the next party won’t be for god knows how long,” he whined, giving me his ultimate puppy eyes and blinking cutely, “Come on Y/N, you need to let go a little.” Now, I would lie if I wasn’t swayed a little bit, but the exhaustion was weighing on me and I was looking forward to just having a quiet evening in ignoring all of my responsibilities and pretending I have no essays due and there aren’t any deadlines I was missing.

“I’m sorry Kook,” I softened my tone a little to convey I truly was apologetic, smiling at him gently, “I promise I will definitely go to the next party.” The man brightened and straightened out, letting go of me and setting out on the sidewalk leading out of the campus.

“I have your word! No takebacks!” he shouted excitedly and I ran after him laughing. I knew he wouldn’t let me forget it, so I just resigned myself to going to the next party even though I quite disliked them. I had nothing against partying, but I just preferred to go clubbing and dancing, not spend my evening sitting on a stained couch in someone’s living room listening to total strangers get zoinked out of their minds and talk about assignments. But I would go for Kookie. Just once though.

We walked side by side for a moment, just enjoying the awakening spring. It was still pretty cold outside, but the sun shone more often and the temperatures were enough to wear just a light jacket instead of coats with shawls, so I soaked in the atmosphere. People were beginning to filter outside, sitting around on the green grass, talking and studying, and it was nice to see.

Looking around I suddenly froze, standing still in the middle of the path while Kook continued for a few more strides before he realised I wasn’t following. He gave me a confused look, but I was already fighting an embarrassed blush and didn’t pay him much mind.

On the grass by a big tree was quite a familiar looking student, his long wavy dark hair similarly pushed around by the wind as he bobbed his head to music presumably playing in his headphones. He was wearing all black, standing out as a sore thumb in contrast with the green lit up by sun, but he was fully engrossed in his laptop and paid no attention to anything going on around him.

“Hey Kookie,” I called out to my friend, finally looking at him, “Do you know who that guy is?” I discreetly pointed in the man’s direction, hoping I wouldn’t draw anybody’s attention by being a fucking weirdo. Jungkook was a social butterfly despite his shyness and he seemed to know half the university (probably a side effect of hanging out with Jimin all the time), even people from majors that had nothing in common with his, so I was pretty confident he would be able to correctly identify the menace of my life.

“Who?” he started confusedly looking around, eyes jumping around the students just living their lives. I tried pointing again, hoping he would see where I meant without having to outstretch my arm fully. “There, that guy in the black sitting under that tree.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally locked onto his figure and a recognition immediately lit up his face. I chuckled. Of course he did know him.

“Oh sure!” he exclaimed, “that’s Yoongi hyung. He’s a little bit university famous.” I looked at him in shock and then glanced back to the expressionless man sitting on the lawn.

“Famous? Famous how?” I pressed for more info, this time it was me who way playing up the cute act, hanging onto Jungkook’s arm and batting my eyelashes at him. He gave me an amused smile, seeing right through me.

“Well, he’s handsome and yet cool and mysterious, girls love that shit,” Kook played it up, flipping his hair sassily and fluttering his lashes, making me scoff at him amusedly, “Plus he’s a rapper and sometimes performs in the local clubs and bars, so he’s pretty popular.” I turned us away from the black-clad student who was still unaware of anything going on around him and pulled us back onto the path.

“I see,” I hummed noncommittally, not giving him any indication of why I would suddenly ask about Yoongi, but based on the amused looks Kookie was giving me, he must have had an inkling why the sudden interest.

“He’s actually in the same year as Joonie hyung, they’re interning together at the same studio,” Jungkook continued, keeping his eyes on me to gauge my reaction. I hummed again, not saying anything anymore and just sending him teasing looks.

“If you come to the party tomorrow, Yoongi’s for sure gonna be there,” Kookie mentioned seemingly casually, watching me out of the corner of his eyes as he pretended he didn’t care mischievously.

I only shot him a glare and pulled on his arm, leading us out of the campus towards the café where we were supposed to meet Jimin and Tae, Kookie’s friends who graciously adopted me into the group after I got befriended by the shy giant.

For the rest of the afternoon I could feel Jungkook’s eyes on me, his lips pulled into a barely concealed smile as he fought the impulse to tease me in front of the boys about what he must have thought was an embarrassing crush on the school’s resident heartthrob. I ostentatiously ignored him, only shooting him warning glares here and there to which he always responded with shit-eating grins. Jimin and Tae kept giving us confused and entertained glances but ultimately decided against asking what was going on, much to my relief.

God, if they only knew the truth about why Yoongi even was on my radar in the first place.

The next Tuesday I walked into the classroom again, fully determined to sit through the whole lecture and not move even an inch from my seat. This time I chose a chair in the back, where I could comfortably be on my phone and distract myself from the thoughts of last week, from the attractive man and his smirks. I wondered whether he was sitting there again today, listening to what I now assumed was his own music, laid-back and effortlessly hot. I began to squirm in my seat again, but I quickly tempered it down, scolding myself gently for having such a one-track mind.

Once again I made it through an hour and with 30 minutes left, I began to face a crisis. The boredom was getting to me and I needed to use the toilet, my bladder screaming for help and making me shift around on my chair in discomfort. I thought that I couldn’t really face the bathroom without getting extremely embarrassed, but in the end I lost the battle to nature and got up.

Only, stepping onto the hall, I looked up and lo and behold, there he was – Yoongi sitting peacefully by the window and clicking away on his computer, his big black headphones firmly on as always. The movement by the door must have registered at the corner of his field of vision and he eagerly looked up.

The moment his eyes laid on my figure, frozen once again in the hallway and heating up under his stare, he smirked widely like he won the lottery, leaning back and making himself comfortable on the chair. With his gaze following my every movement I hurried into the bathroom, cheeks blushing and knees turning into jelly.

On instinct I went to the furthest stall and locked the door behind me shakily. Having taken care of my business I paced the stall nervously, already feeling myself bend under the tension. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, knowing Yoongi was sitting outside fully aware of the nature of my little trip last week, but his demeanour, the winning smirk and dark eyes made me want to break that promise.

Embarrassingly enough, I could already feel myself getting wet again and I begun to lose the conviction to just walk away and go sit back into the classroom for another terrible 30 minutes. The thoughts of Yoongi waiting in the hallway, hungrily watching the bathroom door and thinking about me with my hand up my skirt were getting to me and I finally broke.

Swiftly pulling down my tights and underwear I didn’t waste anymore time in sticking my fingers between my folds, gathering the wetness and rubbing the swollen bud begging for attention. I couldn’t hold back the little sighs and moans of pleasure, my body hyper-sensitive and the lust coursing through my body more intense than I could remember ever feeling.

It didn’t take long before I was choking on the moans I desperately tried to stifle on my arm, knees shaking and close to buckling and pussy clenching on nothing, feeling so empty and so desperate for anything I was losing my mind.

And if I was deliriously cumming on my fingers only a moment later while imagining Yoongi fucking me roughly in the uni bathroom, that was only my business.

With trembling fingers I quickly cleaned myself up, blushing when I realised I was so wet the whole top of my thighs was covered in my sticky juices. Putting myself back together I rushed to scrub my hands clean and soon I was standing behind the door, taking a few deep breaths but the excitement still getting the better of me and I eagerly walked out, expectantly looking for Yoongi’s reaction with a little sly smile on my face.

And I was not disappointed.

The second I stepped out, his head snapped in my direction, confirming that he really was waiting for me to come out. His cheeks were also lightly dusted with pink from excitement, his eyes as dark as midnight with his pupils blown wide with lust. He immediately licked his lips, eyes raking over my form and taking in the shaky knees and trembling hips, the blush on my face, both from recovering from an orgasm and shyness, hair a mess and lips bitten red.

Yoongi suddenly stood up and I realised that he packed up his laptop and headphones, all his stuff probably stuffed into his neat backpack that hung off of his shoulder. He side-stepped from the table and leisurely made his way towards me, black dress pants nicely hugging his form, white tee tucked into them accentuating his slim waist and a thick black oversized shirt hanging off him in a way that made me slightly feral.

But there was something else he wanted me to see, and I clocked it as soon as he got close enough, cheeks absolutely blazing red and my pussy valiantly clenching again even after such an orgasm.

He was hard. When my eyes slid down again to appreciate how the pants fit him so perfectly they landed on an unmistakable bulge, the front of his pants tenting in a tell-tale sign of how much he enjoyed my little show. I gasped and suddenly all confidence sapped from my body and I was left aroused and aching, willing to do anything. He watched me with a mix of condescension and arousal, knowing how easily he won over me and loving how receptive I was to just a light teasing, how the blush spread down to my collarbones and my mouth opened subconsciously, eyes glazing over and brain no doubt filled only with the thoughts of his cock.

But with an arrogant smirk he passed right by me, heading for the door of the men’s bathroom. Only when he was halfway through the door, he threw me a look over his shoulder, winking at me and his grin turned wild and rough. Then he disappeared inside.

I was left in the hall gasping for air, body ravaged by tension and lust and head full of images of Yoongi standing in the bathroom stall and hurriedly yanking at his cock, the red tip wet with pre-cum, the liquid getting smeared all over his length by his eager hands trying to get himself to completion as fast as possible. I imagined him grunting, head thrown back and mouth open but still curled into that annoying smirk.

A door opened somewhere a little down the hall and a mess of voices flowed out, startling me out of my reverie and I realised I had been just standing in the middle of an empty hallway staring dumbly at the bathroom door. I felt the bashfulness catch up to me and it sprung me into movement. With one last look at the door I scurried back into the class and spent the last 15 minutes staring into the wall with flaming red cheeks.

When I walked out after the class ended, Yoongi was back to his place, sitting completely relaxed into his chair and grinning lazily when his eyes caught mine. I felt my whole body jerk with a bolt of lust, but I ducked my head and quickly ran down the stairs, rushing out of the building and towards the café where the boys were already waiting for me. Jungkook stared at my flustered face with an unreadable expression, and I let him think whatever he wanted, too preoccupied with fighting the image of Yoongi cumming all over himself just twenty minutes ago thinking of me masturbating just a wall over.

Later that week, after many orgasms, much deliberating and a whole lot of shame I decided I needed to hear his voice. I kept thinking back to how Jungkook mentioned he was in the same year and major as Namjoon and that he was a performing rapper, and I knew Namjoon put his stuff online. And if Yoongi really was a known name in the bar scene around the area, he must have too.

Asking Jungkook about his stage name would be too humiliating, so instead I decided to rake through Namjoon’s insta because he must have his friend’s account there somewhere, hoping Yoongi would forgive me a little social media stalking. Firstly I scrolled through Namjoon’s posted pictures, but he rarely tagged other people. Most of his pictures were of artworks or Joonie doing something silly and living his best life.

So I switched to the pictures that others tagged you in. It took a while, but I was able to see that most of them were from this guy Hoseok that I had seen around but haven’t really spoken to. I knew he was a double major because he did dance like Jungkook and Jimin, but I had never realised he was also in the same major and year as Namjoon. He seemed to post a lot from the studio, often with Joon hunched over his computer in the background, but after some digging I was able to find one that had them all in it.

It was also from the studio, it must have been the one the boys were interning in, presumably all of them together. Hoseok’s face was grinning in one corner as he was taking the selfie and even though it was dark, you could clearly see two men sitting at a table together and discussing something with serious looks on their faces. A laptop sat between them and one of them had his hand lying on the pause button. It was Yoongi and Joon. Only their side-profile could be seen in the photo, but it was unmistakably them. The description only said “hyung is scolding joonie again” but tapping on the photo it showed that both of them had been tagged. Bingo.

Yoongi’s account was full of mostly dark pictures, some from the same studio and some were of him on stage mid performance, but there weren’t as many as Namjoon and Hoseok had on theirs. I scanned some of them quickly, but even though he looked super hot and the photos were extremely well done, it wasn’t the reason of my searching.

I checked the name of the account again – it was Agust D. And there was a link in the bio. Without thinking I clicked it and was transported to Spotify, Yoongi’s entire career laid out clearly in front of my eyes in the form of three albums.

I spent the evening listening to them, letting his music wash over me and losing myself in the beat and the lyrics. No matter what I was looking for when I wanted to listen to it, I got everything and more. I suddenly understood all those star-struck students that according to Kookie trailed hopelessly after Yoongi, the man had a real talent and an aura that just sucked you right in, like a fly getting trapped in a very smug spider’s web.

His voice was surprisingly lower and rougher than I anticipated, the songs had no shortage of him growling or screaming, emotions pouring off of his voice in waves that just swept me along.

And I couldn’t wait to find out what he sounded like when he was getting his rocks off.

The next Tuesday I climbed those 4 floors of stairs confidently, wearing a short skirt and cute heels, gingerly picking a spot in the class that would allow me to slink off in the middle of the lecture again. Yoongi wasn’t sitting in the hallway yet, but I believed he’d show up soon enough.

The anticipation was coursing through my veins, making me jittery and giggly. From the corner of my eye I could see a classmate giving me a strange look, mouthing at me if I was okay and I nodded hurriedly, giving her a smile, hoping she wouldn’t pay any attention to me when I had to leave.

If the two lectures before were unbearable, this one took the cake. I could barely contain myself, squirming in my seat, trying to make myself comfortable while I checked the time every 2 minutes, wishing half the lecture had already gone by and always getting disappointed at how early it still was.

My mind was going into overdrive, feeding me ideas and fantasies, replaying last week’s encounter on loop. I couldn’t see anything except for Yoongi’s lopsided smirk planted firmly on his face as he made his way into the bathroom to jerk off, his face as he came thinking of me.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and I was absolutely losing my mind, thighs pressing together and hands tangled into the fabric of my skirt, bunching up the material. I made it 40 minutes before I grabbed my phone and sneaked out onto the hall.

Yoongi’s head shot up immediately, already sitting by the window waiting for something. This time I didn’t freeze up, instead I was the one who smirked at him and confidently walked up straight to the bathroom. He watched me raptly, something predatory glinting in his eyes as he leaned forward on the table. Couldn’t help but notice that today he didn’t have his laptop out, he just sat there and watched me, but I moved forward not giving it much thought.

I raised my eyebrow at him and winked right as I disappeared into the bathroom, the door falling shut behind me and sealing me inside in the calm and quietness. I rushed to the furthest stall, shutting the door behind me but not bothering to lock, too horny to think clearly.

I couldn’t believe this was getting to me so much, but the moment I managed to slide my tights low enough and ran my hand through my folds, I was already so wet it was astonishing. I laughed at myself in disbelief as my finger found my clit and circled it. Who would have thought this would become my weekly routine, jerking off in the bathroom while a guy I’ve never even talked to sat outside smirking.

But not today it turned out.

Just as pleasure began coursing through me at the ministrations, pleasured sighs leaving me freely as I got cocky not getting caught until now and the squelching of my wet pussy getting played with rang through the quiet space. Then, I heard the door open.

Immediately I froze, hand stopping but still stuck between my thighs. Slow silent footsteps made their way towards the stalls and I hoped whoever this person was, they would take care of their business quickly and leave right afterwards, but they seemed to be taking this in a really leisurely manner. I was holding my breath, counting the seconds, ears straining to catch any kind of sound coming from them.

“Don’t stop on my account, kitten,” a gruff voice suddenly piped up, the footsteps stopping right outside my stall. Relief and lust rushed through me at his appearance and I couldn’t hold back a desperate whimper, the fingers on my clit going back to work. There was a chuckle behind the door and then he was pushing it open.

I must have been a sight, underwear and tights pushed under my ass, skirt bunched up around my hips, bent over with my back arched leaning on the wall as I desperately played with myself, mouth open and eyes glazed over.

Yoongi’s eyes raked over me and he hummed lowly in appreciation. He made his way in lazily, shutting and locking the door behind him before leaning on it and just watching for a moment. I tried to put on a show for him but I was truly gone, the three weeks of built up arousal carrying me high and my body racing towards the edge in record speed.

I watched him back, watched his dark hungry eyes, his tongue peeking out to wet his upper lip, the way his hands flexed by his hips, twitching with the need to grab himself. I could see his bulge clearly, the tight black jeans barely able to contain it, and I was going crazy for it. When my eyes jumped back to Yoongi’s face, he was smirking at me knowing where I’d been staring at. What I wanted.

Suddenly he pushed himself away from the door and stepped towards me. Startled I straightened out, fingers stopping once more. He descended on me hurriedly, pushing me into the wall with his body, caging me in. Our faces were suddenly only breaths apart and Yoongi took his sweet time, teasing me by getting closer and pulling away with a laugh. I whined, my clean hand coming up to tangle in his hair and he let me, watching me from above as I writhed against him, wordlessly begging for any touch from him.

Finally, he took pity on me and with a cocky grin smashed our mouths together, immediately prying my lips open and licking inside, claiming me roughly and thoroughly. I moaned into him, body arching into his and he pressed closer, pressing me into the wall again and our bodies touched from our heads to our toes. His hand went to my neck, wrapping around it lightly and grabbing my jaw to keep me still as he kissed me with all his might.

Now with both hands I grabbed onto him, one going around his neck and one around the waist, and he broke the kiss to laugh at me quietly, turning my face with his hand so he could kiss around my ear.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that kitten?” he whispered, voice gravelly with arousal, “Coming in here every week… playing with your pussy… making yourself cum… and then coming out and giving me those eyes, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm and yet playing so coy and shy… you’re such a minx.” I tensed, eyes rolling back as he started nipping at my neck, laying wet kisses and bites all over any skin he could get to.

I didn’t even notice when Yoongi’s other hand found its way between my legs, fingers roughly pressing onto my clit. I choked on a moan, head falling back and hitting the tiled wall, hands flexing into his clothes. He bit my shoulder enough to leave a mark, chuckling at my loud keening before pressing his lips to the shell of my ear again.

“Last week I thought I would go crazy sitting there,” Yoongi continued, almost growling into my skin as his fingers twisted meanly around my sensitive nub making me tremble, “I couldn’t focus on anything, not when I knew how much you wanted to give me a show. Almost went to jerk off at least five times but I held off until you came out to repay the favour.” He chuckled again, hand tightening a little on my neck as he leaned back to look at me.

I tried to get my breathing under control but I was stuck with my mouth hanging open, noises flowing out freely as if this wasn’t a public bathroom. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind though, quite happy to watch me come undone just from a little teasing.

“It was the same for me,” I whispered, looking into his eyes and this time playing coy very much on purpose, licking my lips and batting my lashes to play it up, “Had to sit through the rest of the lecture while thinking about you in here. Was hell.” He snickered darkly, immediately catching onto my act.

He hummed, finger dragging across my lower lip, fascinated for a moment before he snapped back to himself, mouth pulling back into a smirk.

Without a warning his other hand moved lower, fingers tracing my entrance before two of them plunged inside. I moaned out, body seizing up at the sensation. I was wet enough that they went easy but there was still the pleasurable sting of being stretched out on two digits.

Yoongi certainly wasn’t the type to waste time. He hummed satisfied, watching me with those dark eyes, testing the waters with a few shallow pumps before he started finger-fucking me earnestly. Just like everything else, even now he wasn’t gentle, flicking his wrist up and pushing his fingers as far as they could go, curling them to scratch at that one magic spot that had me seeing white.

I whimpered loudly, hips gyrating to ride the motions, already feeling the stirrings of a powerful orgasm lurking on the horizon. Like a shark sensing blood Yoongi chuckled and twisted his fingers on the next thrust. I keened, hands flying up to tangle into his clothes and hair, hips jerking and chasing after the feeling.

“So selfish, kitten,” he tsked at me, still keeping his cool even though I could see his erection attempting to burst through his pants, “only thinking about your own pleasure. No respect for others, huh?”

My first instinct was to apologise, but I got choked up on the words when he started up his pace again, so instead I decided to be a woman of action. Slowly trailing my hand down his torso, feeling him up on the way, grabbing onto his chest, his slim waist, until I finally reached his crotch.

With the first touch he let out a light groan, fingers stuttering and eyes falling shut for a moment, then he was suddenly back onto me, kissing me wildly while his hips fucked into my hand, letting out gruff groans and sighs into my mouth, which I accepted gladly.

For a moment we were just lost in each other, not caring about the noise or the place, just pleasuring each other, touching, feeling. Then Yoongi was tearing away, hand flying from my pussy and stepping back. I couldn’t stop the pathetic whine that left me, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his amused face.

Instead he grabbed me and turned me around until I was leaning on my arms on the wall behind the toilet, one leg up on the closed lid for support. I shivered in anticipation, knowing what would come next. Yoongi was moving about behind me, clothes shuffling and rustling. Then his sweater hit the floor. I turned my head to watch just as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver packet. He grinned at me and winked when catching my eye, then reached out to me, condom in hand.

“Can you hold this for me for a second, darling?” he asked as sweet as honey, but there was something devilish twinkling in his eye.

“Of course,” I answered him. I meant for it to be sassy, but it came out on a breathless whisper as I took the packet and watched Yoongi’s hand run through his hair before setting on his belt. He unbuckled slowly, attentively watching my eyes soaking in every second as he pulled the belt through the buckle and out of his pants. Fingers toyed with the button before popping it open, tongue wetting his lips and hungry eyes eating me up. I trembled under his attention but held still, not even breathing as his fingers grasped at the zipper and pulled it down.

Tired of playing, he pulled his tee out and put the hem between his teeth, revealing his taunt stomach and pretty waist. Winking at my obvious gawking, he finally pulled his jeans and underwear down, his erection springing free. The sight of him shocked me to my core, standing there with his t-shirt in his mouth and a smug glint his eye while he leisurely fisted his flushed red cock. I could feel my pussy gushing and clenching around nothing, desperately calling to be filled up.

Yoongi plucked the condom packet from my limp hand and made a quick work of putting it on. He lined up behind me, hands finding my waist to pull my tee from the skirt, making contact with bare skin.

I gasped when I felt his cock slide through my wet folds, but quickly keened and arched into it. One of Yoongi’s hands tightened on my waist while the other disappeared to grab his length.

“Easy now,” he chuckled at my trembling body, my hips chasing after his cock and trying to entice him into fucking me.

“Please,” was all I could get out of my mouth, “please Yoongi, just fuck me.” His hand tightened again and there was a beat of silence before he snickered.

“So you naughty girl do know my name,” he teased and I froze for a moment, embarrassment flooding me. I turned to him again to see him smirking at me, tee hanging off of his form. “I heard it around,” I whispered sheepishly. He hummed, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Not really fair, is it?” he teased some more, a mischievous expression taking over his face, “Is it, Y/N?” I narrowed my eyes at him jokingly and he grinned.

“Now, what’s your excuse, mister?” I asked him sassily, “Not like I’m a campus celebrity… unlike someone here.”

“May or may not have asked Jungkook cause I saw you two hanging out,” Yoongi admitted easily, laughing at me when I paled.

“God,” I groaned, “No wonder he was getting so cheeky whenever you came up in a conversation.” At that Yoongi raised his eyebrow again, amusement dancing on his features.

“That happen often?” he asked impishly, leaning against me and once again letting me feel his cock sliding through my folds. I gasped a little and blushed even darker. “You’re Namjoon’s friend, so occasionally,” I bold-faced lied straight through my teeth and from the look on Yoongi’s face, he was aware but let me get away with it.

There was a moment of silence where we just stared at each other, mischievous little smiles on our faces, and then Yoongi hummed, pulling his tee back up to his lips and biting down on it. I shuddered, the lust once again taking the fore-front seat in my mind. This time he didn’t stop for anything, grabbing himself with one hand and the other going to my waist to hold me in place.

The tip of his cock circled my entrance and I subconsciously clenched, a gush of wetness leaving me. I whined and wriggled in his hold and he tsked at me again before sliding inside in a single thrust with a light condescending giggle. I groaned, pussy immediately squeezing around the intrusion, feeling every inch and ridge. There was a hitch in Yoongi’s breaths, both hands migrating to my waist and grabbing so tightly I felt his nails digging into my skin.

He barely gave me a second before pulling out and thrusting in again, setting a rough pace from the get-go. All I could do was bury my head into the crook of my elbow, biting into the soft flesh there to keep myself from moaning loud enough for the whole school to hear.

The stretch of his cock was exquisite, the slight burn heating up my already sensitive body to a near boiling point. With every thrust there was a tiny twinge of pain that left me breathless, desperate to muffle any noise that could cut our meeting short.

Yoongi didn’t seem to care much about noise, hands on my waist mercilessly pulling me back onto his cock and fucking me with so much force I felt my whole body twitching with the overdrive of sensation, the slapping of our sweaty bodies against each other and the wet squelch of my weeping pussy getting filled to the brim loud enough to substitute for our own sounds. He was grunting gruffly, the noise seemingly leaving his mouth involuntarily and getting muffled by the tee.

I turned my head slightly to look at him, and god, he was a vision with his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and face the picture of ecstasy, body rippling with the motion of his pumping hips and strong veiny arms and hands gripping onto me hard enough to go red with the force. I couldn’t hold back the moan and he toppled his head forward to look at me, a tired self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips at seeing my fucked out expression.

“Take your fucking shirt off,” I gasped out breathlessly, chuckling at his teasingly narrowed eyes, “You have such a dirty fucking mouth, can’t stand for it being shut.” Yoongi laughed, throwing his head back in delight. Within seconds the piece of fabric joined his sweater on the floor and he leaned forward, hands picking on my own shirt with a mischievous expression.

“Shouldn’t you even the score?” I loved how deep and gravelly his voice became with arousal, even when he was being mischievous I could hear the growl in it and it drove me crazy. I scrambled to listen to him, tearing the shirt off and flinging it behind us. Yoongi’s hands immediately travelled up, playing with the edge of my bra before swiftly undoing the clasp and dragging it off. I gasped lightly at his skilled handiwork and giggled, but Yoongi was already preoccupied with kissing along my shoulders and shoulder blades.

His hips angled better and then jerked them into me again, cock sliding even deeper now. I groaned and arched into him and that was his que to start fucking in earnest again. In this position I could hear the strained sighs and grunts every time he slid back inside, the rough deep pace taking a toll on us both.

The back of my thighs was burning from standing bent over and straining my hips for this long and it added to the mix of feelings running through me. I could feel my orgasm catching up with me, Yoongi’s cock now hitting a spot on every thrust that made me want to scream with pleasure, sliding in so deep I swore I could feel him in my belly and it was so good my head was spinning, and all that came out of me were raspy moans. Yoongi bit into my shoulder, grunts raising in octave, hands pulling at my body to meet his thrusts.

I prayed to god that the walls were thick enough to keep the sounds from escaping onto the hall. I knew that if someone stepped inside now, there would be no masking what was going on, we were both too gone for that, just chasing our pleasure.

I was so close, the weeks of build up and the foreplay and teasing making me delirious. There in that moment I just wished I could stay like this forever, to feel this delicious ecstasy for the rest of my life, but I was so close to snapping I just needed a little extra push even though my head was so high in the clouds wishing to be never brought down.

“Please Yoongi, god,” I choked out, “please, I’m so close.” That seemed to snap Yoongi back into his attitude again, but he couldn’t hide how affected he was too.

“What do you want, kitten, mm?” even he couldn’t talk properly through the gasps and grunts, but still tried to sound as cocky as possible. Instead of talking I grabbed his hand and brought it down between my legs.

Yoongi pressed himself to me closer to make the reach more comfortable, his chest glued to my back as he nibbled on my neck and shoulder, giggling breathlessly when his naughty fingers started drawing tight quick circles on my clit.

My moans got louder, the pumping of his cock, hitting so deep inside of me, combined with the stimulation on my clit made me seize up, whole body shaking as the pleasure overtook me. Yoongi groaned every time my pussy clenched around him, drawing him deeper and closer to his own end. Both of us were so sweaty we stuck to each other, the temperature in the stall rising so high it was almost unbearable.

“Yoongi,” I gasped out, just repeating his name breathlessly as I barrelled to the climax, feeling the beginning of the tingling washing over me, pussy seizing up. Yoongi’s hands were like vice on my body, my waist littered with red indents of his nails, some already purpling slightly.

“I know, kitten,” he whispered into my neck, “Me too, you can let go.” The moment those words left his mouth my orgasm exploded over me, enough to blind me and send my ears ringing for a few moments. I let out a raspy groan, hands scrambling to find purchase on the wall and if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s hold on me, my buckling knees would have sent me crashing to the floor, but all I could focus on was the euphoria blooming through my body, flooding all my senses with so much pleasure I could barely fully register anything that was going on. Yoongi fucked me through the peak, hips losing rhythm and all decorum until finally he gave last few hard pumps and stilled too, coming with a drawn-out moan, hands pushing our hips as close together as they could go.

We clung onto each other as we attempted to catch our breaths again. I felt my arms slipping on the tiles as the pleasant ache started setting into my hips and lower tummy, legs screaming for a reprieve as my brain slowly came back into function. I blinked my eyes open, not even realising I had closed them at some point. Yoongi was basically hugging me from the behind, draped over me just breathing deep, faced smushed into my shoulder blade. Then he chuckled.

“You think we’re still in the clear?” he laughed, “How thick do you think these walls are?” A giggle tumbled out of me and before I knew it we were both laughing breathlessly, bodies still pressed close.

“This is officially the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” I told him, shaky knees trying to keep my weight as I started to gather my wits. Yoongi let me go easily and helped me find my balance as my whole body ached, back killing me after Yoongi railed me like a madman.

“And here I was, thinking this was just regular Tuesday for you.”

I slapped his shoulder lightly, but the blush on my cheeks revealed that I couldn’t really say anything to that. His amused snickers told me he was well aware, so I just stood there and watched him slip the condom off, tie it up and then just awkwardly stand there not knowing what to do with it.

“Guess I can’t just casually drop a used condom into a bin in the girl’s bathroom,” he stated nonchalantly, and I giggled at him. In the end he grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and hid it inside, putting in on the closed bin lid for the moment.

Next Yoongi swiftly cleaned himself up and pulled his jeans back on, but when I reached for the paper to do the same, he swatted my hand away. With a much gentler smile he got it himself, kneeled in front of me and started cleaning me up, gently wiping away the mess left on my centre and thighs. I watched him attentively, the soft look on his face making him look boyish, only the naughty glint in his eyes reminiscent of the man he was just a few minutes ago.

When our eyes met, I returned the smile, hand instinctively going to tangle into his hair. I meant to just card it through the dark wavy locks, but the heated look he gave me had me shuddering again, fingers tightening. Yoongi smirked, tongue licking at his lips sensually just inches away from my exposed pussy.

“Still thinking about naughty things, kitten?” he said, voice dark and deep, “Like the sight of me on my knees for you?” I hesitated for a moment before untangling my hand and gently pushing him with a blush.

“I see,” Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, “maybe next time then.” With a wink he stood up and when I didn’t move he motioned for me to start dressing up with a smirk, handing me my bra and t-shirt. We slowly clambered out of the stall, stretching and trying to get all the body parts to working order again.

“How about,” Yoongi drawled out, self-assured and with the attitude of someone who just got their rocks off, “you ditch the lecture you never really go to anyway and we grab something to eat?” I stopped in my tracks, shocked but pleasantly surprised at his offer. I checked the time quickly.

“There’s only like 10 minutes of class left, I can sit that out and then we can go,” I answered, smiling softly, but Yoongi smirked with all his might, something devilish glinting over his face. He leaned towards me, grabbing me lightly by my shoulders.

“Not looking like that, you can’t,” he whispered meanly and spun me around. The moment I laid my eyes on myself in the mirror, I gasped. Yoongi was standing behind me grinning like the devil admiring his handiwork. My neck was littered in little bites and spots ranging from dark pink across red all the way to purple. Yoongi let out a satisfied hum, almost sounding like a purr, his hands going across my waist to pull at the tee tucked into my skirt to reveal more reddish purplish bruises from his fingers.

I turned in his arms and slapped his shoulder lightly, completely flustered by his antics. “How can I walk out of here now? Everyone will know what I’d been doing instead of sitting at the lecture,” I whined, more embarrassed than angry, but Yoongi’s laughing face was totally free of any remorse, “I look like someone beat me up.”

The man said nothing, just pulled me closer to kiss me gently. I looked at him with wide eyes for a moment before I whined again: “I don’t even have a scarf with me today.” He burst out laughing and patted my hip softly.

“I’ll get your stuff, you wait here,” he whispered conspiratorially and with one last wink he was gone. It took him only three minutes to stick his head back into the bathroom, looking a little ruffled and a lot amused.

“I suggest we get going fast, I’m afraid a guy leaving the ladies restroom isn’t as inconspicuous as I wished it was,” he got out quickly, smirking impishly and handing me my coat. I tried to wear it in a way that covered most of the marks, but it was futile, more than half of my neck still on full display.

I walked out of the bathroom the same moment the door to my classroom opened and students started filing out. Yoongi exchanged a single glance with me before we both took off, running down the stairs like we were being chased, only stopping once the building doors slammed shut behind us.

“Jimin’s café?” Yoongi asked breathlessly, still trying to get his strength back and leaning on his knees. I grinned at him and grabbed his hand, already pulling him in the right direction.

“Sure, let’s go!”

Bonus:

“Holy shit! The fuck happened to you?” Jimin exclaimed loudly enough for the whole café to hear the moment he saw me walk through the door. Jungkook and Tae, who were sitting at a small table near the counter to keep Jimin company while he had his shift, turned to look at me only for Kookie to promptly spit out whatever he was drinking.

“Holy shit!” I gave him an unimpressed look and walked up to Jimin to order.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” I side-eyed him sassily, but Jungkook was grinning mischievously, a knowing glint in his eye. I flushed under his gaze and looked away at which he started laughing loudly.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you actually did it,” he giggled, properly entertained by the situation and by my embarrassment. Tae was watching it all unfold, confused look on his face.

“Did what?” Jimin asked, similarly confused.

As if on cue the door opened again and Yoongi stepped in, ignoring everyone currently staring at him and walking straight to me, arm curling around my waist to pull me closer to him. He bent down slightly to whisper in my ear: “Got rid of the evidence successfully.”

“Holy shit!” This time it was Tae who screamed, coming full circle. I gave their smug smiling faces an annoyed glare and turned to Jimin to order again, but he was trying to conceal his grin behind his hand. Even more vexed I turned to Yoongi who was smirking smugly like a cat who got all the cream, hand possessively squeezing at my bruised waist.

“On second thoughts, we shouldn’t have come here,” I said to no one in particular, then turning my narrowed eyes at the man of the hour himself, “and wipe that smirk off your face, mister.” There were giggles from the boys all around us, but Yoongi just swooped down and kissed me softly, then pushed us closer towards the counter.

Jimin cleared his throat and tried to put on a professional expression, but there was mirth in his eyes that I just knew I was going to get all the teasing later. Tae and Kookie cleared out the mess at the table and made space for us to sit down, one looking more amused than the other.

I gave them both the stink eye and ignored them, checking my phone instead, trying to reply to all the messages I’ve missed in the last hour. Around me there was silence, everyone just sitting there looking at each other grinning, before Jungkook cleaned his throat and exclaimed:

“God, fucking finally! Thought Yoongi-hyung was gonna talk my ear off about you!”

“Kookie!” There was a pretty blush spreading on Yoongi’s cheeks, a polar opposite to the cocksure man that was railing my brains out 20 minutes ago. I giggled and squeezed his arm. He gave in easily, leaning towards me.

Then he set his eyes on Jungkook and narrowed them teasingly. “We’re gonna settle that later you brat.”

#kpop fic #kpop smut #kpop fluff #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #suga fic #yoongi fic #suga smut #suga fluff #suga x reader

[missywritesfor7]

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

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Ch. 17: Emotions

Treatment isn’t easy for Yoongi. Dealing with the effects of withdrawal is one thing, but having to face his feelings head on is the hardest. He’s felt like quitting a number of times, but every evening he gets a message from Hyeri that reminds him why he’s doing this.

Hyeri had tried to limit her communication with Yoongi while he’s in treatment. She thought it was nice that they allowed him to keep his phone, but she had done a bit of online research and came to the conclusion that talking to him too much could do more harm than good. She keeps her messages down to a summary text at the end of each day. She does her best to only send positive messages. Nothing about her now daily conflicts with JJS, or how she’s been searching for a way out because they continue to treat her like she’s a troublesome burden. That stress she’s been carrying on her own.

For Yoongi, he only knows what Hyeri tells him. So in his mind she’s doing perfectly fine. She’s working hard and simply waiting for her next role. He’s happy that she’s doing well and it helps him relax more knowing he doesn’t have to worry about her.

Although he’s still allowed internet access he hasn’t spent much time looking at social media. He did once and he came across the ever vicious rumor mill spreading lies about Jimin owing a gambling debt to someone. It was so ridiculous that all he could do was laugh, but when he had his session with Minho the laugh turned to a cry.

Up until then he mostly spoke about Hyeri and himself in his sessions. That day he had to explore his feelings towards his members and that hurt him more. It was never a question whether he loves them, but he didn’t realize how much of their pain he put on himself. The rumors about Jimin were laughable, but Yoongi took it personal. He felt bad for Jimin being dragged through the mud for no reason and he felt helpless to do anything to protect him. Someone as sweet and selfless as Jimin doesn’t deserve that. None of the members do. After that, Minho suggested Yoongi stay away from socials and so he did.

Until today. While having lunch he found himself going down a rabbit hole that simply started with him trying to figure out the type of wood that was used in the construction of the cabin he’s staying in. After reading the history of log cabins around the world and the best wood for different climates, he saw a random Naver article at the bottom of the page he was on that caught his attention.

Rainbow heard arguing with manager, acting career over?

Laugh. He’s supposed to laugh these things off. He’s telling himself to laugh. He’s not laughing. He’s watching a video taken of Hyeri and he’s not laughing at all.

He knew not to click the article. He knew not to play the video someone candidly took from their cell phone. He knew better but did it anyway. The video shows Hyeri yelling at her manager in a rage. He hadn’t seen her like that with anyone other than him. The soft spoken Na Hyeri was unloading on her manager about the jobs she’s not being offered and how they keep lying to her about it. She mentions being forced to accept tiny roles for no money because they’re punishing her for telling the truth.

Last night, Hyeri had a shoot for what she was told was a commercial for a new perfume. What it turned out to be was a small budget shoot for an amateur made air freshener spray. When she learned that the shoot was unpaid, which they also lied about at first, she unleashed her rage towards her manager.

Hyeri thought they were alone. She asked to speak to her manager out back. She had no idea someone was standing by recording for some reason. Almost as soon as it happened, the video was everywhere. She’s horrified by the invasion of privacy and even more horrified that she once again finds herself the center of controversy.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she gets a message from Yoongi today asking her what’s going on and if she’s ok. Last night when she got home after the entire fiasco, she sent Yoongi her usual text telling him she had a small shoot and that was it. Now it seems he’s seen the news and she knows he’s not too happy about her not telling him about how bad things have gotten between her and JJS.

She admits that things have been rocky, but she didn’t feel it was anything she needed to worry him about. Of course now that he knows, it’s got him more worried than if she had told him from the start. Once more her silence has caused the exact thing she wanted to avoid.

Unconvinced that she’s ok, Yoongi decides to call Hyeri. Until now they’ve only texted each other. They both agreed that it would be best that way until he’s made it through the rough beginnings of his sobriety. Today he doesn’t care about that though. He needs to hear her voice to be sure she’s ok.

“You’re breaking the rules, Yoon-gya,” Hyeri chuckles when she answers.

“I think I deserve a pass this once,” he responds relieved to hear her voice and to hear that she doesn’t seem to be in any distress.

“You didn’t believe me when I said I was ok?” She jokes.

“You tend to lie about that a lot,” he chuckles.

“Look who’s talking,” she laughs softly.

It feels like nothing has changed but at the same time it feels the way it felt when their relationship was fresh and new. They talk about anything and giggle at how cute each other sounds for about an hour before Yoongi finally asks what he initially called her for.

“So are you going to tell me about the video?” He asks.

“I hate people always invading my privacy,” she huffs.

“What’s this about the roles you’ve been getting? I thought you were working on some commercials?”

“I was. It’s just that they’re small commercials. The small kind that don’t pay,” she admits with shame.

“Hyeri…”

“I know, but I tried to stand up for myself,” she says hoping for praise. “I finally told them how the way they’re treating me is bullshit. I found roles that I wanted to go for and they got upset about it.”

“I’m proud of you,” he says. He knows opposing anyone is hard for her. For her to stand up to JJS after she had been so complacent before is a big step. “You don’t even sound like you’ve been crying,” he jokes.

“I’m not the same Hyeri I used to be,” she chuckles. “But….” She trails off not finishing her sentence.

“But?”

“I’m still a little…scared I guess.” She didn’t want to admit to that. She doesn’t want him worried about her, but they had been having such a good talk that she was about to release her troubles to him out of habit. He’s her best friend and she had been holding her fears in since she couldn’t tell him. Now it’s out there and she knows he’ll try to pry every feeling out of her in an attempt to understand, comfort, and fix every issue.

“Scared of what?” He asks.

“Everything. Losing everything. JJS isn’t going to treat me right so I need to leave them, but then where can I go?”

“Have you been looking around?”

“Yeah, but what if I’m rejected by everyone? What if this is it for my acting career? I could go back to music but you know acting is my passion.”

“Baby, I’ve told you I can get you in contact with people. Anything you need. You don’t have to try to do this on your own.”

“But I can’t have you help me,” she sighs. “Not right now at least. You need to focus on you.”

“I’m doing fine. Let me know what company you want to go for and I can find a contact and get you in touch.”

“Yoongi stop.” This is exactly what she knew he would do and exactly why she didn’t want to say anything. “I mean it. I’m scared but I’m not completely helpless. Please focus on your recovery and don’t worry so much about me.”

“I know,” he groans. “It’s just hard when I’m away.”

“What’s going to convince you that I’m fine?”

“I don’t know,” he huffs. “If I could see you or…hold you…”

“I just need you to trust me. If I’m not ok I’ll let you know.”

“Will you?”

“Of course. I promise. I just need you to trust me. Trust me and keep taking care of yourself. Can you promise me that?” She pleas.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I promise I’ll take care of myself. I promise I’ll be better so I can see you sooner. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Don’t worry about me.”

“Can you at least promise me you won’t keep things from me anymore? I know you don’t want to worry me but I think I worry more when you don’t tell me what’s going on. Whether it’s good or bad, I just want to be able to support you.”

“I know. I promise, babe.”

“I love you so much, Bow.” She can’t tell but he’s suddenly holding back tears. Talking to her, hearing her voice is so calming to him. He misses her so much and though he knows this is for a better future, it still hurts to be separated from her.

“I love you too, Yoon-gya.”

Hyeri misses him just as much. Dealing with the stress JJS has had her under has been exceptionally difficult without Yoongi being there to comfort her when she feels overwhelmed. All she can do is ask herself what Yoongi would do. Every time she does she ends up in trouble or the talk of the town for a while. It’s not all bad though. She’s been walked over her whole life because she never felt like she had a voice and was afraid to speak up. Now she does and she feels good setting boundaries and fighting for herself. She fears for the future, but she at least knows she won’t let anyone walk all over her again.

Yoongi got an extra boost of motivation after talking to Hyeri. He was determined more than ever to return to her soon and healthy. He still worries about her, but hearing her voice and how she didn’t sound sad at all helped him feel better.

Minho has been helping a lot as well. Yoongi still has a long way to go, but Minho could always find a way to make Yoongi feel safe when he’s vulnerable. Each session he opens up more and he feels much lighter being able to talk about things he had been holding on to for a while.

His next session after talking to Hyeri, Yoongi is much more enthusiastic and bright. He tells Minho about their conversation and how he’s happy to be getting the help he needs so he can be the best for her, his members, and his fans. But especially Hyeri.

Only a week has passed since hearing Hyeri’s voice, but Yoongi feels like he’s made a lot of progress recently. He even sent a message in the group chat with the rest of the guys to tell them how he’s doing. He was optimistic and it was refreshing for the rest of the guys. They praised him for doing well and expressed how they can’t wait to see him again.

He’s in the middle of making himself dinner. Nothing special, just a simple pasta dish with a bit of steak. He found passion for cooking again and had been taking the time to cook each one of his meals. That’s just how motivated Hyeri made him.

He’s got his steak cooking in the pan and his pasta already in a bowl. Everything smells good and he feels great. To make things even better he gets a call from Hyeri. He hasn’t heard her voice since last week and he’s been dying to hear her again.

“Hey, babe,” he says when he answers.

“Hey,” she responds. “I wanted to call you because it would be easier than texting. I did it!” She shouts in excitement.

“Did what?” He asks confused but equally enthusiastic.

“I told JJS to go fuck themselves!” She giggles.

“You what?” He asks freezing in place.

“I’m done with them. I want to go for the lead in a super duper huge new series. It’s…maybe a bit ambitious,” she says shyly. “But I could at least audition but they tried to give me more bullshit about taking a break and being compliant so I told them to shove their compliance up their ass.”

“Wow,” he says in disbelief. She’s typically not the one to do such a thing, and certainly not when she hasn’t found another agency yet. “You really did that?”

“Yeah! I’m sick of them treating me like shit. I should’ve listened to you in the beginning and left them a long time ago.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what happens next, but I’m happy. They won’t stress me out any longer.”

“Baby, that’s incredible! I wish I could take you out to celebrate.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” she giggles. “I’m just happy to be free.”

“I’m happy too.” He pauses and thinks a moment before speaking again. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah,” she responds. “Of course I am, why?”

“I want to see you.”

“How? I mean you can’t.”

“Sure I can. I want to see you so let’s video call,” he suggests.

“What? I mean no, I think it’s too soon. We already broke the rule about not talking on the phone.”

“Just once,” he pleads. “Plus I want to show you the dinner I made.”

“I don’t know,” she hesitates.

“I’m switching to video,” he says not giving her a choice. He switches to video and waits for her to do the same. “Please,” he pleads again. “Just for a minute, baby.”

She gives in and turns the video on after rushing to try fixing herself up a bit. Her camera turns on and Yoongi can instantly see why she was reluctant to video chat.

“You’ve been crying?” He asks noticing how her eyes are just a slight bit puffy. Her attempt to hide under the shadows of the low lighting in the bedroom wasn’t enough to fool him.

“No,” she lies.

“Hyeri!” He fusses.

“I mean I’m a little scared, I told you that.”

“But you’ve been crying.”

He wants to protect her. He wants to hold her and make sure she never cries alone. He would fix all of her problems and wipe every tear. She knew he would feel this way and that’s why she didn’t want him to know she had been crying. His priority is her now and she doesn’t want it to be.

“Just a little,” she admits. “It’s a big step and the future is unknown, but I’m ok. I’ve got a few agencies that I’m looking into. Don’t worry about me, Yoon-gya, I’ve got this. I told you, I’m not the same Hyeri I was before.”

“You’re sure you’re ok?” He asks still not convinced.

“You’ll never believe me, will you?” She chuckles.

“No,” he smiles.

“What about you though? How are you doing?”

“I feel better each day. I feel better hearing your voice and seeing your face.”

“Therapy is good?”

“Yeah,” he boasts. “It’s going great.”

That’s the truth, Yoongi has been getting better each day. He makes progress in many different ways. However, every time he thinks he’s made progress in one area, something in an old but forgotten area pops up.

Hyeri has been happy with her choice. She isn’t getting work, but that’s all going to change once she signs with a new agency. Though that had been in limbo for a little while.

JJS decided they would sue Hyeri for breaking her contract. They want her to pay damages for not holding up her end, claiming she’s cost them lots of money. She’s terrified since she’s never been sued before, but she couldn’t stand by without countersuing for her own reasons. The lies and especially the unpaid roles they had her doing without telling her from the start that they would be unpaid.

Yoongi got Hyeri in contact with an attorney he knows and trusts. Hyeri was happy, because without company resources she didn’t know how she’d get an attorney. It’s all a mess, but they both feel optimistic. There’s plenty of proof that JJS were in the wrong so she hopes it will be an easy case.

Just because it seems like it’s an easy case, doesn’t mean it will be a quick one. While the case is ongoing, Hyeri managed to land a deal with a new agency about two weeks after telling JJS to shove it. She’s ecstatic and eager to get working again.

Yoongi feels good that she’s found a new company. He’s happy that she seems in good spirits despite how long her case is taking in court. He’s happy that she’s happy. He’s happy.

He’s outside laying on top of the picnic table staring into the sky. His jaw is tightly clinched and his ears are welled with tears that have rolled down the side of his face. He wants a drink so bad right now.

He was fine at first. He started his day with some fruit and iced coffee. He played on his keyboard that he had brought in so he could work on music. Then he went walking outside a little. During his walk his mind started wandering as it typically does. But for some reason his mind was on Hyeri. Not that that’s unusual, but the thoughts went from typical longing to pure anxiety.

He knows Hyeri is trying to stay strong, but he knows her too well to believe that she’s doing as ok as she says she is. He’s worried about her. Worried that she’s going to bed sad and alone every night. Worried that he’s been away too long. Worried that something else may happen to her and he won’t be there for her. He still has the image of her car accident in his mind and he still hasn’t fully forgiven himself. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t forgiven himself for anything.

When he talks to Minho it’s always productive. He’s forgiven Hyeri for the way she handled things with the dating rumors both times. He thought he forgave her before but realized he hadn’t. Thanks to Minho’s help, Yoongi has been able to move past that. He’s talked about other things since, but hadn’t quite realized that deep down he still hates himself.

He’s staring at the sky through his tears wishing he could just have one drink. Something small to take the edge off. He thought there had to be something in that house or even something the doctor may have left behind in the second cabin after he left. Nothing. Yoongi searched and searched and found nothing. Now he’s sad and irritated.

“Is that comfortable?” Minho asks approaching the table. He’s arrived for today’s session but didn’t expect to find Yoongi crying on the table.

Yoongi doesn’t move, he only sighs in more frustration because he didn’t realize what time it was. He didn’t realize he’d been on the table crying for 3 hours.

“What’s going on?” Minho asks softly.

Yoongi shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk. If he opens his mouth he won’t be able to speak through the sobs.

“Did something happen?”

Yoongi shakes his head again.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

Yoongi opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He doesn’t know how to describe what he’s feeling, he just knows he wants a drink.

“I-I…” Yoongi stutters. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I can’t do this.”

“Why?” Minho asks.

“I let her down too much. I can’t go back home to her.”

“I thought you wanted to do this so you could be what you feel she deserves.”

“I do, I just…I’m going to find a way to fuck it up again. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves someone that will be by her side and take care of her. Not someone who will drink himself stupid and cheat on her.”

“Has she told you these things?”

“Come on,” Yoongi scoffs. “She’s not going to actually say something like that. She’d be too afraid to. Even if she hated me she wouldn’t hurt my feelings. I know that much, and that’s why she deserves better.”

“Are you wanting to end your relationship with her?” Minho asks placing a hand on Yoongi’s arm.

“No…I mean no…she…” Yoongi sputters.

“You think she deserves better, and you think you wouldn’t be it for her. That sounds like you want to at least end your romantic relationship with her, right?”

Yoongi lets out a pained wail and begins sobbing heavily. His chest is burning and it’s excruciating.

He just wants a damn drink.

#bts #bts au #bts fanfic #bts fic #cross posted on ao3 #bts smut #angst #tw depression #bts fluff #tw alcoholism #bts angst #Yoongi #min yoongi #Suga #yoongi x oc #Suga x oc #yoongi au #suga au #yoongi angst #suga angst #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi fic #suga fic #established relationship #idol au

[frmisnow]

✧˖ ?!— BATHROOM OF POSSIBILITIES ˚ 𖦹‧ . - (NSFW.)

— ‧₊˚ — 🥝‧₊ : "is it true that you're a whore ??"

summary. who would've thought that you'd end up fucking your besties socially awkward friend in a bar bathroom??? (only to get caught by your bestie..) anything is possible !

notes. omg i'm so sorry i SUCK at writing threesomes, i won't even try!! i still hope asker is satisfied, much lovee!! ₊˚⊹♡

warnings/includes. (MDNI!!) (002 / getting caught), jk is socially awkward around new ppl (we r lowkey twinning here), cocksucker & whore mentioned, unprotected sex :( (they r reckless and a lil stupid), bathroom sex

the guy yoongi dragged into the conversation was hot- like really hot.

usually when yoongi introduces you to his other friends, they're either high, drunk or filthy rich that just seemed to be the typa guys yoongi attracted- nonetheless maybe this guy was all of the above.

though weirdly enough his eyes didn't quite settle like ever, he couldn't look you in the eyes even just once as yoongi punches his arm lightly for him to talk.

"hey," he greeted, and the sound that escaped his lips was unexpectedly awkward, almost stumbling over the single syllable.

yoongi chuckled, sensing the surprise on your face. "Don't let the intimidating exterior fool you," he teased, clapping Jungkook on the back. "jungkook here is a little socially awkward. it's kind of adorable, actually, you're gonna love him tho"

"why are you talking about me like i'm not right by your side," jungkook mumbeled quietly in response, his gaze looking to his feet as yoongi smiled at him like he was some forgein never-been-seen before animal species, ignoring his response, "he's exactly like the guys you usually fuck"

"now that just sounds like i blow all your friends off, that's just wrong, yoon-" you snickered, shaking your head, sipping the rest of his drink down in a swift motion as yoongi rolled his eyes, "can you stop drinking my shit? man, i can give your broke ass a few pennies for a drink" he pinched your cheek like he was talking to a child, "let me do chariety work"

"sounds just like something an old man like you'd do," you leaned against the bar casually, "y'know do some chariety and then take your little nap"

yoongi rolled his once again, quite poorly hiding the grin that snuck it's way onto his face, turning full way to jungkook like he forgot of your existence, "see? she's a brat, a menace, a whore- anything under the sun-" he paused like he was thinking of something, "i need a drink"

till turning again, pointing a finger at you, "cause you drank it all up, you'll pay for it sooner or later" slowly walking off not even waiting for an answer as you yelled, "shouldn't have insinuated that i'm a brainless cock sucker"

after he was out of sight, you turned your attention to jungkook who's eyes had been observing every detail of the past conversation, you shook your head in pretend-frustration, emphasizing: "sorry you had to witness that, when it gets over the time of 12pm and he's desperately over his bed time, he just gets so..." you sighed like you were in extreme concern, "cocky"

it was the first time your eyes linked, a small but growing smile on his face, "you're funny, i like you"

"well then it doesn't take much to impress you," you smiled back, thinking for a few seconds. no, you wanted to know more about the dude- at least one of you has to try. "but for real why are you out of all people friends with yoongi?"

he tilted his head up slightly like he was in fact trying to look into his brain to see an answer, "i think he's fun.. at times and i'm pretty sure he's a sweetie at heart"

you nod along, yoongi can be truly insufferable but if he did care when needed and maybe that was just enough- you shook your head trying to not overthink it all of a sudden, switching the topic, "truth or dare"

he raised his eyebrows for a split second, surprised by the abrupt topic switch, "truth"

"weirdest place you've ever had sex?"

he let out a little breathy chuckle, the sound of jungkooks laughter generally pretty, "an ikea bedroom," he played with his lip piercing like he was contemplaiting wheather he should say the next thing, "just a bit of fingering nothing to extreme nonetheless truth or dare?"

"truth"

"you're no fun," he pouted jokingly till adding, "is it true that you're a whore?"

this was not the position you imagined yourself at the end of the night- no, scratch that, this was not the man you imagined to be with in this position, pressed against the mirror of a dirty bathroom, ass hurting from the bath sink you were seated on, jungkook out of all balls deep into you.

his mouth was pressed against your neck, whispering horny sweet nothings against the bare skin, how much of a cock sucker you actually were, how easy it was for him to get you here, how stupid and solely cock-focused you were.

it was like all his awkwardness wore off the longer he lingered next to you as he pounded into you like he had fucked you tens of times before.

you didn't care if you were completely reckless right now or if the door was open and anyone could fucking walk in at any given moment or where yoongi was - after all maybe jungkook was right: all you could think of right now was his dick deep inside you.

"do you go around and fuck around with all of his friends behind his back or is it just me? mmh, c'mon answer" your tongue felt tied, it was like you had water in your ear, his words not quite audible as you shook your head, not getting it, "made for taking dick, exactly like i thought"

he spread your legs a bit wider, cock scretching your pussy just the right way as you creeked out something about 'needing to cum'

his fingers entertwined in your hair, pulling it just lightly, biting his lips trying to conceal a whimper at the feeling of your pussy tightning round him, "i'll give it to you, wanna have you cum all over my dick"

a high pitched scream aired through the room, so loud like somebody had witnessed a murder - simultaneously it felt like your little bubble of pure utter hornieness had popped, looking to your right to look at a deeply digusted min yoongi, who's hands were already covering his eyes like a defence mechanism.

"it's not what it looks like!"

you both yelled, jungkook pulling out instantly covering you with his shirt that had been thrown onto the ground like fifteen minutes ago, "what do you mean? your dick was in-" he shook his head dramatically and in a repeated fashion while you threw your clothes on as fast as you possibly could, "i don't think we can be friends anymore.. that image uhh-" he did another disgusted expression, covering his mouth like he was still in after-shook.

it took about ten minutes to calm yoongi down (and a whole lot of promises and gaslight about how he was probably to drunk for his own good) till you both sat him down into a taxi taht was going to safely drive him home.

you stood there outside the bar in the cold air of the night silently for a little while before you both started laughing, what started as a tiny chuckle turned into cackling like maniacs.

eventually you got your shit together, mumbling "well that was awkward" he grinned in response, "right before cumming too- how cruel"

jungkook played with his piercing once again, gaze zoning out shortly till returning to yours, "how about i take you home and you get to finish off just like you deserve?"

#kpop smut #bts ff #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x you #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #yoongi fic #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #✉️ frmisnow! 1k follower event

[kithtaehyung]

minted (m) (teaser) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: okay so LISTEN!!! this is a complete surprise to everyone including me, bc this was def not on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this morally grey yoongi is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and having the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur relevant url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! note 2: this fic is not for everyone. please read the warnings! there's gonna be some darker themes than the regular kithtaehyung drop, and it's the haegeum universe so it's not a light fic. if you're down for that, lfgggg. if you're not, i will not be upset if you skip this one! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint-haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, morally grey yoongi smut warnings: to be smacked here on drop day! drop date: as soon as i’m done but we are ZOOMIN’ word count: 6k so far and projecting 12-15k✌️

"you know.. it's a shame you touched her. because now we have nothing to discuss."

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

#IM SO EXCITED YALL #happy belated hali!!! #ryenwrites #teasers #*latest #*ryenfictalk #minted #fic:minted #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions

[prettypearlypisces]

𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 (𝔪) | 𝔪𝔶𝔤

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: yoongi x f.reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: m (18+); MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 | 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔢 | 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: complete | one-shot | fluff and smut

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: "I think I can help you sleep better."

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰 & 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: smut, explicit language, sleepy yoongi struggling with burnout :((( , taking a shower together <3, long hair Valentino yoongi 🧎🏻‍♀️, dick bulge through the silk pants 🫡 , oral sex (m. receiving), flexible dom/sub dynamics (they each take charge at certain points, but it's nothing intense), praise (yoongi calls her "pretty/good girl" 🫠), slight hair pulling/grabbing, face-fucking, finger sucking + a paragraph talking about Yoongi's hands, a lil bit of gagging, cum swallowing, might as well add body worship from how much reader talks about how gorgeous he is, yoongi's thighs ♡, spit/drooling, slight ball play, reader sniffs the balls because she's like that lmao, reader doesn't touch herself or cum, this list is nasty but I promise you they're very sweet with each other 😭, cuddling <3, this is about sucking dick it should not be this long

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: ~4.8k

𝔞/𝔫: hello! this is my first fic ever on this blog. I rewatched all the Valentino Yoongi content recently, saw him looking scumptious in these pajamas, and next thing you know we're here 💀 I haven't written anything this long (that is non-academic) in a very, very long time, so I would ask that you please be nice and bear with me. But I do plan to get better the more I write. That said, I hope you enjoy! 🤍

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔞𝔰𝔨 | 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 | 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

“You need to relax.” 

Your voice was insistent but gentle, much like your fingers buried in Yoongi’s thick hair, and he closed his eyes and leaned into your palms as you worked shampoo into his scalp. A quiet whimper escaped his lips as you circled your fingertips against a tense muscle at the base of his skull. 

He was overworking himself again, frustration making his shoulders taut and wearing his patience thin. His eye bags were puffy, exhaustion evident in his eyes. It pained you to know that he hadn’t given himself a break over the past few weeks. Yoongi was so passionate, something you adored about him – but you knew that when inspiration struck, sometimes he had the tendency to push himself too hard, for too long. Now it left him on the brink of burnout. 

That’s where you came in. Yoongi had been glued to his desk before you came in and practically forced him from his chair. He made weak protests as you dragged him out of his home studio and forced him into the bathroom, but he’d shrugged off his clothes anyway as you turned on the warm water. 

Now you both stood under the warm sprinkle while you washed his hair. Yoongi let out pleased purr-like sounds from deep in his throat that made you grin. He reminded you of a wet, docile cat resigned to its bath time. 

When it was time to rinse, you cupped your hand over his brows to block any soap from getting in his eyes as water poured over his head. Then you took your fingers and gently rubbed along his neck to clean him and hopefully melt any tension there. Yoongi held your wrist and gently rubbed his thumb along your skin, his way of giving you a silent thank you. Warmth bloomed in your chest, so you planted a kiss on his fingers – your own silent “you're welcome” that wouldn’t disrupt the nighttime quiet. 

You held him close, rubbing down his chest and stomach with a soapy rag. Thick bubbles lathered from his shoulders all the way down to his fingers before swirling down the drain. 

Around his hips and butt, you were sure to be gentle, even gripping one of his cheeks playfully. Yoongi pouted, whiny, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the red that dusted his cheeks before his face broke out into a small, tired smile. Meanwhile, Yoongi set about reaching down to clean himself. He wasn’t overtly prude but he did always prefer to do this part himself, so you crouched down carefully and made your way down his legs. 

You focused on softly rubbing down Yoongi’s legs and even leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on the skin. You couldn’t explain it, but you adored Yoongi’s thighs. You loved touching them, holding them, kissing them. Biting them. A small pool of heat bloomed in you as you realized that you were now eye-level with his cock too, driving you to give him a more forceful, hungry kiss. The thought of taking him into your mouth, right here and now, crossed your mind, fueled by the simmering image of Yoongi’s head thrown back in bliss, body glistening from the shower water. Unfortunately, you knew from experience that water wasn’t conducive to sex, and the thought of soap getting in your eyes and nose was not in the least bit appealing. 

With great restraint, you pulled away and scrubbed his calves and feet. As soon as you were done, Yoongi hauled you up and scrubbed you down with the same gentle ease as you had given him. He made sure to shield your hair from the pouring water, since you’d clipped it up to keep it from getting wet. Your tummy quivered when Yoongi passed his hand between your legs, a small look of mischief glinting in his knowing eyes when you bit your lip. But he continued his downward path, leaving you feeling warmer than steam. 

A part of you ached, feeling how tender he was being with you, even when he was tired, even when you were the one trying to take care of him. He always was. Yoongi’s eyes flickered down to your face and must have seen something in it, because his eyes were soft when he met your gaze again. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” he said. You didn’t say anything, but the shy turn of your lips was enough to tell him how you felt. 

When you were done, Yoongi shut off the shower and reached out to wrap you in a spare towel, rubbing your shoulders and back all the way down your torso and legs. Then Yoongi deftly unwound the towel and used it to dry himself. You wrinkled your nose.

“You should use your own towel,” you complained, but there was no malice in your words. Yoongi only chuckled and pulled you close. 

“I’m tired,” he countered with a playful whine. “And impatient.” 

A laugh bubbled from your mouth and he rubbed his nose against your temple. Your cheeks warmed when he shifted and you felt a subtle tell-tale poke against your hip, but before you could say anything, he pulled away with a soft rub on your tummy to slip into his pajamas and finish his night routine. 

You were left to do the same, but now you felt anything but sleepy. 

The festering heat that had been lingering inside you now sparked into a deep desire. As you pulled on your pajamas – a simple tank top and sleep shorts – you thought of Yoongi’s hands on you, thought of his skin underneath your own wandering palms. 

Then you chided yourself. Don’t be selfish, you thought. He’s tired. Let him rest. You knew it was true. Yoongi was probably exhausted and would have no energy to do what you wanted, and it wasn’t fair to expect that of him right now. Besides, you reasoned, it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep him up longer than you already had. 

You made your way to the bedroom, which beckoned you with its deep blues and cozy greys. 

Yoongi’s room was a nighttime haven. He liked to keep it as comfortable as possible, with soft carpets and downy pillows. Next to his large bed sat a settee, your robe robe sprawled across it from when you’d tossed it before the shower.

Once you sat on the plush duvet, you almost immediately felt your eyelids become droopy. You were almost glad for the gentle tug of drowsiness, which quelled your desire enough to make sleep bearable. 

Until Yoongi came into the bedroom – and any thoughts you had about sleep immediately evaporated. 

His pajamas were black silk, the fabric sleek like ink against his skin in the low light of your bedroom. He didn’t seem to notice the way you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him while he riffled through his bedside drawer for something. Socks, maybe. You couldn’t be sure, not when your mind suddenly felt hazy as you traced the line of Yoongi’s body down, down until – Oh God, was that the outline of his cock?

Swallowing almost became impossible from how heavy your tongue suddenly felt in your mouth, your eyes hungrily taking in every delicious detail of the man in front of you. His dark hair, the curve of his lips, the small shadow that pooled in the divot of his collarbone, making you want to bite bite bite.

You didn’t know why these pajamas were driving you up the wall, especially when Yoongi had been naked in front of you not long ago, but they were. They pulled your eyes to him and sparked your dampened libido back to life. 

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Yoongi’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. Dark eyes and a small smirk met your eyes when you finally looked up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Fuck. He knows.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, warm and red. Of course he would. He knew you. He knew you’d been aching for him ever since the shower, knew that you wouldn’t ask for what you wanted because you were supposed to be making sure he rested. But as your eyes fell again shamelessly to his veiled cock, you realized that he was just as needy as you. 

Yoongi’s gaze was the same – knowing, wanting – when you met it again, but the red of your cheeks disappeared as your lips parted in an impish smile. 

“Nothing,” you shrugged as you stood up from the bed, “just thinking.”

You closed the distance between you two, until the familiar smell of him, warm and woodsy, filled your head. 

“I think I can help you sleep better,” you said, your finger sliding up his chest and playing with the lapel of his sleep shirt. The look Yoongi gave you made you want to get on your knees right there and then. 

Yoongi’s breath was warm and sent goosebumps up your arms when he said, low and oh-so-quiet, “Show me.”

I will your eager smirk said as you took his hand. 

He followed you to the settee nestled in the corner of the room and landed with a quiet poof against the cushions when you pushed him backwards and immediately kneeled between his legs. 

A sly glint shone in your eye as you smoothed your hands down Yoongi’s chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, then brought them up and down his thighs over the luxurious slip of his silk pajamas, the fabric the only barrier keeping you from touching his skin.

Yoongi let you take your fill of him, leaning back against the cushions and watching you with amused eyes that made you only more eager to please him. As you worshiped him with your palms, the need to feel him everywhere overcame you. To smell him, touch him, taste him. 

Your hand ghosted over where his cock was hidden, and you nearly moaned feeling the slowly-stiffening bulge. A devious bite of your lip as you looked up at him, your hands reaching for the hem of his pants. “Can I take these off?” 

Yoongi huffed out a laugh, beautiful and bright. The sound made your heart swell. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sunk lower in his seat, spreading his legs wider. “Go for it.”

The pants were off in seconds and pooled around his ankles. Miles of milky white skin seemed to stretch on forever as Yoongi let you run your hands over him; his legs, his hips, his stomach and chest as your hands roamed under his shirt. You quickly unbuttoned it too, leaving his chest bare for you. 

Yoongi’s dark eyes brimmed with budding arousal but still shone playfully as he watched you. A tremor ran through him as you gently scraped your nails down the skin of his navel, right above his cock. Goosebumps traveled up Yoongi’s stomach and a quick glance upwards let you know that his nipples had stiffened, but you kept your eyes on the real prize.

Semi-erect and already stiff at the base, Yoongi’s cock was flushed dusky pink at the tip. Desire coursed hot and molten through you, your hands hot as you shifted eagerly on your knees. You couldn’t wait to have him in your mouth.

Leaning in, you pressed small, fleeting kisses around his thighs, avoiding his cock entirely, getting him worked up from the teasing sensation of your lips on his skin. In truth, it helped hold you back as well. Yoongi’s pretty honey skin always filled you with the desire to mark him up. The temptation to suck on it, bite it, worry it between your teeth until bruises and bite marks bloomed all over him was strong, but instead you settled for gentle brushes of your lips.

Your hands still made their way up and around his legs, soothing and comforting. Closer and closer you made your way up, licking at warm skin. A breathy sigh made you look up: Yoongi’s head tilted back slightly as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes. 

You lifted your head and rubbed around his hip bones. “Good?”

Yoongi hummed in response, the tension in him melting away as he gave you a slow smile. “So good I’m falling asleep.” 

“Don’t sleep on me.”

“Keep me up,” Yoongi challenged.

You rolled your eyes and pinched his thigh playfully. “Fine, I’ll get to it.” 

Settling in again, you licked your palm and fingers. You heard Yoongi gasp quietly as you wrapped your fingers around him, gently pumping your fist. His skin was hot, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Laying your head against his hip, you watched him close his eyes as he licked his lips. 

“Better?” you asked with amused eyes.

Yoongi nodded. “Much better.”

You hummed, pleased. “Good.”

Once Yoongi’s cock had completely filled out, you took a moment to admire it. 

You remembered, before ever seeing Yoongi naked, wondering if his cock was just as pink as his lips, his elbows, the knuckles of his long, knobby fingers. You had been pleased to find out that it was pinker, especially when erect. 

The head glistened red and sticky with precum. You felt your own mouth start to drool at the thought of it between your lips: the velvety skin, the heavy weight of it against your tongue, the taste of him. 

You rubbed his hips before taking his cock in your hand again. 

“So fucking perfect,” you breathed, the words pouring out of your mouth before you could even think, your breath ghosting tantalizingly close to his tip. Yoongi let his head fall back in bliss as you worked your fist around him, goosebumps racing along his hips. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him splayed out above you, knowing you were making him feel so good.

Feeling bold, you continued to stroke him and leaned down to where his balls hung low. Yoongi lifted his head, eyes sharp as your tongue laved over the velvety skin before gently sucking one of the plump balls into your mouth. You held his gaze, unwavering, matching the intensity of Yoongi’s dark eyes. You hummed, pleased, then smirked slightly before placing a wet kiss where your lips had just been. Then you did the same with the other, rolling it in your mouth gently. Yoongi’s soft tongue poked out to lick at his lips before he sucked in a shaky breath, reveling in the pleasure of you playing with him

Precum slipped between your fingers and filled the room with the slick sound of the glide up and down his shaft. The wet, filthy sound drove your lust to even greater heights, and the whine Yoongi let out when you suddenly stopped stroking made your cunt ache.

His eyes met yours and the smile you gave him was absolutely sinful when you gripped your fingers around his tip to press your nose against the base of his cock. Yoongi covered his face and huffed out a laugh that broke into a strangled moan as you inhaled the clean, heady scent of him.

You hummed lowly. “Fuck, you smell so good, Yoon.” 

A bead of precum dripped from the slit of his cock, and you circled it around the head with your thumb, unrelenting, until it was sensitive and glistening. You relished the way his thighs tensed at the motion, the way his hands tensed, the way he squeezed his eyes shut. A teasing lick to his head. A strangled “shit” under his breath. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to have him moaning, loudly. 

You wanted him, craved the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth—

“Can’t wait to taste you,” you said innocently, then taunting. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like me to suck on your cock?”

You licked your lips, watched Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement of your purposeful tongue, then licked up the underside of his swollen, needy shaft. A low moan tumbled from Yoongi’s mouth as he shifted his hips. “Fuck—yes, please.”

Satisfied with his desperation, you brought your mouth down around the aching tip of his cock. Yoongi sucked in a breath and gripped the cushions as you teased your tongue over his slit. The salty taste of precum burst in your mouth. Slick and warm, it coated your tongue. You moaned. This is what you wanted.

After a few moments toying with his slit, you circled the sensitive rim around the crown of his cock, drawing breathy moans from Yoongi’s lips. Then you trailed your tongue down to the spot underneath where you knew he was sensitive and slowly licked it with the flat of your tongue. 

Yoongi had shown you how he liked to tease it with the pad of his finger sometimes while he masturbated – quick or languid, always unrelenting until he’d managed to spurt all over himself. He loved when you played with it afterwards, making his hips spasm from the oversensitivity. More precum dribbled from his tip which you suckled up with deliberate licks.

Yoongi threw his head back and stilled as your tongue flicked over the spot quickly, assaulting it with your tongue. “Fuck,” he hissed, his whole body tense above you. 

Suddenly, a dull pain lanced across your scalp. Yoongi’s hand laced into your hair and pulled your head closer, making you whimper at the rough treatment.

“Down,” he said, tugging again, and holy shit, just one word uttered gently from him had you clenching your cunt desperately like a bitch in heat. Happy to comply, you sunk your mouth down around him, keeping your eyes on him the way he liked it. You held your head low for a moment before pulling off. “Good girl,” he praised with a subtle groan. Yoongi gave you a couple seconds to regain yourself, rubbing soothing circles on your abused scalp, before saying, “Again.”

Eager, you repeated the motion and held your mouth there for a moment, eyes closed as you swallowed around him. When it was time to pull off, you sucked in a breath with your eyes locked on his slick cock. To see it flushed and gleaming with your spit made your stomach twist with lewd excitement. A whispered “fuck” left Yoongi’s lips as a string of spit stretched from his tip to your lips, and you preened when Yoongi reached out rub his thumb soothingly across yourcheek. 

“You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock,” he said, and you felt dizzy with arousal when he gave you his beautiful smile. He was gorgeous — dark hair and deep eyes and flushed cheeks. Tender touches and gentle praise. The sudden fondness in Yoongi’s eyes clashing with his filthy words and the fact that his cock had been down your throat not five seconds ago gave you momentary whiplash.

Yoongi’s smile melted into something cruel as he dragged his thumb down your mouth, breaking the sticky string of spit, before pushing it past your lips. Feeling cocky, your tongue came out to lick obscenely around his thumb and you moaned around it as if it were his cock. 

It might as well have been; you loved Yoongi’s hands, his long fingers and rough palms. His beautiful instruments, when he was strumming the guitar or playing the piano. You loved how gentle they were with you, brushing back your hair, holding your hands, cupping your cheeks. But you also loved how filthy they could be: rubbing your clit and fucking your wet cunt until it made obscene squelching sounds and dripped down his palm. You felt your cunt drool filthily onto your panties, surely soaked by now.

Two more fingers pressed past the gates of your lips as Yoongi fingered your throat gently. Fuck, such a filthy sight had Yoongi gripping his still-aching cock, groaning at the way your throat tightened around his digits, the way spit spilled from your mouth. 

“So fuckin’ eager, like you were made for me.” Yoongi’s voice rumbled low from his throat, his chest heaving slightly, making you grip your knees. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and tilted your chin up, your hazy eyes now open. A surprised squeak left your mouth as Yoongi leaned down and kissed you sweetly on the lips. His soft hair ticked your cheeks. 

“Just a little more, yeah?” he said, holding your face close to his, and you nodded, dazed. Your eyes locked onto his pink lips that shone with your own spit and his precum. The sight shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did, but it sent a thrill up your spine.

Then Yoongi was leaning back and licking his lips. “Then c’mere, pretty girl, come finish sucking my cock.” 

And how could you say no to that?

It wasn’t long before Yoongi’s wet cock was back in your willing mouth. You circled your tongue around his tip reverently, Yoongi’s hips canting into your mouth when you looked up at him with those slutty, wanton eyes. 

“Good girl—just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going and don’t fucking stop.”

Your pussy tingled and you thought you might be able to cum just from the way the center seam of your shorts was rubbing against you. Even if you didn’t, you would be more than satisfied. You loved making Yoongi feel good, and you loved his cock. You could spend eternity on your knees worshiping Yoongi and his beautiful tool. The glide of him in and out of your mouth was perfect, so solid and warm that you couldn’t help but think about the way it felt when he slid into your cunt, filling you up just right, slippery with your wetness—

God, if you weren’t so hell-bent on making sure Yoongi slept well tonight, you’d push him down and ride him until morning. 

You gagged a bit in surprise when Yoongi gave a particularly quick thrust into your mouth, but fuck it if the sound he made wasn’t worth it. The deep, breathy groan went straight to your cunt, and you moaned around a mouthful of cock. Pleasant vibrations traveled down Yoongi’s shaft and made Yoongi’s grip on your hair tighten. 

“This okay?” he asked, breath strained. Yoongi’s fingers tensed and, as if he could sense the sharp pain in your scalp, immediately went lax.

So considerate, you thought fondly to yourself. You’d be smiling if your mouth wasn’t so busy. 

You brought Yoongi’s free hand to where his other fingers were already threaded in your hair. A garbled hum and a nod was all it took for him to hold your head in place as he rut his hips into your mouth, letting out a string of moans while your fingers played with his balls. 

Spit slid past your lips and dripped down your chin with each of Yoongi’s thrusts into your mouth. You felt so thoroughly used, sitting for him so prettily on your knees, not even touching yourself while he chased his release.

“You’re doing so good, so fucking good,” he said, sucking in a breath, head thrown back against the couch. 

Yoongi’s hand pushed you down until your throat contracted around him, tears welling along your waterline. You didn’t mind though — Yoongi was desperate to cum, chasing blissful orgasm, and you were happy to give it to him. 

As he thrust into your mouth, you licked along his shaft before flexing your tongue to rub against the rim of his cockhead. Yoongi’s hips stuttered and he let out a shaky breath. You peeked up at his blissful face, seeing his half-lidded, hazy eyes. Yoongi was close, teetering on the precipice of his release. His stomach was tense as you slobbered over him, the sound of your slick lips and his voice mingling in a lustful torrent. 

You groaned eagerly, letting your tongue do the work until, finally, Yoongi came. The deep, breathy groan he let out was going to stay with you forever. So was the sight of Yoongi in the throes of his orgasm: head thrown back, thighs spread, skin flushed pink all the way down his neck. The veins snaking up his arms were taut, stark under his skin. 

Yoongi’s brows were furrowed and his plush lips parted. His hips stilled as he pushed you down securely on his cock. It pulsed hotly in your mouth, spurting a thick pool of cum on your tongue, making you moan obscenely. Yoongi’s breath hitched as you closed your eyes and swallowed his seed, palm still cupping his balls. 

Like his length, they throbbed as his cum was spent. You fondled them gently to milk more out of him, not wanting to miss a single drop. You loved Yoongi’s cum — the taste of it, the feeling of it sliding hotly down your throat and settling deep in your belly. Your eyes became glassy at the thought, a dopey smile spreading across your lips. 

Yoongi gently slid himself from your mouth to paint your lips with the last drops of his cum, watching you reverently drink everything he had to offer until there was nothing left. Feeling naughty, you licked across his overstimulated tip one last time, and Yoongi shuddered, his thighs closing around her head. 

“Brat,” he huffed, but he was smiling. Your smile was just as bright as you swallowed the sticky mess on your lips and lapped at his cock with little kitten licks to clean him up. A kiss was planted on his knee before you pulled up his pants and tucked him away. “Only for you,” you said with a pat to his thighs. 

Yoongi re-buttoned his sleep shirt and pulled you up into his lap to smooth down your unruly hair. He gently ran his fingers across your chin, wiping away the mess of his escaped cum and your spit. Then he kissed you. You hummed happily against his lips before Yoongi pulled away.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You always make me feel so good.”

It was amazing, really, how you could suck his cock so unabashedly on your knees, but the gentlest words from his mouth had you blushing shyly. 

He took your hand in his and led you towards the bed where he pulled you down with him, his frame enveloping yours as the comforter fell over you two. Yoongi intertwined your fingers and rubbed his thumb across the back of your knuckles. 

He was always like this in the afterglow of whatever you two did – affectionate, attentive, a bit sleepy. Yoongi was, at heart, a passionate, considerate lover who thrived on soft and tender moments such as these. You could never get enough of it; the way he touched you, how tender and safe he made you feel. 

He rubbed his nose against your hair and slipped his hand across your stomach, solid and warm. 

“You didn’t cum?” he asked, and you shook your head no. Yoongi drummed his fingers soothingly against your skin. “You want to?”

The offer was tempting, but you felt yourself close to crashing now that you had burned through your lust, and although you couldn’t see him, you knew Yoongi must have been even sleepier than you. 

You brought his hand close to your chest and kissed his fingers sweetly.

“Later. I’m sleepy,” you said, then sighed. “Besides, I feel like I need another shower.” 

Indeed, a cool layer of sweat now covered your skin, along with some spit and cum that had dripped onto your chest. Not to mention how sticky your panties felt in your shorts. 

Yoongi chuckled sleepily and tightened his arm around you. “Okay,” he agreed, holding you close before his fingers ventured down and pressed over the seam of your shorts. He rubbed a slow, deliberate circle over your clothed mound, a teasing phantom touch that reminded you of the pleasure he could give you with those fingers. His lips were hot against your throat, and you shivered as he gripped your hip in his free hand and said, so close to your ear that you shivered, “Later.”

The thought of his head between your thighs, suckling on your poor pussy while his deft fingers prepared you for his cock, flooded your mind. You could only imagine soaking him down to the base as he slipped inside you, making you roll your hips against his fingers. 

You nodded quickly, breathily. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” 

Yoongi’s breath was like a balmy breeze on your neck as he chuckled. “Thought so.” He placed a kiss under your ear before snuggling close, finally letting himself sleep. Your own eyelids fell shut, and Yoongi’s heartbeat lulled you like a gentle rhythm in your ear until sleep overcame you too. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

Copyright © prettypearlypisces. Do not copy, rewrite, repost, translate, or otherwise alter or claim on any platforms.

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #my tags: #purple prose #o muse!: yoongi #fic: midnight

[kpopfanfictrash]

Jingle All the Way Collaboration

Coming your way this holiday season! Whether you've been naughty or nice, you'll have seven fics to unwrap by @kpopfanfictrash , @leahsfavefics , @kithtaehyung , @yoonia , @cybrsan and @sugaurora.

All second chance romance. All holiday themed. All attempting to utilize the same quote: "The holidays aren't so bad with you around." Come down the chimney, embrace your inner Vixen, and warm up this season with the Jingle All the Way collab!

Content Creator: all amazing banners are made by the truly spectacular @kithtaehyung!!

(Links to be added as fics are posted)

Title: The Ten Days of Ex-Mas

Author: @kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); angst, fluff, smut; hockey player au, second chance au, oh noo there was only one bed

Summary: Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling.

Jimin Park, star right winger of the NHL and (until recently), the love of your life, has a very large problem. Despite the courage he regularly shows on the ice, in his personal life, Jimin is kind of a coward. When you broke up this fall, he could barely admit it. Not to his neighbors. Not to his friends. Not even to his family, who are expecting him home for Christmas. In a desperate plea for more time, Jimin begs you to pretend you’re still dating – and to his surprise, you agree. Faced with a second chance, Jimin is determined not to squander it. If only fixing a relationship were as easy as falling in love.

Posting Date: December 19th, 2023

Title: All I Want for Christmas is Joon

Author: @leahsfavefics

Pairing: art historian!Namjoon x art historian!reader (f)

Rating/genre: m (18+) angst, fluff, smut, second chance au

Summary: You have had a rough year following the mutual break up with your grad school sweetheart. On a whim, you book a spontaneous trip to Europe for the holidays to help get you out of the funk you’re in and assert your independence. It would be great, if it weren’t for the fact that you keep bumping into your ex boyfriend.

Posting Date: December 21st, 2023

Title: Back to December

Author: @kithtaehyung

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader(f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); angst, fluff, smut; brother’s best friend au, wedding au, second chance au

Summary: Ever since you left town to pursue your dreams, life has fast forwarded into one big blur. so when you hit pause to attend your brother’s wedding exactly three years later, your brain instinctively resets and rewinds. because you have to spend it with the very person that had been there at the start. the one person you regret leaving behind.

Posting Date: TBD

Title: A Christmas Fix

Author: @yoonia

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader(f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+), secret baby au, s2l au, fake dating au on the side (more on that later)

Summary: One-night stands are supposed to be nothing more than just. It shouldn’t have involved seeing those two red lines looking back at you weeks later without a name or a contact number linking you back to your mystery man. Nothing more but his face. The unforgettable face that would sometimes appear in your dreams at night. So unforgettable that you immediately recognise him the moment he walks into your family home at Christmas, hand-in-hand with your older stepsister.

Title: Everwinter

Author: @kithtaehyung

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader(f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); angst, fluff, smut; ex-fwb 2 lovers au, second chance au

Summary: You told him you loved him, and that was a mistake. Because years later, you both meet up with your old friend group for a holiday trip, and neither of you have forgotten that.

Posting Date: TBD

Title: Miracle of the Season

Author: @cybrsan

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating/Genre: M (18+); angst, fluff, smut; angel au, second chance au

Summary: Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, a familiar face pops up and you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

Posting Date: December 29th, 2023

Title: A Porn Star's Guide to the Holidays

Author: @sugaurora

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader(f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut; second chance au

Summary: Jung Hoseok was your first love, a relationship that ended only because your post-high school dreams led you down two very different paths. Yours brought you to Jeon Jungkook, an innovative talent agent promising to produce the most well-loved adult entertainment artists of the era. And that’s how you became an erotic market darling, doing just about everything from outdoor gangbangs to golden showers and a long list of kinks in between.

Ten years later and you’re ready to find a new path, celebrating your exit from the business with one last appearance at the biggest adult industry convention of the year. Only when you arrive, you find yourself unexpectedly face-to-face with your high school sweetheart. Suddenly, you’re forced to confront where the years have taken you and feelings that may have never quite gone away.

What’s a former porn star to do?

Posting Date: TBD

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts series #bts au #bts holiday #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic

[casuallyimagining]

Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days. 

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified. 

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…” 

I want to apologize. 

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise. 

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone. 

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering. 

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger. 

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up. 

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you? 

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left. 

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic. 

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees. 

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables. 

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too. 

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled. 

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors. 

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park. 

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died. 

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert. 

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism. 

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it. 

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him. 

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them. 

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know. 

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in. 

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday. 

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel. 

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand. 

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward. 

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue. 

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom. 

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick. 

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room. 

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty. 

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly. 

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter. 

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets. 

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see. 

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face. 

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading. 

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent. 

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.” 

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar. 

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you. 

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform. 

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you. 

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for. 

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting. 

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him. 

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?” 

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers. 

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause. 

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space. 

At least, you think you are. 

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable. 

Oh no. 

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again. 

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger. 

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest. 

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…” 

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed. 

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing. 

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand. 

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response. 

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy. 

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him.  “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible. 

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone. 

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh. 

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings. 

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful. 

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him. 

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch. 

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden. 

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring. 

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you. 

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms. 

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

[liveyun]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 | MYG (m)

title. predator

summary. “Do you realize how dangerous this is? You're tempting me— you're tempting yourself to start something we both possibly don't want to know the consequences of.”

pairing(s). yoongi x female reader (oc)

genre. gangster au, smut

warnings. kidnäpping but not much of its descriptions, corruption and weapons, double thoughts, an..gst? , explicit warnings under the cut :)

wc. 7.8k+

a/n 1 : if you feel like some parts feel familiar to you, it's because this was previously posted in my old blog around a year ago which was inspired by ‘that that’. but this is a newly written and re-edited one :)))

taglist | main masterlist

smut warnings : masturbation(f), voyeurism and mentions of exhibitionism, fantasizing, dirty talk , slight humiliation, pet names teasing, chains and gloves 😗 , so much of teasing dear lord, bondage 🫣 , gagging with panties, bondage, oral (f. and allusions to m.) and fingering (f), finger sucking and squirting :D

“ f..fuck..”

Your eyes screw shut just the moment you feel your fingers working against the fabric of your clothed cunt, your wetness increasing with each flick of your fingers to your throbbing clit. You draw in a sharp breath, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as your moments get a bit faster, feeling your slick pool around your entrance. It's your fingers who are working, but in your mind, those ring clad fingers are the ones touching you. Pleasing you.

The feeling of your panties being the barrier is very much uncomfortable, you need to take that off to feel yourself completely.

You harshly pull your panties down your legs, feeling the cool air hitting your slick heat, making you shudder as you hiss in anticipation. You can't deal with this anymore, you need to do something. Or else you'd completely go insane thinking about that man.

It just happened like a daydream. A few days ago, you can guess, flying away like hours.

You wake up to a strong headache with your vision being blurred and watery. A pair of black Jordan shoes tapping the floor, in slow motions, comes to your sight, as if waiting for something to come is all that you could see at that moment with dots growing in your vision. The moment you feel a bit more awake, your whole body aches so bad, it feels as if you've been trashed up.

Your whole body feels as wobbly as jelly all over. Whimpering, you try to move slightly, but fail with a broken sigh. That's when you feel a strong arm wrapping around your figure, hauling you up swiftly, and you let out a small gasp at the action. Your head spins at the sudden movement as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your breathing was strained as your chest heaves up and down, trying to gulp as much oxygen as you could. You realize that you're no longer lying on the floor, but rather. . .a firm, clothed chest, which rose and fell with each breath, as you felt the thrum of heartbeats resonating in your own eardrums with each second that ticked by. Your eyes fly open at the simple realization that you were being hugged by someone, and that someone smelled like the subtle notes of lavender with a delicate undertone of citrus.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize how attractive you find this and how much your tired body seeks for the comfort his warm body provides you in the simple embrace. You want this small moment of comfort to last a bit longer, as you try to snuggle in, but the guy seems to have different plans. He yanks your fragile body away from his own, snatching away the small warmth you had, a whine building up in your throat in exhaustion.

You don't dare to open your eyes which feel as if they're burning with hot tears, but you do feel the strong gaze piercing into your skull as you feel yourself still being in his embrace, him still holding you with a single strong arm wrapped around your waist.

His unrelenting embrace felt sensitive on your skin as your muscles feel tight and sore, and you try to wriggle around a bit. Your limbs protest with pain the longer you stand on both of them, knees close to be giving up. You struggle to stay awake and not surrender to the lull of pain and tiredness which wants you to.

You don't know where you are, or how you came here, but you surely know, you can surely feel that the room, or wherever you stand is freezing cold. Suddenly, the oppressive and eerie silence was shattered by a sudden and chilling sensation.

A cold, metallic object pressed against your chin, and your eyes once again flew open with your heart racing,realizing that it was the barrel of a gun.

Your eyes can only pass away the unshed tears which had accumulated, soon finding yourself so close to a mass of silky but messy black hair, and you realize that you've been pulled back to your kidnapper’s embrace.

It felt suffocating how his alluring scent still clouded your senses, now sending them to a hayware as you take in the close proximity. You feel his grip on you tightening, his malevolent breath hot on your ear. A sinister, deep whisper slithered into your consciousness,

“Don't even think about it.”

As if you could.

Your fingers flick lightly against your heat, right above the protective skin of the sensitive pearl. Sharp gasps leave your mouth, feeling the pleasure build in your lower stomach the more you work on your delicate parts.

You were sure you were trembling on the table you were seated with your legs spread wide open, your viscous arousal dripping down to the table and making a mess on it. Would he love that it's all because of him?

Gods, if anyone enters the room without any notice of your position, the first thing they'd capture is your bare, pulsing cunt. But you were way too turned on to think straight or think about the possible consequences. Or did it rather turn you on? You didn't know.

A thin layer of sweat covers your almost nude body, your breasts heaving out with each breath and nipples begging to be touched, pebbled by the cool air and pleasure. But you're way too desperate to do that yourself- your mind screamed his name, physically unable to make any noises. Him, him, him.

“Ask no questions and be good. No harm would be done to you if you cooperate.”

His voice was laced with nonchalance, yet emerging as a sultry whisper with a slight rasp. He puts down your worn out figure to a black, slightly worn out couch, which seemed hard and dull with the appearance, yet it was more comfortable than the hard floor you had been lying on for what your spine told were hours.

You nervously squirm under his strong and unrelenting gaze, thinking that he’s implying your desire to escape from here. But much to your horror, or even delight, you are already craving the gush of the odd warmth he provided you, even if that was for a second. You gulp down your saliva, feeling your almost cracked throat ache in the process.

Your stomach churns at how wrong yet right this feels with your morals flying off the horizon, yet, a part of you asks if the ‘morals’ you were taught were actually morals, or were just ideals.

He passes you a bottle of water, sliding it towards you on the table as he keeps down the shotgun, followed by a small ‘click’ at the metal touching the wood. Your heart nearly pops up at the sight of how worn out it looks, the metal shining under the room's lighting almost looks dangerous.

The luster it holds reminds you that something as used and small could be just as dangerous regardless of how worn out it could be.

“But if you don't cooperate, this gun won't, too.”

You ought to be shivering at the tone he uses, and a part of you does. Despite the blood chilling threat, an unexpected thrill course through your exhausted veins, finding your kidnapper's dark charisma strangely alluring.

Your pupils fix on his right hand which still holds the gun. To make sure the gun wouldn't accidentally fire, he gently pushed the safety switch on the side of the gun to the "on" position.

It was a small, reassuring click that meant the gun couldn't shoot, even if he accidentally squeezed the trigger. You, or anyone else would be surprised at your knowledge about the parts of a gun but you'd rather think about your father’s ignorance of the specific part your kidnapper was cautious enough to push at the specific moment.

You were too exhausted to think that you were only eight when you first saw a similar gun lying on the coffee table, left open by no one but your father.

Your breathing is back to somewhat normal now. What actually clouds your senses is how you're obliged to agree that a man so beautiful like him, you had seldom encountered any in your limited time you were given access to freedom, back home. Yet, it surprises you that he's not some affluent multi-millionaire but a gangster or rather, a predator.

His fingers are pale and slender, with rings full on display. Following the veins of his wrist were shiny black bracelets and shell bands on top. You'd think that the color contrasts his beautiful pale skin so dramatically, if you'd stare at it enough it's gonna feel like a painting to you. Your eyes never quit checking him out silently as he sternly tells you that if you tried escaping, it won't be good for you.

From head to toe, you try to be subtle, but you cannot deny now when you'd hear your friends talk about what power the attraction towards a man holds. A small part of you wished if he could catch you checking him up, if he'd know your yearning for him.

How good would his fingers feel inside you ?

The thought alone makes your pussy gush out more arousal, your free hand toying with your hardened nipples as you moan quietly, or you try to.

You know that he would be around nearby, just to make sure you're not escaping..but you had no plans for that. You are already familiar that he's not idle enough to be camping by the cabin the whole day, and you're straight up delusional to think that the nightly visits (?) are for you.

You silently hope and pray that no one comes to rescue you sooner, because going back meant you could no longer be around him, and you'll no longer be free as you are now, as ironic that seems.

The irony intensifies because you trust him more than you trust your own father who was however on the verge to sell you off for his own benefit, for money. At times you'd wish to normally see Yoongi, not as some hostage and your abductor. So far, his men have been good, providing you food and water, and even some drinks to keep you going. You could be even proud of yourself to befriend one of them, or well, to have the goon talk to you if that is considered as befriending. They're all bark and no bite, you think, because they try a bit too hard to play even at times when you ask them for a silly stroll outside.

And if that was all, you'd happily agree to live with Yoongi. the man who seemed ice cold at the touch of eyes, but you knew he had much more for you to explore. You already know that a calm man like him gets enraged at the push of his extremes, and that leaves you pondering.

What would he actually be when his inner self is leashed out, as he pins you to the wall, hot bodies pressed against each other?

Would he bend you over the same table you're fucking yourself on?

Shit. It feels so wrong, but why does it feel so good? You're tormenting your enlarged clitoris in tight circles, feeling more and more slick drip down your hole. You cry out a silent plea, feeling the coil in your lower tummy twist harder with every flick, every touch to your delicate heat.

“Ahn..” you whimper pathetically, suddenly picturing his slender fingers working on your cunt instead of yours. His tongue which often he struck out to wet his lips..would lick your cunt lik—

Before you know it, your eyes roll back to your head, the coil in your tummy snapping into two. A loud moan of Yoongi leaves your throat, feeling your clitoris throb even harder with your orgasm. You shut your eyes close as pure waves of pleasure hit you in the form of white, pleasure so intense that you're seeing dots in your vision. You've never come so hard before like this, feeling your hole clench helplessly around nothing.

You cease your moments when you feel yourself jerk with overstimulation at a certain flick and you know it's time to stop.

Shame washes over you as you straighten up your back to a better position.

Fuck.

Yoongi was confused.

Or a bit concerned, even. It was nearly midnight when he was passing beside your cabin, already sure of you being well looked after. It was a small whimper which caught his notice and in the very first place it took him aback. He wondered what happened.

Though he had the most trusted men working under him, no one could ever know anything until something really happened. You can't risk anything. Worry itching in his veins, he advanced forward to the closed window of your cabin and listened closely. A string of profanities was all that he could hear, causing him to furrow his brows. Were you in pain ?

You weren't the target looked out for, merely just a bait. He did not want you to suffer, even if he knows that his men couldn't understand it at first when they bought you here. Even if he knows that he can’t explain it to you, he silently hopes that his further behavior could do that.

This was the reason why he immediately opened the door and the sight in front of him made his throat dry.

His eyes widened so slightly to see you spread out nude like an eagle on the table, your small hand pinching your erect nipples. Your head was lolled back and mouth hung open, occasionally the sweetest moans leaving your parted lips. his pupils shook violently to avoid travelling south and what he should absolutely not see. You were so desperately trying to get off, and he knew he should exit right away.

Fuck. He was definitely not a creep. Heat creeped up to his neck and cheeks at the realization and he turned back to leave.

Yoongi.

His name. You moaned his name and that upon reaching his ears, he needed to think. twice, thrice. With his head. the one on his neck, not with the one inside his pants, which twitched awake to life. He felt his heartbeat resonating in his own ears, and that left him feeling a single thing. Needy. He gulped, feeling his stomach churn with arousal and at the same time a gut feeling of this being wrong, and he couldn't think straight.

You let out a high pitched screech of his name with a strong of fuckfuckfuck, and he knew that you had already reached your orgasm. His cock now strained hard against the material of his pants, and Yoongi has to fight back a guttural groan from breaking free.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought.”

You freeze, your breathing labored as you recognise the voice. Fucking fuck. Blood reaches upto your cheeks as you peer up slightly with shock and embarrassment, shame doubling over inside you. You see him, Yoongi manspreading on the old couch opposite to you with a nasty smirk painted on his handsome features.

Had he been watching you?

You blink, feeling your whole body burn with embarrassment. You'd realize that if he did, he heard you doing sinful things to yourself while moaning his name. You were supposed to be scared of him, he even once held you at gunpoint, but you're not even a tad bit scared of him.

You feel oddly safe with him, around him, even if you're sitting naked and vulnerable infront of him. Maybe it's a bad idea to be so comfortable. He's not as crazy as you. How embarrassing, you consciously and immediately shut your legs close, shrinking under his strong gaze, cheeks warm and throat dry.

You gulp in nervousness, his expressions remain stoic but his eyes shine with amusement. You feel a bit too self conscious now, hoping to find your shirt where you last left it. But your eyes betray you, vision trailing down to his hands, clad with fingerless gloves which rests at his meaty, thick thighs clad with black leather pants. His manspreading has you gazing directly on his crotch area, and fucking hell.

He's girthy.

His hard-on does tell you that maybe he's been looking at you for quite a long time..

Your face heats up more if possible as your eyes succumb up to his face, an open mouthed, cocky smirk evident in his features. He cocks a brow at you, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I’ll take it that you like what you see.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You did. You really did, and much to your horror you feel your clit throb with arousal once again.

“What if it was someone else other than me who heard you? Did you really like putting up a show like that ? ”

a deep chuckle left his throat, his voice much deeper than you've heard it to be. Or maybe you're just hallucinating.

“ tsk, tsk tsk. moaning my name so loudly in the middle of the night. Are you so okay with your moans waking everyone up, kitten?”

Fuck. Your hole pulses with arousal at his words and you're unable to answer him. Kitten. The nickname makes your insides go jelly, heart thumping loudly in your chest.

Yet, just sitting up properly and lowering your head is all that you can do, biting down on your bottom lip. You're inappropriately horny for him, and the shameless arousal which spikes inside you knowing that he's just as aroused like you makes you dizzy. If you're being honest, you can't care about anyone else when he's around. You blame it on the bubbling lust inside you.

He can be intimidating, he is intimidating, but for sure no one has made you feel this safer than he does, ironically being your kidnapper. You feel cozy inside a cabin rather than the luxurious bungalow you've spent your whole life till now in.

You're crazy, because maybe a wrong move from your side and you'll lie lifeless on this same floor with no one to give a fuck. That's how it usually works.

Yet, you want to take the risk. You do want to fall prey to the predator.

Suddenly, you feel a harsh tug at your chin, your cheeks squished together and your lips painfully rounded to a pout. You feel the leather of the glove of his palm directly in contact with your chin, cradling your face. Your shaking eyes meet his own, calm but burning eyes, and he almost lets out a growl. a guttural growl that almost has you feeling fresh arousal heat up your pussy.

“Speak when you're being spoken to. "

His face is so close to your own that it almost feels heaven to see him this close. His black hair is no longer slicked back, but now open and it parts beautifully on his forehead, long enough to reach his nape. His thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and wooden brown eyes were darker than you'd have seen them. They're blown out, the dim lighting of the room merging the brown of his iris to the black of his pupil into a whole dark mass.

You're so close that if you could, you could count the number of pores on his flawless, pale skin, which always seemed like no expensive skincare could afford such a glow. Even in a situation like this, it almost makes you feel as if you're bound under his spell, a spell which has your body going lax and sanity leaving you in an instant.

His grip on you is firm, but not harsh. He makes sure it's not too much. but however it makes him feel slightly different, slightly more confused to see nothing but admiration in your own blown out eyes and it makes him frown.

Why would you look at him with such a gaze? He's not dumb. He knows that look. With his free hand he brings his fingers close to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose, frowning with his lips sealed tightly. Almost hiding a groan inside his throat, he chastises,

“I don't think you understand that I can kill you anytime with the same hands which you seem to be very fond of.”

It's a subtle warning he tries to jeer. He knew as much as he wanted this, you wanted this more. But after this would be done, things maybe won't be the same.

He got no response back, which silently pissed him more. He wanted you to speak. He wanted you to confirm that it's not a delusion. He wanted you to say it out loud. He didn't know if feeling this way towards your hostage could be rational, but lust can make you feel a lot— and he didn't know if this was right.

Squeezing your cheeks a bit more harsher this time, his right hand traveled down slowly, tracing an invisible path on your skin, leaving sparks of desire behind its wake. You feel your pussy ache with need, nipples pebble up and you nearly stifle a whimper.

His hand reaches for your knee, in such a soothing manner, prying it open that so are your legs. But it doesn't advance any further. It just rests on your heated, damp flesh, almost as if hesitant to move forward.

Your face heats up when you feel his touch ignite a passion in you and you feel a gush of your arousal trickle down your thighs. Fuck, you honestly did not expect that the touch of the cool leather could burn your skin to hell. Given that the hand belongs to Yoongi, you’re nearly gone. You're forced to look at him directly as he's still holding your face and his gaze is no longer icy.

They hold a certain glint you assume as softness, the ridges of his eyebrows no longer tight. Yet his feline gaze remains so firm that it has you feeling your heart course a foreign sensation that you could grasp as....shyness. Slowly, you feel just his fingertips on your knee run forward to the flesh of your inner thighs, testing you. Teasing you.

You're going to go insane.

“Pweash..” a whine escapes your puckered lips even before you know it. He only seems subtly pleased, opting to gently stroke the flesh of your inner thighs. Gods, the touch of leather. Did he really have to do this? Your hole clenches helplessly, having him toy with you so close to where you need him the most.

“What was that?” he lets go of his hand cradling your face, and suddenly snakes his arm to your nude waist and pulls you close. So close that you'd look at him, your noses will touch. Close enough to feel his breath fanning on your cheeks, close enough to have his fingers toying with your thighs dance near the skin of your dripping heat. Close enough to have your bare chest press against his own clothed one.

You huff slightly, both in slight ache in your cheek muscles and frustration of how smug he is.

“ Please, Yoongi.. ”

The smugness in his face disappears and the arm on your waist tightens. Yet, he makes no move to inch forward towards your aching center, and you're really lured to push your hips down to his hands, for anything. To relieve the ache. You don't know what he's thinking right now, but the seriousness on his face— laced with that deep voice of his — is a huge turn on for you, and you're shameless to admit it.

“Do you realize how dangerous this is?You're tempting me— you're tempting yourself to start something we both possibly don't want to know the consequences of,” his voice is oddly cold as his gaze remains fixed on your own. His voice sounds. . . uncertain, somehow, but not hesitant.

“Do you not want this?” you ask him, your voice small as you suddenly realize that the cabin is beginning to get colder and colder. His head drops down, his hold on you slightly wavering, but nevertheless still there— and he shakes his head. Almost as if he's trying to convince himself about his own inner questions. As if he's denying them all.

“I don't fuck around with people I'm not supposed to fuck around with.” his voice is laced with a questioning tone, you notice, and his fingers resting on your inner thighs twitch. “You. . . you're just being used as bait.”

“I know.” you ache to cradle his face in your hands, but then you realize that it maybe is a bit more intimate than you'd think. He looks dejected at you knowing the information, about the possibility that maybe your own father won't spare your life. Now or later, it's perhaps inevitable that he'd suspect you being not liable enough about his family business secrets, and he'd get a way out. To have you removed from his path.

“Why. . .?”

His expressions morph to one of despair, and his eyebrows furrow. He was so fucking confused that why'd he be so affected by something as common as that. He knows it's not something odd for patriarchal leaders killing members of their own families just for the sake of their business— he has seen a lot of them through the course of years. And what hit him in the chest was how casual you were about it— almost as if you were aware of your family’s intention all along.

He did not know why whatever he felt inside his chest for you was oddly soft, something he strictly banished himself to feel. He could not. He had no room for softness inside him. no fucking way. He tried ignoring it, but as days turned to weeks, he knew that he subconsciously broke his own rule.

“What why?” you tilt your head in confusion.

“Why are you so cool about it?”

“It is what it is.”

“You don't reali—”

“I fucking do. I fucking want you, Min Yoongi. I fucking want to stay with you. Please.” his eyes widen and you see his pupils shake and the gears inside his brain rotate.

“I do realize that you've never ever taken the responsibility of a person on your own shoulders. Your team is capable enough to take care of themselves, and you perhaps are thinking that I,” He sighs at your words, shaking his head and pressing his lips to a straight line in a grimace.

He's considering everything, not because of you or him, but for both of you. For the future.

Your thumb caressed the subtle hints of a stubble on his chin, no longer feeling the pull to stay quiet. Not when you've finally got the chance to be. “...that I possibly can't do that,”

“Even if you do, you must know that there's no going back. No looking bac—”

“No looking back, Yoongi. I got it.”

You bring forward your hands to cup his warm cheeks within your palms. His eyes widen and his mouth parts slightly, and you'd almost think it to be impossible for a dangerous, intimidating gangster like him to be so adorable. Your hands travel to his nape, where the silver jewelry rests, carefully running your fingers on the edgy metal patterns.

Your face falls at the silence and the stoic countenance you're met with.

The way his heart thumped inside his chest at your words was enough of an evidence to him, but he knew it could be just another dangerous game. He has never been with any woman he's kept hostage over the years— and he'd thought it wouldn't be his first time.

He wants to believe you— he wants to believe the honesty and innocence reflected in your eyes, but there's that part of his brain which has learnt the harder way. Yoongi knows that a single mistake and his whole group would be hustled to the blazes of the vermillion.

“Why are you doing this?” his eyes bore into your own, two pools of endless obsidian, threatening to shallow you in the mysterious depths of them.

His hand near your thigh caresses further your neglected heat, and you jolt at the sudden touch. His face inches closer to you, once again, so daringly close that once again you can make out how fierce his eyes seem right now. His warm breath falls on your now sweat dried skin near your cheeks, and there's a spike in your heartbeat.

He expects an answer, you know that he's not going to say that out loud, and the leather of his glove on the skin of your thigh feels rather soft. Your gulp down a mouthful of air, preparing to say something out loud which you haven't ever.

“It's because I. . . I want to live. I want to be set free.”

“Hnngh!!”

Some few moments ago, you were almost lured into thinking that you'll call it a night.

You felt like the gangster mode was switched off after your conversation, but he'd warned you that the conversation wasn't over yet. You'd breathed down a sigh of half relief and half wonder, pondering over how an act like. . .such, escalated to something you'd craved for. Embarrassment to confession.

But when his gloved pointer brushed the innermost skin of your thigh, your eyes widened as wide as saucers, looking up to him, who already had an open mouthed smirk painted on his face, almost as if he's amused.

“So how do you want me to fuck you?”

His crude words had a fresh wave of arousal pulsing out of you, and you'd gasped silently, accidentally batting your lashes at him. He'd groaned out loud, once again grabbing your face and pulling you close till his soft lips brushed over your own parted ones.

“Wasn’t that what you actually wanted, princess? Me to fuck you dumb?” you should've known that he indeed had a dirty mouth, but estimating how much it made your cunt throb and gush, you'd known that you didn't want him to stop. You'd moaned at his words, silently nodding furiously like a pathetic bitch.

“Did I or did I not tell you to speak when you're spoken to?” he'd growled right at your face, an arm snaking around your waist once again. His eyes had trailed down to your exposed breasts, and the hand on your waist had trailed closer to the swell of your boob. He'd licked his lips at the sight, but made no further move which had you squirming for his touch.

“Please Yoongi, please touch me. .”

A pleased smile had taken over his features at your pleas.

“Flashing these tits right on my face and then asking me nicely. Who am I to deny? Whatever princess wants, princess gets.”

And with that, he'd dipped down to your breasts, your back immediately arching up to his greedy mouth where he'd toyed with your hard nips till your breasts were spotted with blooming purple marks.

But right now, your throat already feels dry crying out his name repeatedly as you can only see the dark mass of raven hair peeking in between your thighs, tickling you over and over as his skilled mouth brings you closer and closer to a blinding climax.

Your eyes are glossy and your nipples hurt as how erect they are, but you cannot do anything about it. Your arms are restrained with the leather of Yoongi’s belt digging into your flesh, and the slight pain intensifies the sparks of pleasure traveling up your body from down your cunt.

You squirm with a muffled whine, eyes burning with tears at how many times your already sensitive cunt was brought closer to a teeth clashing orgasm, only to have it denied by him. He'd raise his head to look up at you, his lips shiny with spit and your arousal, absolutely smug about how his tongue alone has you fucked up completely. His gloved hands would stroke the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, gently bringing them closer to your sensitive clitoris.

His thumb would gently circle around the protective skin covering your nub and you'd muffle a needy moan, unable to speak because you'd riled him up so bad, he had to shove your panties down your mouth with a growl and a promise that when he's done with you, you won't be even able to hobble well.

Fuck, you were shameless to admit that him being in charge and asking you each time whether the belt hurt you, or did you really like that, made your pussy gush out more and more for him to devour it all up.

His tongue flicks right on the top of your clit, and your back arches like the nth time off the table at how light headed the pleasure is making you feel. You feel like combusting , but also, not quite yet with how his touches are intense but gentle. You're now on the edge to burst out to the sea of such a delicious torture of bliss— and you'd do anything for him to do it for you.

You grind your hips right on his face as his tongue laps down your arousal, sucking gently on your soaked folds as you feel your thighs shake with the little leeway he gives you. His nose nudges your clit and you shiver. His nose bumps against your flesh again, he's doing it exactly on purpose to have you writhing underneath him.

His face is flushed— hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and how dark his pupils are, you know that he's just as fucked as you are.

“This cunt is,” a lick to your soaked folds, the wet muscle nudging them open to dive in further, “fucking divine.” and he fucks his tongue right in, the vibration of his voice quivering through your body.

With a broken whine, you try to gyrate your hips to chase the immense euphoria he's bringing you, feeling your walls clench around his wet muscle. He fucks his tongue in a vicious manner, curling it up to touch the tips of your walls and fucking it back out; all whilst the plane of his nose rubs against your poor, tender clit with each commotion.

His tongue stills after he feels you grind against his face with a rough fervor and your velvety walls pulsate around his tongue. You whine at the loss of momentum, already having your peak being snatched away from you, once again.

His lips suck around your nether ones for a last, long caress and then parts away ; licking up his lips coated in your arousal and his spit, some of which dribbles down his chin. He's quick to collect them all using his fingers and hover over your figure; some of his dainty chains are long enough to brush over your bare clavicles, dangling over you.

His black shirt sticks to his body and you can almost figure out the planes of his body. It's completely unfair, you being completely naked and him being completely clothed. He seems to like the way you wiggle your hips underneath him, looking up at him with eyes you think you weren't capable of batting much.

Because he smirks at your fucked up, desparate expression and pushes away the long, sweaty strands of raven falling from his head to the side with his clean hands, and brings his soiled fingers to your lips.

“Taste yourself,” his voice has a rasp and you comply, opening up, only to have him push two of his fingers inside your warm cavern, having your panties dragged out. The material of the smooth leather with the viscous arousal wrapped around his slender fingers sits heavy on your tastebuds, and you immediately swirl your tongue to savor it more.

He groans, and immediately withdraws his fingers, now clean. His breathing is erratic as he leans down to steal a quick kiss from you, and you whine when you feel him pull away. He says nothing, but just whispers words of praise in your ears, mindful of your restraints. Your arms feel numb to move by the time he gently unbuckles the belt around your wrist, and he catches you off guard once again when he pulls you into a kiss, his tongue sneaking in between your gasps and tangling with yours.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest when he parts away from you, resting his forehead against yours.

“Gonna finger you now,” his voice is brisk with a pant at the end. His neck is flushed red, glistening with sweat with a slight pant. “Princess deserves the best of the night. Not just some fondling.”

Your face feels warm as you catch onto what he's referring to.

Once again, you find yourself laying down with a throb in your cunt, and him kneeling in between your spread legs to pepper soft kisses on the now dried, slightly damp thighs. When his tongue flickers on the sensitive skin, you jolt and struggle to get up on your elbows, because as much as you're enjoying this, it's a torture that he did not allow you to come at all.

Your cunt pulses and aches for him, but he seems to take his sweet time; softly passing his hands to stroke your flesh and mark them.

When a singular finger strokes the length of your soaked slit, your mouth falls open in a gasp. The leather of his gloves add to the friction as he drags his fingers in an up and down motion, spreading your arousal around. Yoongi is so keen on observing your cunt closely, and there's a desire inside you to tuck away the long, stray strand of his hair back. You're already inching your hand forward when his dark eyes snap up to yours, stopping you in your moments.

You don't even have the time to withdraw your hands when a pair of strong arms curl on the underside of your thighs and pull you forward, licking a stripe right above where his fingers are nested; and in no time you feel the plane of his tongue attacking your poor nub with kitten licks.

“God,” you gasp out loud, trashing your arms around to find any leverage as you fall flat on the table. Your fingers can only claw the edge of the table as his tongue passes over the slick of your skit with each lick, and the air is punched out of lungs the moment you feel two of his digits enter your slit with ease.

You feel his chuckle vibrate against you which goes straight to your clit. “No God will hear you out, doll.”

Fuck. Fuck. You can only arch your back in a broken moan of his name when you feel his fingers move inside of you, not yet thrusting, but curling up. It burns a bit, but the heady bliss is already making your head spin with the added slight pain. He raises his head up to see how fucked you already look, and he knows that all the edging has brought you so close already that he can feel your tight walls tighten impossibly tight around his fingers.

He feels his cock twitch in his pants, begging for attention when he notices your slick trickling down the material of his glove, right in between the joints of his fingers as he stays still.

“M-move, you can move..” the end of your sentence ends up in a whine as his fingers curl forward in full force, immediately finding the spongy area which has lights bursting behind your eyelids. He soons picks up the pace, his fingers thrusting in and out your cunt in a swift motion which has you gasping for his name.

The soft jagged edges of his glove brushes the walls of your pussy with each pump, and you've never ever felt so good during fingering without any clitoris stimulation. You'd tried that a few times, only to have you grumbling because of your much smaller digits and a need to have something more. And he's right there. Yoongi’s fingers, much thicker and longer than your own ones, feel delirious inside you.

“You’re so tight, princess,” Yoongi groans when he feels you tighten around him with each thrust, pushing you down to your impending orgasm with each pump, with each caress.

Your veins feel like they're on fire, your nipples aching to be touched, and so you do. Pulling them taut between your nimble fingers, your back bows off the table when Yoongi lunches down to close his pretty lips around your neglected clit. Oh fuck. . . ! That feels so fucking amazing, and you're sure you feel his fingers abuse that spot inside of you simultaneously, all while giving his attention to your burning flesh. You're so fucking close that you can taste your orgasm, and there's a slight rush thinking if he'd egde you this time too.

Your eyes shut close the moment his fingers go knuckles inside for a thrust and curls, and at once his lips suction around your clit, hard.

You're seeing Heaven.

You scream out when your orgasm washes over you, intensified with each you were denied off. Your back feels like it flew off the table as your orgasm dawn's down on you like an avalanche, sliding off all around your body in red hot euphoria as Yoongi’s speedy ministrations don't cease. You miss how audibly he moans out loud when a particular thrust inside your cunt has a gush of clear liquid squirting out, his mouth never leaving your now fully erect clit.

His tongue swirls around and sucks, while his fingers stroke the spot inside you. And this time when your hips gyrate up in full force to his face and he hears another scream of his name and a choking resistance to his fingers inside you, he knows that he's fulfilled his goal.

Your orgasm seems to hit you over and over, and over. Your abdominal muscles are dense by the time you feel yourself twitch with the aftershocks of your release, and dear fucking god. You've never come this hard in your life before, and you do know that the man between your legs is the reason.

You hoist yourself up to yourself up to your elbows to look at him who's half hovering over you, but oh god.

He's drenched.

His lower face glistens with moisture and his t-shirt looks like someone just shot him with a water gun, the damp material forming quite a big wet spot right below his collar. He's wide eyed, smirking with a breathy laugh which makes you want to curl up. Fucking hell. No wonder why your orgasm felt so blinding, and you can still feel his warm hands on your thighs, gently stroking your thighs with soft passes.

Oh god, you just squirted.

Yoongi made you squirt. Was that way too much? You don't even know! But for Yoongi, he's smiling as everything to him is riveting, of course.

You're about to hide your face in your palms when Yoongi stops you. His gloves felt damp on your skin, and when you peel your eyes open, he's so dangerously close. So close which makes your head spin and heart race, once again.

“That’s what a real orgasm is, princess. Don't be ashamed.” He helps you get up the table, your legs feeling like fresh pudding and thighs burning. He can only snort in amusement, when you pout at him. What's so funny?

“It was hot as fuck.”

“What?” face warm, you try to cover yourself to which Yoongi lazily raises a brow. He just points a finger to your parted legs. He. . .!

“You. Squirting. It was hot as fuck. Plus the screams were like cherry on the top,” he shrugs, almost as if he didn't fucking wreck you with just his skilled tongue and fingers. Your face burns up at how casually he says that, and before you can think, you blurt out, “You think so?”

“Mm.”

It's your turn to raise a brow. You don't feel scared of him anymore, not even when the post nut clarity is hitting you. You know what you two did, and there's no going back. You feel rather at ease with how he holds one of your palms and slings an arm around your waist to haul you down the table, and you know that this is your chance.

You drop down to your knees.

And now it's him who's wide eyed. His clothed erection stands right in front of your face, almost as if struggling to get out of the hard confines of his jeans. The dent looks promising in size, and you nearly poke out your tongue to give it a lick, but you refrain. You hear him inhale a sharp breath, his hand already coming down to your shoulder to hoist you up, but you swat his hands away.

“What. . .what are you doing?” his voice comes out in a slightly surprised tone, the rasp of it already making you impatient. How could he not pay attention to himself when he's himself so fucking hard? Your hands slowly grab his meaty thighs over his denims which tense under your touch. You lick your lips, purposefully batting your eyelashes when you peer up at him, trying to look as small as you can.

Trying to make him as good as he made you feel, but you doubt your inexperienced ass could do that.

“Can’t you see? Returning your favor.”

He looks torn. The crease in between his eyebrows tell that he's hesitant for this, and he doesn't like that bratty tone you'd just used. But the parted lips imparting short breaths tell otherwise. His reply comes rather quickly, “You don't have to.”

You were sure to be hallucinating, but you could see a small twitch to his length, and you immediately felt your nether gates flooding. Oh god. You must return the favour, then.

“I want to, Yoongi, would you let me, please?”

Completely naked, batting eyelashes, pretty face and tempting view of boobs. Nimble fingers tracing the pathway of his thighs, dangerously close to his aching cock. He did want you, but. . . fuck. . ! And not to deny the image he gets of you kneeling down in front of him, your toes facing outwards and ass purposefully wiggling out, Yoongi knows he's about to bust a nut. And that too, very soon.

Who the fuck is he to deny, then.

“Since you begged for it,” his hands reach to tuck a stray hair out of your beautiful face, feeling his abdominal muscles clench when your fingers brush against his length, he smiles with a shaky exhale.

“Go ahead and take what's yours.”

a/n : soo~ what do we think? 🤒

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#yoongi smut #yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader #bts x female reader #min yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fics #bts au #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios

[gggukniverse]

basic needs | jjk, myg

title: basic needs

pairing: jungkook x f!reader, yoongi x f!reader

rating/genre: m, smut, roommates au

summary: missing sex while being stuck in your apartment with your two roommates during quarantine is being the worst nightmare you could've imagined. fortunately, you're not the only one who's touch starved.

warnings: sexual tension, getting caught during sex, voyeurism, edging, dirty talk, protected and unprotected sex (pls be safe y'all), creampie, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), cum eating, finger sucking, hair pulling, praising, begging, reader gets called a whore once, a little yoongi x jungkook 👀.

wordcount: 6k

note: okay... i don't know where this came from like i didn't even know i had all of this in me 🧍🏻‍♀️ i kept gasping at my own writing, i think i got too carried away haha i just hope you like it. also pls keep in mind english is noth my first language !! let's go !

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yoongi has been in his room all afternoon, something about working on a new track, and jungkook is currently taking a shower so you have the living room for yourself, some old sitcom playing on the background but you're paying more attention to your phone. that's until you hear footsteps coming into the living room from the corridor.

"hey, loser." jungkook greets you as he ruffles his damp hair from the shower with his hands.

you hate yourself for pausing to look at his toned body, the fucker walked out of the bathroom shirtless. you blame it on your lack of sex.

"what are you watching?" he doesn't seem to notice or care about you looking at his abs, his eyes narrowed towards the tv while he puts on the shirt he was grabbing.

"i'm not really watching anything... you can play whatever you want." you try to act unbothered when he decides to grab both of your legs and raise them a little to sit on the couch to then let them fall on his lap, letting you stay lying down. his warm hands on your bare legs make you get goosebumps and you pray he doesn't notice.

what the hell is happening to you? get it together, it's just jungkook.

"wanna watch a movie?" jungkook looks at you and starts to run his fingertips through your legs in a soothing way. you're gonna go crazy over how nice it feels after being touch starved for so long.

"sure." you shrug, trying to focus on your twitter timeline and not on his hands caressing your legs.

one of his hands moves away from your legs to grab the remote on the armrest of the couch and soon after he's opening the netflix app on the tv. you turn your head to look at him when you feel his free hand starting to caress your skin again while he looks through the movies catalog. he's not looking at you so you take the opportunity to really look at his hand.

the inked hand looks strangely nice against your pale skin. his hands are actually really nice, they're big too, you wonder how they would feel–

"anything in mind?" his voice thanfully brings you back to reality and you panic, quickly looking up at his face. he's still not looking at you.

it's impossible he knows you were staring at him, right?

"what?" you mutter with wide eyes and he finally throws you a quick glance before looking back at the tv.

"any movie you'd like to watch?"

oh.

"uh... i don't really have any in mind, you can play what you want."

"sure there's not any cheesy romantic movie you want to watch?" he's teasing you now. it's not the first time he's complained about you always watching romantic movies.

"shut up, i know you like them too," and he does. you've caught him tearing up that time you watched the notebook together. "just play something already."

"i don't know what to play, though." he keeps scrolling through all of the movies.

"okay. keep scrolling and close your eyes, stop whenever you want to and open your eyes. we'll watch that." you propose and he narrows his eyes as if he's thinking about it but ends up nodding. "close your eyes then."

you see him closing his eyes and hear the sound of the scrolling on the tv so you keep staring at him in case he cheats.

"that one." jungkook stops and opens his eyes just at the same time you turn to the tv.

"i don't know that one." you mutter after reading the title.

"a romantic one, you won." he teases again while he silently reads the synopsis and you sigh, rolling your eyes back.

"c'mon, play it."

you're pleased when the movie turns out to be kinda good. it's just another really cliché romantic story but you love movies like that. jungkook is enjoying it too even though he tries to act it out. you smile each time he makes a comment about the movie, he can never shut up when watching something.

"stuff like that doesn't happen in real life." he says and you let out a chuckle.

"it's a movie, kook." tou reply and try not to think about his hands still caressing your legs. it's been like that during all the movie, maybe he hasn't even noticed he's still doing it.

it's nothing new that jungkook is a really touchy person, he's always been touchy with you and even with yoongi, he likes to cuddle, likes to touch your hair. but this time it feels so different because of the lack of touch you've been having. it is so embarrassing to admit how nice his hands feel on you.

never in two years living with him would you have imagined jungkook could be quiet during a movie until a sex scene comes up. he suddenly goes quiet. his hand stops moving.

it's awkward. it's always awkward to watch a sex scene with someone else. if you were watching the movie with your best friend it would be totally different, but this is jungkook, your roommate, your roommate you don't have any type of relationship outside this apartment.

you feel tense, your whole body feels tense, and you pray that he doesn't notice. but you flinch when his hand squeezes your thigh a little too hard.

"oh shit, sorry." he apologizes quickly with a chuckle that seems way too forced.

good, you're both tense and awkward.

"don't worry." you reply just as quickly and he nods before turning back to the tv. he looks so focused on the movie, like he's holding his breath. you only realize you've been staring when he looks back at you.

"you okay?" jungkook is looking at you with a soft smile but also with something in his eyes you've never really seen on him.

"y-yeah," you wanna punch yourself in the face for stuttering but manage to move your legs off his lap to stand up from the couch. "i need something to drink, you keep watching the movie." your bare feet are already guiding you to the kitchen when you hear him humming.

maybe you end up spending too much time in the kitchen. you chug down a glass of water as soon as you get there but when you're finished you leave the glass on the sink and then you lean back on the isle, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down.

you hate how you can still feel jungkook's touch on your legs, how he looked so immersed in the movie, how you can't stop thinking about him squeezing a little too hard when the girl in the movie let out a loud moan, how his gaze was so dark when he looked at you, how you needed to feel his hands on you again.

god, you really need to have sex.

the door creaking open makes you snap out of your thoughts and look up. you quickly straighten up and clear your throat. jungkook is right there by the door looking at you.

"hey," he says nonchalantly and walks to the fridge. "you okay?" his voice is quiet as he grabs the bottle of orange juice.

"yeah! perfectly fine." you nod while he takes a sip of the juice.

he hums and closes the bottle. "you were taking too long, you're gonna miss the rest of the movie."

"yeah, i-"

"i'm not dumb, y/n. you can say you were uncomfortable because of the movie." he chuckles and you feel so stupid.

"no! i wasn't uncomfortable.. it's just- i-" you struggle to find the words and just feel even more stupid

"what is it?" he arches an eyebrow and walks to stand next to you, leaning back against the kitchen isle too.

"i just... fuck, i need to have sex." you snap and run your hands through your hair in frustration. "i'm gonna go crazy if i have to stay inside this house one more fucking day. i haven't had sex in three months."

"we've been quarantined for a month." jungkook points out looking at you with narrowed eyes like he's about to say something else.

"i know, shut up." you stop him before he dares to tease you for it.

"i get it." he says after a few seconds in silence and now you're the one frowning and looking at him.

"huh?"

"i need to have sex too."

oh.

"i get your frustration, sometimes i feel like i'm gonna go crazy too." he looks forward, avoiding your stare.

"oh yeah, i'm sure you're not used to not having a girl bouncing on your dick every single night." the comment was meant to tease him but you just end up feeling your heart start beating too fast at the thought of bouncing on a dick too.

you place your hands on the isle right behind your back and jump a little to sit on top of it, hissing a little because of the cold surface on your exposed thighs.

"hey, it wasn't like that before quarantine!" jungkook whines and pouts like a child and it causes a chuckle to escape your lips. "i wish, though."

"you're gross."

"as if you didn't want to bounce on a dick every single night." he looks at you with an arched eyebrow and a little smirk.

a weird feeling between your legs makes you close them instantly and you swear you can see jungkook looking down really quick before turning and walking back to the fridge to leave the juice bottle back in. when he turns around again you have to fight back a gasp at the sight of the tent he has on his sweatpants. jungkook is hard.

it's embarrasing how bad you need some dick now, it really is, but you look down and close your legs even tighter.

"i should... go to sleep, it's kinda late." you mutter and as soon as you're gonna hop off the counter there's a hand right next to your thigh on the counter.

"wait." jungkook says and you have to look up, he's standing right in front of you.

"yeah?" your voice is just as quiet as before.

"did you get worked up watching the movie?" he asks with a little knowing smile and you want to die from embarrassment.

"no!" you lie, pushing him back a little. "i didn't." you shake your head but he only chuckles, your head is lowering down again.

"it's okay, y/n." his hand brushes against your exposed thigh from where it's placed on the counter and you shiver.

"i didn't." you insist even though you know you're being so fucking obvious.

"open your legs."

a whine escapes your lips at the simple words and you're so embarrassed you wanna die, your face feels so hot.

"jungkook..." you don't want to look up at him but he just moves even closer.

"i know," he coos like he's sorry for you. and it is hot. "it's been so long since someone has talked to you like this, right?"

you just hum in response and shiver again when he pushes one of your strands of hair behind your ear.

"you need someone to take care of you, right?" he purrs, his lips softly brushing against your ear.

"fuck." you sigh and finally look up. "jungkook."

"you need it just as much as me." he says looking right into your eyes. "if you let me..."

"please."

you can't even think straight anymore.

"please, what?"

you don't answer, just spread your legs. he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"y/n."

"please, touch me." you don't think you've ever heard your voice come out so whiny but jungkook seems to like it because he's immediately taking the last step forward he can take and gets between your thighs, placing his hands on your thighs.

"say that again." he says, looking down at your lips.

"touch me." you don't even think about it, because that would probably fuck everything up. it's better this way.

jungkook looks down between your bodies and one of his hands goes up your thigh until it reaches the fabric of your shorts, then it goes up to the elastic waistband. you keep your eyes on his face while he slips his hand under your shorts and finds the wet patch in your panties with his fingers. the groan that leaves his lips when he gets to feel how wet you are is louder than the moan you let out at the same time.

"holy fuck, you're so wet." his fingers start moving slowly against your clothed folds.

"fuck, kook." you sigh and move your hips even closer to him, trying to chase the feeling of his fingers on you.

"mhh... i know," jungkook coos again and you know you're gonna go crazy if he keeps taking to you like that. "feels good, right?" he hums and you're about to respond when he pushes your panties to the side and really touches you.

"fuck." you throw your head back as he runs his fingers through your wet folds.

"god, you're dripping. making a mess down here." jungkook groans and looks up at you. you must be a blushing mess already, your cheeks are burning and you literally feel lightheaded even if you haven't even done anything yet. "please, let me kiss you." he almost begs and you suddenly feel like you're gonna melt right on that counter.

before he can ask again you're throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss. you don't know if you're really fucking turned on or if he's just a really good kisser but you melt into the kiss. jungkook swallows the moans that escape your lips when he slips a finger inside so easily and starts fucking you with it.

"kook..." you moan against his lips. it feels so good to be touched again that your legs are already shaking.

"pretty." jungkook says and starts moving down, leaving a couple kisses on your jaw before kissing and sucking on your neck.

"jungkook- fuck." you sigh, tugging at his hair desperately. "seriously, it's been... it's been so long."

"i know." jungkook hums against your neck and sucks a mark on it as he adds another finger inside you.

"feels so good." you moan and a little squeak slips out of your mouth when he curls his fingers inside of you and finds that sweet spot. "it's so... fuck, it's so soon but i'm gonna cum, kook." you don't even have the mind to be embarrassed about it. it feels too good.

but jungkook suddenly stops kissing your neck and pulls back completely, his hand moving away from inside your pants. the complain about to slip out of your mouth dies in your throat when you see him sucking on his fingers and groaning.

"fuck, so sweet."

you're gonna go crazy.

"your feet on the ground, and turn around." he orders and you're so desperate you obey right away, jumping from the counter and turning around to give him your back. "you need to tell me if you really want this because it's gonna be easier to just stop now." one of his hands finds your waist and he pulls you against his body, you moan at the feeling of his clothed hard dick against your ass.

"yes, fuck, yes please." you breathe out and feel his hands on the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down immediately along with your panties. "wait, wait."

"mh?"

"yoongi, he's home." you mentally applaud your brain for being rational enough to remember you're not alone in the house.

"he doesn't leave his room for hours, don't worry about." he shrugs and you can see him pulling his sweatpants down.

"but- ah!" you whine when he pushes one of your feet further to the side so your legs spread a little more. "jungkook..." you want to insist on the fact that you're not alone but his fingers find your pussy again.

"you're fucking dripping." he sighs and easily slips two fingers inside, making you put your hand on your mouth not to be loud. "fuck, so tight."

you can't help but bend down on the counter, pushing your ass towards him to chase his fingers. jungkook straight up moans at the sight.

"please, need you inside." you whimper when he adds a third finger and starts fucking you with them at a pace that drives you crazy.

"what was that?" he asks and moves even faster. the fucker is teasing you.

"kook, need you to fuck me."

he doesn't seem to think about it twice before he reaches for one of the kitchen drawers where a box of condoms is hidden and takes one out. you can notice he's trying to hold himself back and take his time with you but he's just as eager as you, so he can't slow down now.

"you sure about this, right?" he asks. you're looking at him over your shoulder as he rolls the condom down his cock.

"i'm fucking dripping, kook. of course i'm sure." you're starting to get anxious, you wiggle your ass just to let him know you're ready for him.

a little sigh leaves your mouth when jungkook rubs his tip against your folds, just when you think he's about to slip inside he just rubs it again.

"fucking tease." you mutter with your cheek pressed against the cold surface of the counter. "just fuck m- oh!" you can't help the moan that leaves your mouth when he slips inside all the way.

"shit, so tight." jungkook hisses behind you and you whine, your walls clenching so hard around him. his hands grip on your hips so hard you're sure it's gonna leave a mark.

"it's been.. too long- fuck." you remind him as he pulls back a little just to thrust inside again.

"yeah, me too, i'm not gonna last." He warns and you almost giggle because at least you're both equally desperate.

"i don't care, just make me cum." you beg through a moan when he thrusts inside again.

"come here." one of his arms wraps around your waist and straightens you up so your back is arched against his chest, keeping you in place. you're both still wearing your shirts and your pants and underwear are just pooling by your ankles, so horny you didn't even waste time to get undressed.

"holy fuck!" you gasp when his thrusts hit a different way in the new angle and soon after, jungkook's hand is over your mouth.

"want every fucking neighbor to hear you?" he whispers against your ear and you feel your walls clenching around him again. "fuck, y/n, keep doing that and i'll cum in two seconds." his hand drops from your mouth to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it but not adding any pressure, just keeping you in place.

"so big." you whimper helplessly, your hands still flat on the counter because you feel like your legs could betray you right now. "you feel so fucking good."

you feel his hand closing a little around your neck and your eyes roll back at the feeling, he starts fucking you even faster. there are drops of sweat rolling down your forehead already but you don't care, not when you're finally having a cock inside of you. and god, he's fucking you good, so good that you don't feel embarrassed at how close you feel already.

"feels good?" jungkook hums and you can only whine in response. "fuck, your pussy is swallowing my cock, y/n, doesn't want me to leave." he groans and his thrusts are so hard that you're starting to see white dots. "you're so good, y/n."

"f-fuck... please, need... need to cum." you must sound pathetic right now but you can't bring yourself to care. "touch me, kook, make me cum."

his free hand is moving quickly, finding your clit again and rubbing fast circles that almost make you start crying.

"gonna cum, baby?" you feel his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers. the pet name makes you clench even harder around him. "wanna cum on my cock?" he sounds so gone too, you know he's close too. if you knew he was gonna fuck you this good you would've actually taken your time with him, but you let it pass for now because you're both needy and just need to get off.

"yeah." you unconsciously let out the most pornographic moan you've ever heard from yourself and jungkook start giving sloppy thrusts, you're both so close. "kook, i'm gonna cum." you manage to let out and right after your mouth can't even make sounds anymore.

"fuck, y/n."

you're so close. you're gonne cum. so fucking close.

but the door creaks open and you both freeze, not being able to contain your moans at the feeling of jungkook bottoming out once again.

"yoongi!" you scream at the boy standing by the door at the same time as jungkook screams 'hyung!'. you try your best to cover yourself by pulling your shirt down. jungkook's hand drops from your neck to rest on your waist.

"oh, don't stop." yoongi shrugs as if he's just caught you chopping vegetables.

"huh?" jungkook mutters behind you and you can feel it about to move away but you reach for his thigh with your hand to keep him there.

"kook, please." you don't know what got into you. you're so desperate to cum you don't even mind yoongi being there in front of you.

"see? she wants you to keep going." yoongi's voice is so calm as he slowly walks towards you, leaning back against the counter, just right next to where you both are.

you look down as your cheeks start burning and you clench around jungkook. why the hell are you getting turned on by being watched by your roommate while getting fucked by your other roommate?

"fuck, y/n." you know jungkook is hissing because you got impossibly tight around him and you can hear Yoongi's little chuckle. "you're just gonna stand there?" the younger asks his friend.

"i don't think she minds." yoongi replies and you can almost see the smug smile on his face even if you're staring at the counter.

"y/n?" jungkook mutters behind you but you don't answer. you're so close, so embarrassed and so turned on that you're scared your voice will come out in a pathetic whine.

"y/n," yoongi's deeper voice calls for you too but you don't reply either. "look at me, y/n," he speaks again and you bite your lip not to let out another moan because you're sure you're currently creaming jungkook's cock. "pull her hair so she looks at me, jungkook."

your breath hitches then the youngest does just as yoongi says and a moan finally escapes your throat as he tugs at your hair and brings your head up, turning it a little to the side so you can face the boy beside you. he's handling you as if you were a doll. and the second you lock eyes with yoongi you feel numb. his eyes are so dark, you've never really seen him looking at you like that. a little smirk grows on his face as he looks all over your face. you probably look a mess.

"do you want me to stay?" he asks with an unusual soft voice that makes your legs shake.

"hyung." jungkook says with a warning tone, his cock throbbing inside you. he needs to cum too.

"shut up," yoongi gives jungkook a quick look and turns to you again. "y/n?" the words don't even leave your mouth, you can't speak. "what? jungkookie was fucking you so good you can't even talk?" he speaks with a condescending tone, like he's sorry for you. you close your eyes as you clench around jungkook again.

"fuck, y/n." jungkook's free hand squeezes the flesh on your hip.

"keep fucking her, kook," yoongi finally says. "let's see if you can make her talk again."

jungkook doesn't need to be told twice because he lets go of your hair and starts moving again without even questioning him. your head stays in place for yoongi to see you but your eyes are still closed. you must be going crazy because you don't think you've ever felt this good during sex and it is just a quick fuck in the kitchen with your roommate while your other roommate looks at you.

after a specific thrust that hits just where you need it you arch your back until your head falls on jungkook's shoulder, you throw one of your arms behind you so you can reach jungkook's hair and keep him close. your fingers tangle with the soft locks while he fucks you at a brutal pace.

"right there, kook..." you moan.

"like that?" he whines, fucking whines, against your ear as he keeps thrusting against that sweet spot inside you and you nod frantically. one of his hands stays on the counter right next to yours and the other sneaks under your shirt and finally cups over one of your boobs, a groan hits your ear.

"s-sensitive.." you warn him but he squeezes your boob anyway. you cry out. you're so close again, so fucking close.

"stop." yoongi says and jungkook halts his movements immediately as if he was under his spell.

"fuck, yoongi." you choke on a moan. when you open your eyes you can see yoongi looking down at where your bodies meet, then he looks at jungkook.

"jungkook," yoongi says and jungkook hums in response. "you got tested when i did, you're clean." he tells him and then he looks at you. "are you clean? and on the pill?"

"yeah," you nod. "yes to both." you suddenly feel shy again. they both sigh at your answer and you gulp, watching yoongi turning to jungkook with an arched eyebrow.

"then why are you wearing a condom?" yoongi asks. and he's not wrong. you usually didn't risk it, you always use to have protected sex, but now that you see it like this you wonder why you didn't ask jungkook if he was clean from the start.

"hyung... i don't know if she-" jungkook mutters like he's not sure but you can clearly feel his cock twitching inside you.

"do you want him to wear the condom?" yoongi asks you, his voice still calm and his look unbothered.

"y/n, you don't have t-"

"take it off." you cut Jungkook off and yoongi smiles. you feel so nice after seeing his reaction that you wonder if you're doing this just to make him feel proud. it feels good.

"pull out, kookie," yoongi says and walks towards him, you turn your head to look back at them. jungkook obeys quickly, your walls squeezing him like you want to keep him inside. "good," yours and jungkook's breaths hitch when yoongi himself takes the condom off of his cock and goes to throw it on the trash. "you leaked a lot, damn." he say through a breathy chuckle when he comes back and decides to stand right behind jungkook.

"hyung."

"she must feel good, right?" yoongi is suddenly resting his chin on his shoulder and looking down. your eyes follow yoongi's and then roll back when you see yoongi's hand wrapping around jungkook's cock and slowly stroking him to spread the precum on his tip all over his length.

"fuck, hyung." the boy moans and your pussy throbs.

god, this is so fucking hot you could cum if they kept that going for a little longer. but yoongi drops his sticky hand and looks at you tilting his head and lightly raising his eyebrows.

"open your mouth." he says and you don't question him, just open your mouth and welcome two of his fingers inside.

you moan around them as you suck and swallow jungkook's taste off them while yoongi stares at your lips, his tongue licking the corner of his lips.

"clean my hand." his fingers drop from your mouth and you stick your tongue out, one of your hands wrapping around his wrist while you run your tongue all over his palm and fingers, cleaning jungkook off of him.

they're both looking at you like they want to eat you up and you feel so powerful yet you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs by this point. yoongi drops his hand when you've cleaned it completely and then looks at jungkook.

"c'mon, kookie, fuck her now." he says really close to jungkook's ear and the younger obeys instantly, slipping inside you and groaning at the feeling. "good boy." yoongi chuckles as jungkook bottoms out.

"so good." you moan, already feeling the clear difference in having him inside with nothing in between. a whimper is forced out of your mouth when jungkook starts thrusting into you again.

"that feels good, right?" yoongi asks and moves to stand beside you again, to watch it all happen.

"mhm..." you moan. "please... jungkook- please."

"so pretty when you beg." yoongi puts his fingers under your chin to make you look at him. "such a pretty whore."

"oh my god!" your eyes roll back. you feel yourself just a second away from coming. "gonna cum... fuck..."

"yeah, i can fucking feel you." jungkook breathes out. "fuck." his thrusts become sloppy real fast. he's close too.

"jungkook..." you completely bend over the counter again because your arms can't support your weight anymore, your cheek gets smushed against the cold surface. "i'm- shit... i'm coming." you whimper.

"then cum." yoongi's voice is all you need to get there. a shocking wave of pleasure runs through your whole body while you clench hard around him.

"shit, so tight." jungkook mutters behind you and one of your weak arms reaches behind to grab at his thigh. "so close, y/n."

"please." your whole body is shaking with oversensitivity.

"want me to pull out?" jungkook asks.

"no... please," you beg. "come inside, baby." you cry out.

"c'mon jungkook, cum." yoongi says and that seems like enough for jungkook too, because you feel his throbbing cock releasing inside of you.

"fuck," jungkook mumbles. "y/n, come here." his hands are on your waist again.

"i can't." you let out a weak chuckle but jungkook is suddenly wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up.

"need to kiss you." he says and you immediately turn your head to find his lips. you kiss him slow, nothing like the kisses you shared before, and it feels good to kiss jungkook like that.

he's the one that breaks the kiss and when you try to chase his lips again he just chuckles and gives your hip a soft slap.

"kiss yoongi too." he whispers just at the same time as you feel a hand wrapping around your neck.

yoongi's lips are on yours as soon as you turn around. you hum through the kiss and bring one of your hands up to his cheek, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss. he swallows your moan when jungkook's cock finally slips out of you and you feel his cum spilling out. yoongi breaks the kiss when jungkook mumbles something you can't really hear.

"shit..." you close your legs when you feel jungkook's cum spilling out and dripping down your thigh. "it's so messy."

"not for long," yoongi suddenly grabs you and brings you to the fridge, making you lean back against it as he drops to his knees in front of you. you stop breathing for a second. "i'm gonna clean you up."

"hyung," jungkook calls him as he puts on his sweatpants again. "you're gonna-"

"do you think this is my first time tasting cum?" yoongi throws him a quick glance and you swear you see jungkook blushing for a moment.

yoongi turns to you again and grabs one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder and diving in with no warning.

"yoongi, fuck!" you throw your head back as one of your hands goes to his hair. he hums against your pussy and laps at your entrance, from where jungkook's cum keeps spilling out.

"that's so fucking hot." jungkook sighs but you can't open your eyes to look at him, you keep them closed.

"yoongi, you're gonna- gonna make me cum again." you mumble, your only leg supporting you starting to shake but yoongi keeps you steady with one hand on your waist and the other on your thigh over his shoulder. and the warning that you're gonna cum only makes yoongi push you further to the edge, sucking on your clit and basically burying his face on your pussy like he's starving for you. "yoongi, oh my- fuck, oh my god!"

you don't know what to do with your hands anymore, one of them stays on his hair while the other ends on your mouth to try and stop the pathetic noises from coming out. though one hand is suddenly grabbing that arm and pulling it down.

it's yoongi. he detaches his mouth from you to say, "i wanna hear you." and suddenly slips two fingers inside you.

"sensitive..." you mumble, your legs shaking again and threatening to close even if yoongi's head is between them.

"gotta clean you well," yoongi says. "jungkookie had a big load for you, huh?" he chuckles again.

you've never heard something so hot in your entire life. jungkook must think the same because he groans somewhere in the kitchen, you don't see him because you're too busy holding yoongi's eye contact.

"you like me cleaning jungkookie off your pussy?" yoongi asks you and gives your clit another little lick as he fucks the cum out of you with his fingers. "dirty girl."

"please, yoongi."

"love hearing you say that." he smirks as he pulls his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue.

"hyung, jesus fucking christ." jungkook sighs while yoongi goes back to eating you out like he's wanted it for months.

"i'm gonna cum, yoongi- ah!" you throw your head back against the fridge again when yoongi sucks on your clit and starts fucking you with his fingers again. "oh, right there!" his fingers keep brushing against that sweet spot and you're sure you're gonna cum soon.

it doesn't take long for you to cum on his mouth and fingers, yoongi gives your pussy one last kiss before placing another one on your thigh still on his shoulder and finally puts it down.

"you're okay?" yoongi asks you as he stands up and cups your face with his hands to check on you.

"yeah," you nod. "just a little dizzy."

"i'm sure you're tired." he brushes his thumbs on your cheeks affectionately and your eyes close on their own. "i'll go prepare a bath for you, okay?" he says and kisses your forehead.

and holy fuck, you never thought that thing people said about feeling butterflies in your stomach was real but now you can feel them because as soon as yoongi pulls away, you feel another kiss on your cheek from jungkook.

"you were amazing." he tells you and you have half a mind to smile.

"wait," you turn to the door where yoongi is already making his way to the bathroom. "yoongi!" you call out for him and he quickly turns around.

"yeah?" he asks and your eyes go down to his crotch. he's hard. of course he is.

"do you... want help with that?" you ask shyly but he just waves a hand dismissively.

"don't worry about it, you're completely spent, you should rest now." yoongi replies sincerely but then looks to jungkook. "unless you're ready for another round." he cocks an eyebrow.

you look at jungkook and a giggle slips out of your mouth when you see him shocked, his cheeks tomato red. yoongi chuckles too.

"i'm just teasing you," the older says. "i'll go prepare a bath." and he leaves the kitchen.

then you're alone with jungkook again. you grab your clothes from the floor even if you're not really gonna put them on now.

"what was all of that about?" you dare to ask and you know jungkook understands what you mean but you still push further. "yoongi and you...?"

"it was nothing." he quickly replies. you're not dumb, he's getting defensive.

"okay..." you mutter. "calm down, i wasn't judging."

"i know," jungkook says and oh he looks troubled. "it was just nothing."

"okay," you nod and give him a reassuring smile because he looks more tense now than before. "just... if you've got some thoughts you need to let out... i'm here, or whatever..." you try not to make things real serious but you just don't want to see jungkook like this.

"i'm okay." he replies.

"mh, good." you end up putting just your shorts on again because it might be a little weird to have this conversation while being half naked.

"by the way, that was short but it was amazing." jungkook says out of nowhere and you giggle, slapping his arm.

"yeah, you were not bad either." you say and squeeze his bicep twice before walking out of the kitchen.

and when you're left alone in the corridor everything you just did hits you like a truck.

what the hell have you done?

–

–

–

A/N: hope you enjoyed it !! i'm not 100% satisfied with this one, i know i could've done a lot better but yeah :) thank u for reading ! have a nice day <3

#bts imagines #bts x reader #bts reactions #bts fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook reaction #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi imagine #yoongi reaction #jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #suga fanfic #suga fic #suga imagine #suga reaction #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #gggukniverse #bangtan x reader #bangtan reactions #bangtan fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan imagines

[jeonjcngkook]

clandestine | myg (m) teaser

pairing: gangleader!yoongi x f!reader

genre(s)&au(s): gang au, bitch better have my money or i'll fuck ur girl au, angst, pwp, smut

rating: 18+

word count: teaser - 405

warning(s)&smut warning(s): strong language, mentions of weapons, threats of murder

summary: bloodthirsty and dangerous, yoongi wont stop until he gets what he is rightful owed. and if you're on offer, then he just cant say no to that.

banner: @kth1 | @kth1fics

note: hehehe...

“Sir, over here,” you overhear someone whisper — probably having heard the snoring from above you.

The sound of heavy duty combat boots picking up pace and heading straight in your direction makes you still. You don’t move an inch in fear of getting caught, placing a hand over your mouth to keep your breathing at bay.

From underneath the bed, you count five pairs of boots. They move slowly around the bed surrounding you in a circle. Two of them make their way to the side of the bed where Hee-won lies and another two direct themselves to your side of the bed, vanishing behind the comforter that you had pulled down earlier.

The remaining body doesn’t move from the bottom of the bed. Instead, you watch on as he pulls out the chair from underneath the vanity; the scraping of the chair legs against the floor is like nails on a chalkboard causing you to hiss at the sound.

He sits down in the chair and spreads his legs too casually for someone who is breaking into an apartment which can only mean he has done this many times in the past. He’s calculated and smart — knows how to play the game.

The room is silent.

Nobody talks and nobody moves.

Your eyes frantically dart back and forth between their legs, watching for any movement…but nothing. The sound of a large heavy bag being dropped to the floor makes you jump in terror, your body hitting the framing of the bed.

Someone had to have heard that…

Your body chills at the thought of being caught; who knows what awaits you outside of your hiding spot. Who knows what these men are capable of.

You’re able to make out someone shushing those around him and you watch as the man who is sitting in the chair eventually gets up and walks over to the side of the bed to join the other two where Hee-won lays.

One of the men bends down in your peripheral vision as his leather gloves starts to unzip the bag, emptying the contents all over the floor. The sound of metal on metal hitting against each other is deafening in the small bedroom. You watch as guns, knives and an array of other weaponry is scattered in a small pile on the floor.

“Where is she?” You hear who you presume to be the leader of the home invasion ask. “She’s supposed to be here. I swear if this fucker has touched her, I’ll bury him myself.”

#btshoneyhive #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi imagines #yoongi drabble #yoongi one shot #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi au #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts imagine #bts fanfic

[sunnebeam]

"i was hoping i wouldn't have to resort to this."

A 'PERKS OF BEING A HOUSEHUSBAND' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi unintentionally scares people

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: go on tell me d-day!yoongi isn't tatsu I DARE YOU 😤 btw u don't need to watch the way of the househusband before reading this, but i swear u won't regret it if u do lol it's so funny (and it gives great visuals for this fic!). anyways, enjoy!! i'd love to hear ur thoughts so drop by my askbox and let's chat :)

Water drips down his neck as he washes his face. Droplets fall down his tattooed back, tracing the meticulous lines and bold colors that contrast his pale skin.

After rinsing and drying off, he dons on his outfit for the day – a fitted, white, short-sleeved shirt that shows off the intricate tattoos on both his arms and some black sweatpants – and puts on his signature apron – a beige, cotton apron with a drawing of his brown poodle on the front. Said poodle is staring at him from the bathroom door as he takes one last look at the mirror.

An old, bumpy scar runs down his right eye.

"Perfect," he says to himself before heading to the kitchen with his dog following right behind.

Min Yoongi never used to wake up this early. But these days, he wakes up bright and early at six o'clock because he has an important assignment.

"What do you think, Holly? Too big?"

The poodle barks in response, and taking its opinion into consideration, Yoongi adjusts his gimbap slices accordingly, making them a tad bit smaller and just the perfect size for your lunchbox.

"Shit!"

The door to your shared bedroom opens and you run out, already dressed in your corporate attire. You run to the kitchen where your husband is and get a huge glass of water.

"I'm late!" you screech, all while gulping down the whole glass.

"But you still have a few hours," he points out in confusion.

"I forgot I have an early meeting!" you explain in a hurry, putting on your heels before giving your husband a big smooch on the lips and blowing Holly a kiss. "Sorry, Yoonie! I'll see you later!"

And you're out the door.

Yoongi blinks for a few moments before shaking his head. He's chuckling in amusement at your mishap, but if any outsider hears his laughter, it just sounds a bit manic.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, Holly."

Holly barks.

"Huh? What was that?"

Holly barks.

Yoongi stares at the poodle, then at your Hello Kitty lunchbox he meticulously prepared, then back at the poodle.

"She forgot her lunchbox?"

Holly barks.

"Fuck."

Yoongi snaps into action, securing the lunchbox and putting it inside a Hello Kitty cloth bag before running out the door with his cute apron still on. He mounts his bicycle and speeds towards your office – which, if he was driving a car, would have broken numerous traffic regulations but luckily he isn't a stranger to breaking a law or two.

He's almost to your office. He's halfway there.

But unfortunately, there's a bit of a situation.

"What's your occupation, sir?"

The two police officers stare at him hesitantly after flagging him down for pedalling too fast with his bicycle. They're debating on giving him a ticket but then Yoongi answers.

"Househusband."

They stare at him.

"What?"

Yoongi sighs. At this rate, he won't be able to catch you before you clock in.

"Wait a second," one of the officers says, eyeing the tattoos peeking out from Yoongi's shirt and the big scar on his eye. "Are you..."

They stare at the name on the ticket. Min Yoongi.

"...Agust D?"

No way, the other officer thinks. There's a rumor about an infamous gangster called Agust D who used to slaughter his enemies with his own two hands. This guy can't be him. Right? Right?!

They hold a breath when Yoongi reaches into his pocket.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this," he murmurs.

"Wait, sir. There's no need for violence—"

"Here," Yoongi shuts them up by thrusting one of his most precious possessions.

A gift card for discounts at the local grocery store.

The police officers stare at the gift card, bewildered.

"As much as it pains me to let go of this," Yoongi continues, "take it. Now, I have to go."

And he pedals away, leaving behind one gift card and two very confused cops.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

#bts x reader #bts fic #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts suga x reader #yoongi x reader #agust d x reader #bts imagines #min yoongi fic #min yoongi imagines #bts suga fic #yoongi fic #suga fic #bts suga imagines #yoongi imagines #suga imagines #agust d fic #agust d imagines #min yoongi x you #yoongi x you #bts suga x you #suga x you #agust d x you #cat.writes

[euphoricfilter]

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• ° kinktober day 12

[day twelve: overstimulation]

pairing: yoongi x f. reader

tags/ warnings: pwp, vibrator, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, minor oral? (f. receiving), unprotected sex

notes: smut straight under the cut

kinktober masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“Too much—Shit Yoongi, no more” your thighs quiver, orgasm lingering as he pulls the vibrator away from your clit, poor little thing, swollen. Throbbing with that aching sort of want as your pussy dribbles another pitiful wad of slick onto the sheets.

He leans down lips wrapping around your clit, sucking, tongue laving over as your orgasm slowly ebbs away, sparks of overstimulation tingling down your legs, cunt clenching around nothing.

He presses the vibrator over your entrance, pussy lips parting around the silicone as he presses it ever so gently past your walls.

“Yoongi” you whine, fingers tangling into his hair as he continues to suck at your clit, hips rutting up into his face as you continue to chase the edging pleasure, he’s pulling out of you.

He hums, pitiful moan dripping thick off your tongue at the added vibration, arousal seeping out of your pussy over the silicone toy, dripping over his fingers, skin slicked shiny.

He thrusts the toy a little further into you, angling it upwards ever so slightly.

Yoongi’s lips press a kiss over your clit before he’s pulling away, tongue cleaning the mess you made of his face as his eyes glaze over your pussy. Creamy slick slipping down you perineum, poor little pussy clenching around the vibrator, a mean little smile tugging at Yoongi’s lips.

He presses one of the buttons on the side, your mouth falling open, unfiltered moan clawing up your throat, overstimulated pussy pulsating around the toy.

“Fuck—” you cry, “s’ too much” tears cling to your waterline, fingers digging into the sheets below you, hips bucking upwards.

“Cum again for me, baby” he murmurs, presses a kiss over your sweat-slicked chest, lips ghosting over your nipple.

He thrusts the vibrator into you, knuckles nudging against your sensitive little bud with every press into you.

“Can’t” you whine, thighs quivering, snapping closed around his hand.

“Yes you can, always so pretty when your poor little cunt is ruined” his tongue runs over your nipple.

Your mouth falls open, world burning white for a moment as you tip over the edge, orgasm shaking your body. Clawing up your spine as your legs shake, Yoongi’s fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he holds them open, deep reverberate of his voice barely penetrating your ears as he tells you how pretty you are.

You blink away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks, Yoongi’s thumb brushing over your damp cheek.

“You here with me?” he asks, hint of a smile on his face. The prideful kind, the one where you know he would be sure to remind you of this moment in the coming days.

You nod, swallowing.

Pussy swollen, aftereffects of the vibrator still tingling down your body, stomach tensing as your orgasm slowly slips away, gentle hum of what was once there still sends hints of pleasure throughout your body. Dopamine hazed mind slowly processing the press of Yoongi’s cockhead against your entrance.

“Think you can give me one more?” he presses a kiss to your jaw, angling his cock through your folds.

The tip nudges against your clit, hips jutting upwards, slightest of touch enough stimulation to have slick leaking out of you.

You nod, arms slipping around his neck as you pull his body closer to yours.

“Words, baby. Need to hear you” he presses another kiss to your cheek.

“One more” you nod, “I won’t last long”

He hums, fingers pressing into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your body over his thighs a little. Pretty fingers wrapping around his length before he’s pressing over your entrance.

Your back arches as he splits you open, cunt pulled wide over the flared head before he’s sinking into you, hips rolling forward; seemingly not in a rush.

His thumb gently brushes over your clit, cunt pulsating around him as the sparks of delicious pain mingled pleasure slips down the length of your body.

He needs no warning when you’re about to cum, hips jackhammering into you, angled perfectly as he presses you further and further towards another orgasm.

“Shit Yoongi” you curse, feeling it build within your stomach, your hands pressing against his stomach as he ruts his thick cock into you.

“Come on, pretty” he grunts, head tipped back at his own pleasure.

He just about catches sight of it, cock slipping out of you as his fingers rub over your pussy as you squirt over yourself, some of his catching his cock. Your hips jolt upwards as he continues to rub your clit, another spurt of cum wetting his hand as you moan his name, mind fully fucked as overestimated pleasure buzzes beneath your skin.

You barely register Yoongi jacking himself off over you, tugging his hard cock at the sight of you fucked out body. Pussy lips swollen and pitiful little clit throbbing, wet slicked shiny and sticky with your arousal, creamy cum clinging to your folds.

You moan when you feel his cum shoot against your pussy lips, running his cockhead through your folds, smearing his release over your soiled cunt.

“Always such a good girl for me” he lets the final spurt of his cum coat your pussy, “Letting me make you feel good, mind nothing more than mine to ruin”

You reach out for him, uncaring of the mess between your thighs, not when he smothers you with kisses, endless praise dripping off his tongue as you come down from your lust filled high.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts kinktober #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

-

-

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time? 

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware. 

“Were they always on this team?” 

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd. 

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience. 

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand. 

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night. 

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing. 

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.” 

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still… 

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.” 

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise. 

“And you’re paying me double.” 

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him. 

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?” 

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.” 

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.” 

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention. 

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.” 

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.” 

You stare.

“This will be over soon.” 

-

-

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet. 

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!” 

That was close. Way too close. 

Get it together. 

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs. 

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy. 

However. 

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense. 

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action. 

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats. 

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you. 

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks, 

“I need you all to calm down.” 

“No can do, coach.” 

“Not if they aren’t.” 

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived? 

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder. 

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too. 

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.” 

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.” 

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?” 

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s. 

And you don’t like it one bit. 

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up. 

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring. 

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed. 

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out. 

“What?” 

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.” 

“After what he did to you?” 

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…” 

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.” 

“Yoongi.” 

“Sorry, doll.” 

“Please just—” 

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back. 

Only for him to be just out of reach. 

-

-

After halftime, it’s a whole different game. 

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill. 

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead. 

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on. 

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck! 

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning. 

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench. 

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger. 

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands. 

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win. 

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate. 

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change. 

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive. 

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight. 

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees. 

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

-

-

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy. 

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder. 

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you. 

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if… 

Nah. 

That’s still too big a reach. 

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night. 

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!” 

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight. 

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on. 

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?” 

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.” 

Motherfucker. 

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?” 

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.” 

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night. 

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain. 

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky. 

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?” 

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod. 

Weird. 

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?” 

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.” 

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.” 

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.” 

“You’re whipped.” 

“No, you.” 

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.  

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat. 

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some. 

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do— 

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake. 

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud. 

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!” 

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.” 

“No! What the fuck—” 

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart. 

“Babe, we have to go now.” 

“No, let me go!” 

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness. 

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts. 

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive. 

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!” 

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.” 

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure. 

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much. 

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…” 

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.” 

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod. 

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort. 

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too. 

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard. 

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut. 

You want to believe him. You do. You do. 

But hope may be a bitch. 

So you don’t. 

-

-

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort. 

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating. 

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—” 

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?” 

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.” 

Oh. 

“Your brother’s here, too.” 

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.” 

“Umm.. Yeah.” 

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.” 

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—” 

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes. 

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.” 

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up. 

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?” 

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.” 

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.” 

“Fuck that.” 

“Huh?” 

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.” 

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.” 

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.” 

And you mean that. 

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.” 

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else. 

-

-

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen. 

-

-

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid. 

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?” 

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.” 

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.” 

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room, 

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?” 

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out, 

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?” 

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.” 

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not. 

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out. 

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted. 

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.” 

“I will.”

“I’m serious.” 

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends. 

So you leave to go pack without another word. 

It’s raining. 

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up. 

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do. 

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either. 

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you. 

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened. 

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you? 

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring. 

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick. 

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know. 

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else. 

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there. 

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with. 

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else. 

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park. 

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside. 

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here. 

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer. 

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear. 

Finally. “Hello.” 

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside. 

“You’re here?” 

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell. 

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame. 

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—” 

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go. 

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.” 

“No!” 

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching, 

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage. 

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine. 

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight. 

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you. 

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice, 

“…No.” 

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that. 

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground. 

And your breath cuts like it’s your last. 

Shards. 

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room. 

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it. 

Throw it out, all of it, all of it. 

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is. 

Shit, this is everywhere. 

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts. 

This really, really hurts. 

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going. 

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain. 

“I got it.” 

“Let me do it.” 

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room. 

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way. 

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment. 

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed. 

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away. 

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore. 

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse. 

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.” 

“I still need to—” 

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Do what? I’m helping you.” 

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting. 

But ice. 

“Who said I needed it?” 

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?” 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?” 

“I say a lot of things.” 

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder. 

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.” 

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?” 

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.” 

“Not tonight what.” 

“We aren’t doing this tonight.” 

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.” 

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.” 

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?” 

“I am.” 

“Wow.” 

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?” 

“Do you even know?” 

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!” 

“That’s cus—” 

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.” 

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…” 

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then. 

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.” 

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.” 

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.” 

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock, 

“Who asked you?” 

Dark liquid drips onto your soul. 

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare. 

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time. 

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.” 

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center. 

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—  

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming. 

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—” 

“Whoa, hold u—” 

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—” 

“Just listen—” 

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—” 

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming. 

“I swear to—” 

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders. 

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?” 

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again. 

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now. 

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.” 

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass. 

“He’s still home.” 

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.” 

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you. 

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.” 

Your eyes are ice. 

“Are you.” 

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside. 

And Yoongi cracks like lightning. 

“Goddamn it.” 

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk. 

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain. 

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life. 

“Stubborn.” 

“Coward.” 

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth, 

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.” 

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.” 

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.” 

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions. 

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation. 

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself. 

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length. 

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that. 

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what. 

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?” 

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat. 

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?” 

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.” 

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it. 

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground. 

“Holy fuck.” 

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss. 

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.” 

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall. 

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact. 

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.” 

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.” 

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.” 

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside. 

And it’s maddening. “Please!” 

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall. 

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes. 

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely. 

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust. 

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.” 

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.” 

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?” 

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach. 

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway. 

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth. 

“What was that?” 

“I said fuck you!” 

“Thought so.” 

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.” 

“Fuck—!” 

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver. 

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.” 

“Asshole—” 

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.” 

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—” 

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?” 

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.” 

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.” 

“Make me. Bet you can’t.” 

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.” 

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear. 

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.” 

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that. 

“Fuckin’ thought so.” 

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure. 

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down. 

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension. 

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.” 

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!” 

“What, doll.” 

“Please!” 

“Nah.” 

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt. 

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?” 

“Please!” 

“Mm. Not loud enough.” 

“Yoongi, please.” 

“Oh, we’re saying names now?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Do it yourself then.” 

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat. 

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…” 

“Nah.” 

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.” 

“You’ll come when I say you can.” 

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?” 

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong. 

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.” 

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.” 

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command, 

“Then fucking come.” 

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin. 

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened. 

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice. 

“I said again.” 

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone. 

“Yoongi—” 

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place. 

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.” 

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.” 

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs. 

“Babe.” 

“I—I—” 

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.” 

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes… 

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.” 

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale. 

“There you go. Keep going.” 

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is. 

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.” 

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?” 

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—” 

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“Babe.” 

“You told me so many times—” 

“Breathe, angel.” 

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice. 

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Just… Like this.” 

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—” 

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out. 

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—” 

“I’m here.” 

“So please don’t push me away.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I know you don’t make promises but—” 

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear. 

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.” 

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore. 

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Shower.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on. 

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside. 

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?” 

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.” 

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap. 

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off? 

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.” 

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—” 

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those? 

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Promise.” 

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release. 

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too. 

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever. 

“You got hurt cus I said to play.” 

“Nope.” 

“I wore the outfit that day.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“And lost my friends at the club.” 

“No.” 

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have, 

“How about we share it.” 

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.” 

“Okay.” 

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.” 

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.” 

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain. 

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.” 

“Duh.” 

He’s himself again. 

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too. 

That’s all you both need to feel peace. 

-

-

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head. 

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed. 

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head. 

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—” 

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.” 

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…” 

Scroll, scroll. 

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?” 

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again. 

Scroll, scroll. 

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.” 

Time bursts.

Your chest glows. 

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion. 

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?” 

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door. 

His eyes. 

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms. 

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance. 

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do. 

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe? 

No. 

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters. 

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.” 

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—” 

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you. 

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue. 

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay. 

He loves you. 

Fuck, he loves you? 

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man. 

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything. 

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.” 

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.” 

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.” 

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself. 

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.” 

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall. 

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides. 

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts. 

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.” 

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.” 

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—” 

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes. 

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?” 

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.” 

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?” 

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.” 

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.” 

“I want what you want, doll.” 

“Then it’s okay.”  

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him. 

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give. 

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined. 

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking. 

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again. 

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two. 

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Fuck.” 

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come. 

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too. 

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?” 

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.” 

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.” 

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.” 

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.” 

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.” 

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it. 

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?” 

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?” 

Again. 

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.” 

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.” 

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.” 

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire. 

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything. 

“Taking me so well like this.” 

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you. 

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want. 

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!” 

“Uh uh.” 

“Please—please—” 

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful. 

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion. 

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists. 

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—” 

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut. 

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles. 

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.” 

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down. 

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel. 

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.” 

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?” 

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised. 

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.” 

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.” 

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.” 

“A secret?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.” 

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.” 

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.” 

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas. 

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you. 

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world. 

Swelling, you already feel close. 

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble. 

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi. 

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again. 

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep. 

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again. 

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again? 

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times. 

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins. 

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence. 

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found. 

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning. 

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection. 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.” 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.” 

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.” 

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest. 

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out, 

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.” 

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer. 

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet. 

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough. 

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.” 

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.” 

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?” 

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you. 

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.” 

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?” 

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?” 

Oh. Wait. “What?” 

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that. 

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops. 

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there. 

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.” 

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, 

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift. 

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same. 

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.” 

“You did threaten to kick me out before.” 

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.” 

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!” 

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.” 

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.” 

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.” 

“Guess what.” 

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again. 

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours. 

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many. 

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home? 

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?” 

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.” 

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet. 

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.” 

“I can!” 

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.” 

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin. 

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony. 

And it hurts. It really, really hurts. 

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same. 

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret. 

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.” 

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.” 

Oh. 

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking. 

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?” 

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.” 

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself. 

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.” 

-

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tbc. :)

-

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#AHHH it's finally here! #bts fic #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #3tan12 #*latest

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

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